Piloting Faith: An (Almost) Daily Meditation

When No One Remembers Your Name

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Fri, 30 Oct 2026 08:02:24 GMT

“Can a woman forget her nursing child or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these might forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.” — Isaiah 49:15–16, NRSVUE

Photo by Pascal Müller on Unsplash

Somewhere in your family, there might be a photograph of someone whose name no one remembers. Maybe it shows a woman on a porch in a long dress, a man leaning against an old car, or a child sitting quietly for a photo taken over a hundred years ago. Someone kept that picture because the person was important to them. They put it in an album, slipped it into a drawer, or carried it with them among their treasured things.

But as generations passed, the people who knew the story died. The photos were passed down to children and grandchildren, and fewer and fewer faces were recognized. Eventually, someone opened the album, pointed to a picture, and asked, “Who is that?” No one knew.

Once, this person was the center of someone’s world. People spoke their name with affection. Someone worried when they were sick. Someone missed them when they were away. Maybe they fell in love, raised children, worked hard, told bad jokes, or cooked a meal everyone loved. They went through all the everyday joys and sorrows that make up a human life. And now, maybe no one remembers their name.

I’ve been thinking about this as All Saints Sunday approaches, when many Christian churches read aloud the names of people who died in the past year. The ritual has always moved me. We gather as a community to read the names, light candles and maybe ring a bell. Sometimes the congregation knows the person well. Sometimes only a few people recognize the name. Sometimes the room grows quiet as everyone realizes a whole life is summed up in just a few words. It’s beautiful when a community takes time to remember.

But I think about the people whose names will never be read. The great grandmother who died before anyone had the opportunity to write her story. The immigrant buried far from home. The child who lived only a few days. The person who died without any family or friends. The enslaved person whose name was never recorded at all as the people who claimed to own them simply didn’t think their life was worth recording.

Human history is full of people whose names have disappeared. In fact, most of them. We remember kings, generals, religious leaders, artists, and a few people who changed history. But most people who ever lived left no lasting record of themselves. They loved. They suffered. They hoped. They died. And the world went on.

There’s an old passage from the prophet Isaiah that I find beautiful in the light of this. The people of Israel were in the midst of the trauma of exile. Their land was destroyed, their world was gone and they were terrified that even God had abandoned them.

“Zion said, ‘The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me.’”

God answers with an image from the close bonds of human relationships. Can a mother forget her nursing child? Even if she could, God says ‘I will not forget you’.

“See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.”

I love that image. The people think they’ve been forgotten. God’s answer is that the memory is so close it’s actually etched into God’s own being.

The passage is about a people rather than guaranteeing that every individual will be remembered by posterity. It does however open up a very interesting theological idea. Perhaps the significance of a life is not in whether it is remembered by others. Maybe we matter simply because we have existed, because our lives are part of this amazing unfolding of creation, and because our worth never depended on being important in history.

That’s a very different way to think about the communion of saints. We often picture saints as extraordinary people whose names and stories have lasted for centuries. Francis of Assisi. Hildegard of Bingen. Teresa of Ávila. Martin Luther King Jr. People whose courage, faith, and wisdom still shape our lives.

But the Christian communion of saints includes many more than just the famous. They are the people who lived humbly, loved badly and died without leaving anything in the history books that would be deemed remarkable. They were the people who tried to be good in circumstances which no one else will ever really understand. They made mistakes, asked for forgiveness, cared about people, and sometimes did something truly good. Most of their names are gone. Their lives were just as sacred. I find that idea rather comforting as I get older.

We live in a culture that puts a lot of pressure on us to matter in ways that can be measured. We want our work to have impact, our lives to make a difference, our names to be linked to something good. Even our spiritual language can get caught up in the legacies we hope to leave.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting our lives to add something good to the world. But maybe we’ve mixed up being significant with being remembered.

I think about the people I’ve loved who are gone. Some are still vivid in my memory. I can still hear their voices, remember their laughter, and picture the looks on their faces when something made them happy or annoyed. But I know my memories are changing. Details are fading. Stories are becoming less clear. At times I find myself realizing that I can’t remember something that I once thought I’d never forget. And one day the people who remember them will be gone as well. That’s part of being mortal.

Maybe All Saints Sunday invites us to face that reality without despair. We gather to say the names we still know, grateful for the lives they represent. But we also remember that the sacred community is bigger than our memories, our family trees, our church records, and the names carved in stone.

There are people who lived and died whose names will never be spoken aloud again. I don’t know exactly what it means to say they are remembered by God. I’m more and more careful about claiming to understand the mysteries of death and eternity. But I find myself drawn to the idea that nothing truly precious about a life depends on it staying visible to us.

Maybe we are held in a love bigger than human memory. And maybe that’s enough.

This Sunday, when those of us in the Christian tradition read the names of the dead aloud, I hope we also remember the people whose names have been lost. The unknown ancestors. The forgotten neighbors. The people who lived quiet lives and faded from history.

Every one of them was once as alive as we are now.

And every one of them mattered.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

Who has died whose voice, gestures, or presence you can still remember vividly? What is one small detail about them that you wish you could preserve?
How does it change your understanding of a meaningful life to consider that most people who have ever lived are no longer remembered by name?
What might become possible if you believed that your life was already sacred and worthy of love, without needing to accomplish something extraordinary or leave a lasting legacy?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer: Held Beyond Memory

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy Mystery,

You know the names
we have forgotten,
the faces lost to time,
the lives that passed
without monuments or acclaim.

Receive our beloved dead
into the spaciousness of your love.

Hold the ones whose laughter
still echoes in our hearts,
and those whose stories
no living voice can tell.

When memory begins to fade,
be gentle with our grief.

When we fear that we, too,
will someday be forgotten,
remind us that our worth
was never measured
by how long our names endured.

May every life,
remembered or unknown,
rest within the mystery
of your abiding love.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: The Names We Cannot Remember

For All Saints Sunday, find an old family photograph, album, or collection of pictures that includes someone whose name or story you no longer know. If you do not have such a photograph, think of an ancestor several generations removed from you, someone whose life made yours possible but about whom you know almost nothing.

Place the photograph before you, or write the word Unknown on a piece of paper.

Spend a few minutes imagining the ordinary humanity of this person. They had a body that experienced hunger and tiredness. They may have known friendship, disappointment, love, illness, laughter, and grief. Someone may once have called their name across a room with great affection.

You don’t need to invent a story about them. Simply allow yourself to recognize that their life was as real and particular as your own.

Then, if it is part of your practice, light a candle and say: For the lives we remember, we give thanks. For the lives whose names have been lost, we give thanks. May every life be held in love, beyond the limits of our knowing.

Allow the candle to burn safely for a few minutes.

If you worship with a congregation on Sunday, carry that awareness with you as the names of the dead are read aloud. Remember that the list is necessarily incomplete, but the community of lives worthy of love is not.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

My team and I launched a new experiment we are calling “The Commons.” It’s an online space centered around communities of practice: groups of people who share a common concern, set of problems, or passion for a topic, and deepen their knowledge and expertise by interacting on an ongoing basis. Join the community here.

November 3, 2026 - 12:30 - 1:30pm ET - ONLINE BOOK CLUB - I am hosting a book club where we are reading Fr. Gregory Boyle’s “Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times.” Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, has spent decades building community among people whom society has often discarded. In Cherished Belonging, he draws on those relationships and stories to explore what might happen if we stopped sorting people into categories of worthy and unworthy, us and them. Don’t worry if you don’t have time to read the book. We always have incredibly rich conversations. All are welcome. Learn more here.

November 4, 2026 - 7-8:30pm ET, ONLINE EVENT - Theologian Matthew Fox and I are teaming up again in a series called Journeying with the Mystics. The mystics have always emerged in times of uncertainty. They appear when old certainties are crumbling, when institutions no longer provide easy answers, and when people find themselves longing for a deeper experience of the Sacred. Join us for a 24-session exploration of the teachings of St. John of the Cross, Thomas Merton, Hildegard of Bingen, Kabir and Rumi, Meister Eckhart and more. This is more than a lecture series. It is an invitation into a living spiritual journey. Learn more and REGISTER HERE!

November 10, 7-8:30pm ET - I’ll be joined by theologian, writer, and professor Dr. Debra Rienstra for a special ONLINE conversation on Refugia Faith. In ecology, refugia are small places where life survives amid disruption, pockets of resilience from which life can eventually regenerate and spread. Debra invites us to consider what this might mean spiritually in an age of climate instability, political turmoil, institutional decline, and profound uncertainty. What if our congregations, communities, relationships, and even our own lives could become refugia, places where courage, compassion, beauty, wisdom, and possibility are protected and cultivated for whatever comes next? I hope you’ll join us for this timely and deeply hopeful conversation. REGISTER HERE!

November 19, 2026, 7-8:45pm ET - I will be joining Jackie Sussman for an online session on practicing eidetics as part of our “Reclaiming the Power of Imagination” monthly series. Eidetic Imagery is a powerful tool for pastors, denominational leaders, coaches, and spiritual directors working with others, and for individuals seeking deeper integration and healing in their own lives. Jackie is a psychotherapist, author, and leading expert in Eidetic Image Psychology, and has spent over forty years helping leaders and individuals unlock creativity, uncover hidden strengths, and move through limiting patterns. During this session, she will lead a live Eidetic process shaped by mythic imagery, offering a direct experience of the work. REGISTER HERE.

December 5, 2026 - A Way in the Wilderness: An Online Advent Silent Retreat, 9:00 a.m.–4 p.m. ET - I’m delighted to be leading a special Advent retreat with my friends at the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation. A Way in the Wilderness is an invitation to step away from the noise and demands of daily life and enter a spacious day of contemplative prayer, sacred reading, Sabbath rest, and silence. Together, we’ll explore the biblical wilderness as a place where new possibilities emerge and discover the peace that comes from recognizing the Sacred’s presence even in uncertain times. There is nothing to accomplish and no experience to manufacture. Just an opportunity to rest, listen, and remember that we do not travel through the wilderness alone. LEARN MORE.

December 8, 2026, 7-8:00pm ET - The holidays can be especially tender when we are carrying grief. Whether we are mourning someone we love, navigating changes in our health or relationships, or grieving the uncertainty of the world around us, this season can bring losses both old and new to the surface. Join us on The Commons for a special one-hour online gathering led by my friend Joy Gaertner, an Advanced Loss & Grief Recovery Specialist. Together, we will create a welcoming space to acknowledge our losses, honor what we carry through meaningful rituals of remembrance, and discover sources of hope for the season ahead. This will be a gentle evening of connection and care, with room for whatever grief you may be holding. The gathering is donation-based, and all are welcome. LEARN MORE.

December 15, 7-8:30pm ET - FREE WEBINAR - I will be joined by Dr. Charissa Mikoski, Assistant Professor of Research and Hartford Institute for Religion Research for a presentation on “The State of American Congregations: What the Latest Data Tell Us.” This webinar explores findings from the 2025 Faith Communities Today survey, including changes in worship attendance, congregational vitality, finances, volunteering, programming, and leadership. It will also examine what more than 24,000 individual attenders tell us about participation and their experiences of congregational life. Together, these findings offer a picture that is neither simply one of decline nor one of revival, but of significant change and uneven recovery. REGISTER HERE.

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

Happening NOW - The Ride 2026: Carrying the Legacy of the Freedom Riders Forward - Sixty-five years after the original Freedom Riders boarded buses to challenge segregation in the American South, a new generation is retracing their historic journey. My dear friend, Rev. Traci Blackmon, is joining Rev. Dr. Michael Waters, Pastor Doug Pagitt, original Freedom Riders and their descendants, and a remarkable coalition of faith and civil rights organizations for The Ride 2026. Traveling from Washington, D.C., to New Orleans, October 17–28, they are visiting historic civil rights sites, churches, and communities to honor the courage of those who came before us while encouraging civic participation and protecting voting rights today. At a time when so many Americans are worried about the future of our democracy, I am deeply grateful for these friends who are putting their faith into action. Please follow their extraordinary journey, celebrate their work, and consider supporting the effort.

Every Monday, 12pm ET - ONLINE WRITING GROUP - My dear friend, Meryl Marshall-Daniels, is leading a writing group open to all. This is a simple and spacious writing circle for people who want time to listen inwardly and put words on the page without overthinking, performing, or polishing. Meryl offers a prompt designed to invite reflection, imagination, and attunement to what is already alive within you. The practice honors writing as a way of listening, of letting images, memories, questions, and insights surface in their own time. Learn more here.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

The One Who Stayed

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Thu, 29 Oct 2026 08:01:35 GMT

“Take care of him, and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.” — Luke 10:35, NRSVUE

Most of us know the story of the Good Samaritan. Jesus tells of a traveler who is attacked by robbers, beaten, and left beside the road between Jerusalem and Jericho. A priest comes along and passes him. Then a Levite does the same. Finally, a Samaritan sees the wounded man and stops.

The Samaritan treats his wounds with oil and wine, helps him onto his animal, and brings him to an inn. He stays with him overnight. We’ve heard this story so often that we know its meaning before Jesus even finishes. We’re meant to be like the Samaritan, ready to pause our lives to help someone in need.

There’s someone else in this story we rarely notice. The next morning, the Samaritan departs. The injured traveler is still healing, so someone else must look after him. Meals need to be made, wounds cared for, bedding changed, and other needs met. The Samaritan gives the innkeeper two denarii, asks him to care for the man, and promises to cover any extra costs when he returns.

We know very little about the innkeeper. Jesus doesn’t mention his name, if he had a family, or what else he was responsible for. We also don’t know if the traveler recovered or how long he stayed at the inn. Still, the story shows that the Samaritan’s compassion went beyond the rescue itself. He understood that recovery would take someone else’s time and effort, so he made sure resources were provided for that care.

Today, October 29, is the United Nations’ International Day of Care and Support. It’s a time to recognize the huge amount of work that goes into caring for people, work that makes almost every other part of life possible.

All over the world, hundreds of millions of people work in the care economy. They look after children, older adults, people with disabilities, and those who are sick or healing from injuries. Many are nurses, home health aides, childcare workers, nursing assistants, domestic workers, and other professionals whose work is vital to their communities. Millions more care for others without pay, often while juggling jobs and their own responsibilities.

Much of this work is done by women, and much of it is still poorly paid or not recognized in the economy. The International Labor Organization has shown just how much paid and unpaid care work there is, and how tough the conditions can be for many caregivers.1 I wonder why we’ve gotten so used to relying on work that we often don’t value enough.

Think about what happens when someone comes home from the hospital. We celebrate the successful surgery, the skilled doctors, and the moment the patient is finally discharged. But recovery might take weeks or months of everyday care. Someone has to help with medications, make meals, change dressings, do laundry, arrange rides, and notice when something seems off.

Sometimes that person is a paid professional. Other times, it’s a spouse who is also aging, an adult child balancing a career, or a parent who has already spent years caring for others.

Caring for others can be deeply meaningful. But it can also be tiring, physically hard, and emotionally complex. Even people who love each other can feel overwhelmed by the daily work of keeping someone safe and comfortable. Paid caregivers might spend their careers protecting others’ dignity while struggling to pay for housing, healthcare, or childcare for their own families. It’s troubling when a society relies on this kind of work but leaves so many caregivers without enough support.

The part about the two denarii in Jesus’ story has started to feel more important to me. The Samaritan doesn’t expect the innkeeper to work for free just because he’s being compassionate. He gives money and promises to pay more if needed. The story doesn’t say if this was enough for all the care needed, and we shouldn’t judge it by today’s job standards. Still, Jesus makes it clear that caring for someone takes resources.

We often talk about compassion as something that comes from the heart. We admire people who are generous, patient, and willing to give up things for others. Those qualities matter a lot. But ongoing care also needs time, money, skill, physical strength, and chances to rest. If we praise caregivers without thinking about their working conditions, our gratitude can end up asking them to give even more.

I see this in congregational life as well. Churches depend upon an extraordinary amount of caregiving. Someone visits the hospital, prepares the funeral meal, organizes rides, remembers who has been absent, checks on an aging member, or makes sure the children are safe. Often, these acts of service are beautiful expressions of love and belonging.

But I’ve also seen churches where the same few people take on these jobs year after year. Their generosity becomes so reliable that others stop noticing how much they do. Over time, what started as a gift turns into an expectation. And when those caregivers get tired, they might feel guilty for needing help themselves.

I wonder how many communities would be different if we noticed the people who stay after everyone else has left.

This question goes far beyond churches or religious groups. Every society has to decide how care work will be shared, supported, and kept going. These choices affect pay, working conditions, family leave, healthcare, disability services, and how much time people have to care for their loved ones.

These choices also show how we think about human dignity. None of us goes through life completely on our own. We all start as babies who need care to survive. Many of us will face illness, disability, or aging that makes us depend on others. Even when we’re healthy, we rely on many people whose work makes daily life possible.

The innkeeper shows us that compassion needs to be organized so it lasts beyond the moment when we feel moved to help. I think about the people who have stood by me during hard times, and those who keep caring for people I love. Some have done things I never saw or fully understood. They’ve given hours of their lives that they can’t get back. I’m grateful for their kindness. But I’m also more aware that gratitude by itself isn’t enough.

Today, as we mark the International Day of Care and Support, maybe we should think about what it would look like to build communities where caregivers are cared for too.2 Where their work is respected, their needs matter, and the job of supporting vulnerable people doesn’t always fall on those least able to handle it.

The Samaritan stopped on the road. His compassion saved a wounded traveler from being left alone. But the story went on after he left, because someone else was willing to stay.

Jesus made sure we heard about that person too.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

Who has provided the quiet, sustained care that made a difference in your life? What sacrifices might they have made that you did not fully recognize at the time?
Where do you see caregivers being expected to give more of themselves than is sustainable? How might our assumptions about love, service, or duty contribute to those expectations?
What would need to change in your family, congregation, workplace, or wider community for caregiving to become a responsibility that is genuinely shared and supported?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For For Those Who Stay

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy One,

We give thanks for those who remain beside us when the difficult work of healing begins, for the hands that prepare meals, tend wounds, offer comfort, and help us through the ordinary hours of our lives.

Remember those who care for others while carrying burdens of their own. Those who are exhausted, whose bodies ache, whose work goes unnoticed, and who wonder how much longer they can continue.

May they receive the care they so generously offer. May their labor be honored with fair compensation, adequate rest, and the support they need to live with dignity.

Teach us to recognize the people upon whom our lives depend, and give us the wisdom to build communities where care is shared rather than silently expected.

May no one be left to carry the work of love alone.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: The Cost of Care

Find two coins and place them on a table in front of you. Remember the two denarii the Samaritan left with the innkeeper. They represented his recognition that caring for an injured stranger would require time, labor, and resources.

Hold the coins in your hands for a moment. Think about the people whose care makes your life possible. Some may be family members or friends. Others may be people you hardly know: the aide who helps an elderly neighbor get dressed, the childcare worker who spends her days nurturing children, or the person who cleans a hospital room after everyone else has gone home.

Now consider what their care costs them. Think about the hours they give, the demands placed upon their bodies, and the responsibilities waiting for them when their workday ends. Consider how often we depend upon their generosity without asking whether they have enough support themselves.

Place the coins back on the table and ask yourself: What am I willing to contribute so that the people who care for others can also live well?

Before the week ends, turn that question into one practical commitment. You might contribute to a respite-care fund, help a family share caregiving expenses, advocate for fair compensation, or take responsibility for a task that has fallen too heavily upon someone else.

Keep the coins somewhere visible for a few days as a reminder that compassion requires more than appreciation. The Samaritan understood that the innkeeper’s willingness to care deserved material support.

Love may inspire the work of care, but love should never become an excuse for expecting someone to do that work without the support they need.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.ilo.org/sites/default/files/2024-10/Migrant%20Workers%20in%20the%20Care%20Economy_Note_2024_Final.pdf

https://www.ilo.org/resource/news/unpaid-care-work-prevents-708-million-women-participating-labour-market

The Road They Never Finished

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Wed, 28 Oct 2026 08:02:07 GMT

“I am making this covenant, with its oath, not only with you who stand here with us today before the Lord our God, but also with those who are not here with us today.” — Deuteronomy 29:14–15, adapted from NRSVUE

Photo by Dr. Eric Jackson Sr., October 19, 20026

On May 4, 1961, thirteen people got on two buses in Washington, D.C., bound for New Orleans. Seven were Black and six were white. Most were young, some just out of their teens, and they set out to do something that should have been normal. They wanted to travel together through the American South, using interstate buses and terminals without being separated by race.1

The Supreme Court had already ruled that segregation in interstate transportation was illegal. But throughout the South, those rulings were often ignored. The Freedom Riders wanted to see if the federal government would enforce the law when local officials would not.

They knew the trip would be dangerous. They trained in nonviolent resistance and got ready for the chance they might be arrested or attacked. Still, I wonder what they felt as the buses left Washington. They were leaving behind their familiar lives and heading toward places where people had already threatened to stop them. They never finished the journey to New Orleans by bus.

On May 14, near Anniston, Alabama, a white mob attacked one of the buses, slashed its tires, and chased it out of town. When the bus stopped, they threw a firebomb inside. The passengers got out through smoke and flames, only to be attacked again outside.2 In Birmingham, riders on the second bus were beaten by white attackers while police did nothing to protect them.

The violence was meant to stop the Freedom Rides. Instead, more activists joined in, including students who knew that letting the attacks end the journey would let violent opponents decide who could use their rights.

Hundreds of people eventually took part. Many were arrested and put in jail. Their persistence pushed federal authorities to enforce desegregation in interstate transportation. Sixty-five years later, people are getting back on the bus.

This week, a group of civil rights leaders, faith communities, artists, original Freedom Riders, and their descendants is retracing that historic route.3 The Ride 2026 started in Washington on October 17 and will reach New Orleans on October 28, just before the American midterm elections. Along the way, they are visiting historic churches, Black colleges, civil rights landmarks, and communities where the fight for equal citizenship still goes on.

My good friend Rev. Traci Blackmon is one of the organizers. Traci has spent much of her ministry supporting communities facing racial injustice, and I am moved to see her helping bring this history into the present.

At the opening event in Washington, she reminded everyone that laws do not enforce themselves. She talked about freedom as a chain linking ancestors and descendants, and the responsibility each generation has to keep that chain strong.

I’ve been thinking about that image ever since. We often tell civil rights history as a series of victories. We remember the court decisions, the laws, the speeches, and the moments when barriers finally fell. Looking back, it can seem like progress was bound to happen.

But the people on those buses in 1961 had no guarantee that their courage would make a difference. They knew the law was on their side, but they also knew it might not protect them when the mob showed up. They had to decide if the chance for a more just future was worth the risk of trying to make it happen.

The Hebrew scriptures offer a strong way to understand that responsibility. In Deuteronomy 29, Moses speaks to the people of Israel as they get ready to renew their covenant. He says the covenant includes those present and those not there that day. The promise goes beyond the people gathered, tying future generations to obligations they will inherit.

This idea comes from a Jewish view of covenant, where a people is formed through shared memory, responsibility, and faithfulness over generations. It does not mean descendants must repeat everything their ancestors did. It recognizes that one generation’s choices shape the world the next will live in.

I wonder if the Freedom Riders understood something like this. They took on the unfinished work of people who had fought against slavery, segregation, racial violence, and exclusion long before 1961.4 Their courage opened new possibilities for those who came after them. Now, another generation is traveling the same roads, asking what still needs to be done.

This is an American story, but its meaning goes far beyond the United States. Around the world, people have worked to make freedom and equality real. South Africans organized against apartheid. Women in many countries fought for the right to vote and take part in public life. Indigenous communities still defend their lands, languages, and political rights. People under military governments have risked jail to demand fair leadership.

These histories are different, and we should respect their unique situations. Still, they show us something about the link between freedom and responsibility. Rights won through great sacrifice can become weak if those who inherit them think they will last on their own.

I think this is especially important as Americans face another election with deep uncertainty about our democracy. Many people worry about whether the rules for voting will be applied fairly and if election results will be respected. These concerns deserve real attention, as does the work of those who run elections honestly.

But the deeper lesson of the Freedom Rides goes beyond any one election. The original riders knew that a legal promise matters only when people are willing to make it real for others. Their courage showed the gap between the rights Americans had on paper and what they faced in real life.

Every generation that inherits freedoms won by others faces the same question. Are we willing to protect those freedoms when it gets hard? Can we see the people who are still left out of promises we think have already been kept? Will we take responsibility for the world our children and grandchildren will live in?

There is something especially moving about where this week’s journey ends. The original Freedom Riders planned to reach New Orleans by bus, but violence stopped them from finishing the trip. The new riders are heading to the city they never reached, carrying the memories of those who faced the attacks and the hopes of people still working for equal rights.

When they arrive today, they will finish a journey that began sixty-five years ago. That arrival is worth celebrating. It will also remind us that the work those buses stand for continues wherever people are denied the dignity, protection, or participation their societies have promised.

I am grateful for Traci and everyone making this journey. I am grateful for the original riders who took risks most of us can hardly imagine. And I am grateful for people around the world who keep doing the patient, dangerous, and often tiring work of making freedom real.

The road from Washington to New Orleans has an end point. The bigger journey toward justice does not have such a clear finish.

Maybe that’s why we need to keep telling these stories. We have inherited more than the freedoms earlier generations won. We have also inherited their unfinished promises, and the responsibility to carry them further than they could.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

What freedoms or opportunities do you enjoy today because someone before you accepted personal risks or made sacrifices you may never fully understand?
The Freedom Riders challenged the distance between rights promised by law and rights actually experienced in daily life. Where do you see a similar distance in your own community or country today?
What unfinished promise of justice do you feel responsible for carrying forward, and what might faithfulness to that responsibility look like in your life?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For Those Who Carry the Journey Forward

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Generous Creator,

We give thanks for those
who traveled dangerous roads
so that others might live more freely.

For the courage of those
who faced hatred without surrendering
their commitment to human dignity.

For the generations whose sacrifices
have opened possibilities
they would never live to see.

Help us remember
that the freedoms we inherit
were often purchased at great cost.

Give us wisdom to recognize
the injustices that remain,
courage to confront them,
and patience for the long work
of building a more just world.

May we honor our ancestors
through the lives we choose to live,
and leave those who come after us
a world more generous
than the one we received.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Walk a Mile for Someone Else

The Freedom Riders understood that justice sometimes requires us to leave the places where we are comfortable and travel toward places where our presence might make a difference.

Today, take a walk of about a mile, if you are physically able. Before you begin, think of a person or community whose struggle for freedom or dignity has shaped your life. It might be someone who resisted racial injustice, defended religious freedom, challenged an oppressive government, or worked to protect people who were excluded.

As you walk, imagine the courage it took for that person to begin their journey without knowing how it would end. Consider what they risked, what they hoped for, and what they were unable to accomplish in their lifetime.

At the halfway point, stop for a moment. Look back at the distance you have traveled. Give thanks for those whose courage has brought us this far.

Then turn toward the road ahead.

For the remainder of your walk, consider one injustice in your community that you have grown accustomed to seeing. What would it mean to become less comfortable with its continued existence? Who is already working to address it, and how might you join them?

When you finish, choose one concrete action you can take this week to support that work.

The Freedom Riders remind us that we do not have to see the end of the road before we begin traveling it. Sometimes our responsibility is simply to carry the journey farther than those who came before us were able to go.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.core-online.org/

https://www.nps.gov/frri/index.htm

https://theride2026.org/

https://nmaahc.si.edu/

The Hawk Did Nothing Wrong

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Tue, 27 Oct 2026 08:00:46 GMT

“These all look to you to give them their food in due season; when you give to them, they gather it up; when you open your hand, they are filled with good things.” — Psalm 104:27–28, NRSVUE

Photo by Leigh Miles on Unsplash

Over the last few weeks, a red-tailed hawk has been visiting Common Good Farm. I’ve seen him sitting in the trees, watching the chickens as they roam the grass, look for insects, and enjoy their freedom.

Yesterday, he made his move. He swooped down and killed one of our hens. When I found out, it was already too late. A bird I had raised and cared for was gone, and now the hawk knows our farm is a good place to find food.

Losing the chicken made me sad, and I felt frustrated thinking about what this could mean for the rest of the flock. Red-tailed hawks are skilled hunters, and if one finds an easy meal, it might come back. Now I have to figure out how to protect my birds without hurting a creature that’s just trying to survive.

Farming brings up ethical questions that are hard to understand until you’re the one responsible for the animals. The hawk hasn’t done anything wrong. He needs to eat, and from his spot in the trees, my chickens are just part of the scenery. He doesn’t know how much I care about them or the responsibility I’ve taken on.

But I haven’t done anything wrong by wanting to protect them, either. When people domesticated chickens, we changed how they survive. Wild chickens learned to avoid predators in thick plants. Domestic chickens still have some of those instincts, but they rely on us for protection in ways their wild ancestors didn’t.

When I brought these birds to the farm, I took on that responsibility. I enjoy their eggs, their company, and watching them explore the grass. But these joys come with duties. I can’t just let them roam free and ignore the risks that come with it. I’m responsible for the chickens, but that doesn’t mean I have to see the hawk as an enemy.

I’ve been thinking about this struggle through the Franciscan tradition, which has become important to me as I’ve worked with Franciscan sisters and brothers.

Francis of Assisi saw creation as a community of kin. In his Canticle of the Creatures, he speaks to Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Brother Wind, and Sister Water.1 He believed the natural world was a group of fellow creatures, all deserving gratitude and respect. We often think of this part of Franciscan spirituality through sweet pictures of Francis with gentle animals. But the beliefs behind those images ask much more of us.

If creation really is a family, then the hawk is part of it just as much as my chickens are. Family members don’t always want or need the same things. The hawk lives by hunting other animals. My chickens survive partly because I keep them safe from predators like the hawk. There’s no way for every creature to get everything it needs without affecting others.

The Franciscan theologian Bonaventure expanded on this idea by saying creation reflects divine goodness. Every creature carries some of the Creator’s wisdom and generosity. The natural world is a place where we meet the sacred through the lives of those around us.2

I wonder what happens if we really take this belief seriously when lives come into conflict. For me, the ethical question isn’t just about which creature should live, but about how I can meet my responsibility without causing needless harm.

Red-tailed hawks are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act,3 so it’s usually illegal to kill or capture one without federal permission. But even if that law didn’t exist, I’d still want to find a different solution.

I can add more cover for the chickens, make their run safer, and watch the hawk’s habits more closely. Maybe I can make my chickens less vulnerable without seeing the hawk as a problem to get rid of. That feels like a real way to live out Franciscan ethics—by paying more attention to the relationships when needs compete.

There’s another part of this experience that I’m still trying to understand. Life on a farm includes death. Taking care of animals sometimes means making hard choices about suffering, sickness, and what we can and can’t do to save them. I know our food comes from living systems where death is part of the process.

But losing the chicken yesterday felt different. I didn’t choose it or see it coming. I just walked outside and found that a life I was caring for was gone. The hawk’s hunger doesn’t make my grief any less, and knowing about the ecological relationship doesn’t make the loss any easier.

Maybe that’s another lesson from Franciscan spirituality. Respecting creation means staying open to a world where beauty and suffering are closely linked. We can’t truly love living creatures without feeling their vulnerability.

I’ll probably see the hawk again. He might come back to hunt, or he might move on. I’ll keep watching and make changes to help the chickens live more safely under the open sky.

I could keep the chickens enclosed all the time, and maybe sometimes I’ll have to. But I also value the life they have when they can roam, forage, and act like chickens. Their freedom comes with risks, and I have to keep thinking about how much risk is okay when I’m responsible for their safety.

I don’t think there will ever be a perfect answer. The hawk hasn’t done anything wrong. My chicken deserved to live. And I still have work to do.

Maybe that’s what kinship with creation really looks like, beyond the sweet images of Saint Francis with animals. Sometimes loving our fellow creatures means accepting that their needs cannot all be reconciled, and then finding the most compassionate way to live together anyway.

We are in this together,

Cameron

PS - Many of you have asked about Little Grace, one of our baby goats who had a bout of pneumonia. She is doing much better. She still has a cough (and perhaps always will), but she is frolicking in the field as I type this, being a happy little baby goat. It’s all a marvel.

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

When have you faced a situation in which two legitimate needs came into conflict, leaving you without an entirely satisfying solution? How did you decide what responsibility required of you?
Franciscan spirituality invites us to understand creation as a community of kinship. How might your relationship with animals, the land, or other people change if you approached them as fellow participants in a shared life rather than as resources or obstacles?
What might it mean to protect someone or something entrusted to your care without turning the person or creature who threatens them into an enemy?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For All Who Share This Earth

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Generous Creator,

You know the hunger of the hawk
and the vulnerability of the hen.

You have given life
to creatures whose needs
sometimes bring them into conflict.

Teach us to love this world
as it truly is,
with its beauty and its sorrow,
its abundance and its hunger.

Give us tenderness
for the lives entrusted to our care,
and wisdom to protect them
without causing unnecessary harm.

Keep us from imagining
that everything we love
must belong to us,
or that everything we fear
must be destroyed.

May our care become more attentive,
our choices more compassionate,
and our hearts spacious enough
to grieve what we cannot save.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: The Circle of Kinship

Find a quiet place outdoors, perhaps in a garden, beneath a tree, or somewhere you can observe the living world without disturbing it.

Spend ten minutes noticing the creatures around you. You might see birds searching for food, insects moving among plants, or trees competing for sunlight. Pay attention to the ways each living thing participates in a world of relationships and needs.

Choose one creature and consider its life beyond your immediate experience of it. What does it need to survive? What dangers does it face? How might its needs overlap or conflict with those of other creatures?

Now think about a responsibility you carry in your own life. Perhaps you are caring for a family member, leading an organization, protecting a vulnerable person, or making decisions that affect a community. Consider whether there is someone whose needs seem to conflict with your own obligations.

Ask yourself how you might honor the dignity of everyone involved while still fulfilling the responsibility entrusted to you.

Before leaving, offer an expression of gratitude for the living world and the relationships that sustain you. You might say, “May I learn to protect what I love without losing compassion for what I fear.”

The practice is an invitation to recognize that reverence for life becomes most meaningful when our responsibilities are complicated and the answers are not easy.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

October 27, 2026 - 12:30 - 1:30pm ET - ONLINE BOOK CLUB - I am hosting a book club where we are reading Fr. Gregory Boyle’s “Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times.” Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, has spent decades building community among people whom society has often discarded. In Cherished Belonging, he draws on those relationships and stories to explore what might happen if we stopped sorting people into categories of worthy and unworthy, us and them. Don’t worry if you don’t have time to read the book. We always have incredibly rich conversations. All are welcome. RSVP Here.

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.franciscanmedia.org/franciscan-spirit-blog/the-canticle-of-the-creatures/

https://www.sbu.edu/academics/academic-resources/franciscan-institute

https://www.fws.gov/law/migratory-bird-treaty-act-1918

When Trust Is Gone, What Remains?

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Mon, 26 Oct 2026 08:01:19 GMT

“But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.” — Jeremiah 29:7, NRSVUE

Photo by Yucel M on Unsplash

In just over a week, Americans will head to the polls for the midterm elections. Usually, this is a routine part of our national life. Candidates have spent months sharing their views, people have been weighing their options, and election workers are getting ready to handle millions of ballots.

But this year, my conversations with friends and colleagues feel different. People are scared. They worry if everyone who can vote will actually get to vote. They wonder if ballots will be counted correctly, if the results will be certified, and if those who lose will accept the outcome. Some are bracing for possible intimidation or political violence. Others are just worn out by all the uncertainty.

It’s heartbreaking that so many Americans now approach an election unsure if the government will respect their choice.

There are reasons people feel this way. President Trump spent years spreading false claims about the 2020 election and tried to overturn the results. His administration has kept challenging election procedures and asking states for voter information. Now, election officials are getting ready for possible interference from the federal government, like disputes over ballots, enforcement near polling places, and attempts to delay certification.1

These worries are now serious enough that state officials, attorneys general, and election-security experts are making backup plans for situations that once seemed unthinkable.

None of this means the upcoming election is doomed. Thousands of dedicated public servants are working hard to keep the process fair.2 Courts have protected important legal boundaries, and states have systems for auditing votes and certifying results. Still, the fact that these protections are under such pressure says a lot about where we are as a country.3

I’ve been thinking about what happens when trust is lost. We usually don’t notice trust until it’s gone. We cross bridges assuming someone checked them. We take medicine believing it’s been tested. We send kids to school trusting the adults will do what’s best for them.

Democracy relies on that same kind of trust. We live under laws made by people we might not have chosen because we believe we’ll get another chance to speak up. We accept losing in politics because we trust the rules will still be there next time.

When people start doubting those promises, everything changes. The usual parts of democracy become stressful. Every legal challenge feels like a threat. Every delay in counting ballots seems suspicious. People question every official statement: can we trust the person saying it?

The prophet Jeremiah understood what it was like to live through a collapse of public trust. In the sixth century BCE, Jerusalem came under Babylonian rule, and many people were taken into exile. The political and religious institutions that once gave their lives meaning could no longer provide the security they expected. They lived under foreign rule, unsure about the future and open to promises that things would soon go back to normal.

Jeremiah wrote them a powerful letter. He told them to build houses, plant gardens, raise families, and work for the good of the city where they now lived. He also warned them not to listen to prophets who gave comforting predictions that weren’t true.

Jeremiah knew that people facing political disaster need the truth about their situation. False comfort can be just as harmful as despair because it keeps people from dealing with reality. But he also knew that people can’t give up their responsibility for the common good just because their leaders have become untrustworthy. He advised people to keep building the conditions for life to thrive, even when the political future was unclear.

I wonder what that advice means for us. We can’t create trust just by saying everything is okay. Trust has to be earned through honesty, accountability, transparency, and responsible actions. When leaders break those promises, people have every right to question their authority.

But we have to be careful not to let our distrust of certain leaders turn into distrust of everyone and every institution in public life. I think about the election workers who spend long hours getting polling places ready, checking voter registrations, helping people with disabilities, counting ballots, and recording the results. Many are just regular neighbors who have taken on a tough job for their communities. Some have faced threats and harassment just for doing their work. They deserve our thanks and support.

I also think about the people who have spent years working to protect voting rights, fighting unfair restrictions, and helping others learn how to take part. Their work reminds us that democracy has always needed more than just trust in those in power. It takes people who are willing to take responsibility for the institutions that help us govern ourselves.

I don’t know what will happen on November 3 or in the days after. I hope the election is peaceful, every legal vote is counted, and the results are certified as the law requires. These are reasonable things to expect in a healthy democracy, and we should demand them. But no matter what happens, the work of building trust in our shared life will still be there.

Maybe Jeremiah’s old advice matters now. When politics are uncertain, we still owe things to each other. We can be honest, protect the vulnerable, support people who act with integrity, and keep building communities that respect human dignity.

I wish we were going into this election with more confidence in the people trusted with our democracy. I wish we could take the peaceful transfer of power for granted. We’ve learned how risky it is to assume our institutions will take care of themselves.

In the days ahead, I hope we remember that the people counting ballots, defending our rights, and demanding honest government are carrying responsibilities that really belong to all of us.

When trust in those in power is broken, it’s even more important for us to be trustworthy to each other.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

As we approach the midterm elections, what concerns you most about the integrity of our democratic institutions? How are those concerns affecting your sense of hope, trust, or responsibility?
Jeremiah encouraged people living through political upheaval to continue building communities capable of sustaining life. What does that invitation mean when the institutions we once trusted seem increasingly fragile?
Who are the people in your community working to protect democratic participation, uphold the law, and preserve public trust? How might you support their efforts in the days ahead?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For the Keeping of Our Democracy

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy One,

We come before you
with troubled hearts,
uncertain whether the promises
of our common life will hold.

Remember those who fear
their voices may be silenced,
their votes disregarded,
their dignity denied.

Give courage to those
entrusted with the counting,
integrity to those
who certify the results,
and wisdom to those
who must uphold the law.

Restrain the hands
that would bend truth
to the demands of power.

Keep us from surrendering
our responsibility to one another
when trust has been broken.

May every voice be heard,
every lawful vote be counted,
and every person find protection
within the promises of justice.

Teach us to build again
what fear and dishonesty
have placed in danger.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: A Candle for the Common Good

This week, take ten minutes for a simple practice that combines prayer and civic responsibility.

Put a candle on a table next to a small piece of paper. Write these words on the paper: Truth. Courage. Integrity. Trust.

Light the candle and sit quietly. Notice whatever you feel about the coming election. You might feel anxious, angry, discouraged, or hopeful. You don’t have to hide those feelings or act like everything is fine.

Think about the people whose quiet work makes elections happen: poll workers, election administrators, volunteers, judges, journalists, and neighbors who help each other take part. Many work under a lot of pressure, and some have even faced threats just for doing their jobs.

While you watch the flame, say this short prayer:

May those entrusted with power act with integrity. May those entrusted with the vote be protected. May truth prevail over intimidation, and may we remain faithful to one another.

Next, write down one specific thing you can do before Election Day to help the common good. You might help someone find reliable voting information, give someone a ride to the polls, thank a local election worker, or support a group that helps people vote.

Blow out the candle and do the action you wrote down.

This practice is meant to remind us that hope is stronger when we turn it into responsibility.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/

https://www.brennancenter.org/issues/ensure-every-american-can-vote

https://www.eac.gov/

The Fraud We Choose to See

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Fri, 23 Oct 2026 08:02:08 GMT

“Woe to those who make iniquitous decrees, who write oppressive statutes, to turn aside the needy from justice and to rob the poor of my people of their right.” — Isaiah 10:1–2, NRSVUE

Photo by Kanchanara on Unsplash

The White House has created something called the Fraud Ledger.1 It is a public website celebrating the Trump administration’s efforts to uncover fraud in government programs. There are impressive dollar amounts, announcements of investigations, and accounts of money the administration says it has prevented from being stolen.

I would support a government that truly works to protect public money. Fraud is a serious crime, especially when it takes resources meant to feed children, provide medical care, or help families in need.

But in September, researchers at Georgetown University’s Center for Children and Families looked at what the White House was actually counting.2 Out of eleven Medicaid-related items in an August report, only two were real fraud convictions, totaling about $277 million. Five were just allegations that had not been proven in court. Four involved $2.8 billion in federal funding held back from states during Medicaid payment disputes. The administration counted these withheld funds as anti-fraud successes, even though holding back money does not prove fraud happened.

This distinction is important because numbers on an official government website seem to carry moral weight. They suggest to the public that someone was caught, money was saved, and justice was served. But the real evidence shows a much more complex situation.

Another part of this campaign worries me even more. It has to do with which people Americans are being led to connect with fraud.

This week, President Trump gave $10,000 to conservative YouTuber Nick Shirley, whose videos brought national attention to claims of fraud at Somali-run childcare centers in Minnesota. The administration also started a program that offers money for reporting fraud. State officials have challenged some of the video’s claims, though a woman linked to one of the businesses has since pleaded guilty to fraud.

Minnesota has had real fraud scandals. The Feeding Our Future case involved stealing hundreds of millions of dollars from programs meant to feed children during the pandemic. These crimes should be investigated and held accountable. But the political story built around these crimes affects people who did nothing wrong.

I just got back from Minneapolis, where I spent much of the past week hearing people talk about the fear in their neighborhoods during federal immigration raids. Families have changed their routines because they might be detained. Children now know what warning whistles mean. Neighbors have set up networks to protect each other. U.S. Rep. Ilhan Omar, a Somali woman, will move out of her Washington, D.C., home that federal agents searched last week because she now feels unsafe there.3 These experiences have made me more aware of the gap between a criminal investigation and the suspicion that can fall on a whole community.

America has often turned the actions of a few people into a story about the character of an entire racial group.

Ronald Reagan’s well-known “welfare queen” story helped spread the idea of someone cheating public assistance. The story was based on a real fraud case, but its political impact came from the racial stereotypes it stirred up.

Political scientist Martin Gilens wrote about this in his book Why Americans Hate Welfare.4 He looked at decades of media coverage and found that Black Americans were shown more often in images of poverty, especially in negative stories about poor people. These images influenced how white Americans saw welfare recipients and whether they thought those people deserved help. This research shows how racial assumptions can work through language that seems to be only about budgets, eligibility, and accountability.

In the current Minnesota controversy, the Somali background of some defendants has become a big part of the public story. President Trump has also often made negative comments about Somali immigrants. This creates a political climate where people see claims about certain businesses along with talk that makes a whole community look suspicious.

This is a common way racial stereotypes spread. One person commits a crime, but the story is told so that people see it as proof about a whole group. The accused person’s identity becomes just as important in the story as what they actually did.

The Hebrew prophet Isaiah gives us a challenging way to look at how public authority is used. In Isaiah 10, the prophet speaks out against those who make unfair laws and use government power to take away the rights of vulnerable people. He is concerned about the moral effects of official decisions, especially when those decisions hurt people who cannot fight back.

Isaiah knew that injustice could happen through rules that seemed proper. A law could be written, an official could enforce it, and the harm caused could be described as just normal government work.

This insight is especially important when talk about protecting public resources gets mixed up with suspicion toward racial or immigrant communities. The duty to keep honest standards of accountability also applies to those in government. This is where the contrast becomes especially troubling.

While the Trump administration promotes its fight against fraud in public assistance programs, the president and his family have gained huge wealth from business deals closely tied to his presidency. Reuters found that the family’s main cryptocurrency ventures brought at least $2.3 billion in gains for the Trumps, while investors lost about $2.3 billion. The president’s financial disclosures show over $1.4 billion in cryptocurrency income in 2025 alone. At the same time, his administration has supported policies that help the cryptocurrency industry, raising serious questions about where public authority ends and private gain begins.

The contradiction extends to the treatment of people convicted of financial crimes. President Trump pardoned a nursing-home operator who had pleaded guilty in a $38 million payroll-tax fraud scheme. He pardoned a cryptocurrency executive who had pleaded guilty to violating federal anti-money-laundering requirements. Reuters recently documented clemency for at least 85 public officials convicted of or charged with corruption-related offenses, most of them Republicans or vocal Trump supporters. At the same time, the administration has weakened parts of the federal government’s anti-corruption enforcement apparatus.

Think about what the public is being told. Fraud by people getting government help is shown as a big threat to the country’s morals and economy. But when people close to the president get very rich, it is defended, and some convicted of serious financial crimes are pardoned. These are different legal issues, but the uneven standards of accountability should be questioned.

There is another painful side to this story. Reuters found that many regular investors who put money into Trump-linked cryptocurrency ventures lost money while the family made profits. Some invested because they trusted the president and thought investing with him would let them share in his success. Their losses show that deals that help powerful people can end up costing those who trust them.

The Hebrew prophets would have seen the moral risk in this kind of situation. They often challenged rulers and rich people who claimed to act for the public but used their power for personal gain. They did not just care about whether someone broke a law. They wanted to know whose interests were served, who was getting rich, and who was paying the cost.

That is the question I want us to consider about this anti-fraud campaign. A government truly committed to integrity would investigate wrongdoing wherever it happens, even among its own allies and those in power. When those who loudly condemn fraud are also gaining from their positions and pardoning financial offenders, the public has good reason to wonder what the campaign is really achieving.

I keep thinking about the White House Fraud Ledger. A government can share huge numbers but still leave people unsure about what has really been proven. It can start a campaign against wrongdoing while building a story that links certain communities to dishonesty. It can make people think justice is being done without showing the full picture of how power is used.

The risk is that public accountability gets mixed up with public accusation.

And when racial stereotypes influence those accusations, the effects reach far beyond the people being investigated.

The people I met in Minneapolis reminded me that real life goes far beyond the labels used in political debates. They are parents taking kids to school, workers earning a living, neighbors helping each other, and families hoping for a better future.

Maybe this is where the prophetic challenge becomes most personal. We need to ask ourselves whose wrongdoing we focus on, whose honesty we take for granted, and whose humanity we overlook once a public story teaches us to be suspicious.

Fraud should be investigated. Public money should be protected. People in power should be watched closely.

And every person deserves to be judged by what they have actually done, not by their race, religion, or community.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

Martin Gilens’s research shows how racial stereotypes can shape our understanding of who deserves public assistance. Where have you noticed the language of fraud, waste, or personal responsibility being used to cast suspicion on an entire community?
How do you recognize the difference between genuine efforts to hold people accountable and public campaigns that selectively direct our attention toward the wrongdoing of particular groups?
Isaiah challenges those who use public authority to enrich themselves or deprive vulnerable people of their rights. What responsibilities do we have when we recognize that the institutions entrusted with protecting the public good may be serving the interests of those who control them?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer: Teach Us to See Clearly

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy One,

You see what power conceals
and hear the voices
that public accusations drown out.

Forgive us when we mistake
suspicion for wisdom,
wealth for virtue,
and accusation for truth.

Where prejudice has narrowed our vision,
restore our capacity to see.

Where greed has captured public trust,
awaken the courage to demand justice.

Protect those whose names and faces
have become convenient targets
for the fears of others.

Give us discernment
to recognize deception,
and compassion
to resist the cruelty it permits.

May our common life
be governed by truth,
our resources serve the vulnerable,
and our judgments honor
the dignity of every person.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: The Faces Behind the Story

Think about a group of people who have become the subject of public suspicion. It might be immigrants, people receiving government assistance, or members of a racial or religious minority.

Consider where your impressions of that community have come from. Perhaps you have learned about them primarily through news reports, political speeches, or social media rather than through relationships with people who belong to the community.

Today, spend fifteen minutes listening to or reading a firsthand account from someone within that community. Look for an interview, personal essay, or conversation in which someone describes their ordinary life, family, work, hopes, and experiences.

As you listen, notice what surprises you. What aspects of their life have been absent from the public narratives you usually encounter? What assumptions might you need to reconsider?

If you have an opportunity to build a genuine relationship with someone whose experience differs from yours, approach that relationship with curiosity and respect. Do not ask anyone to defend an entire community or explain the actions of people they have never met.

At the end of the practice, consider one small way you might interrupt an unfair generalization when you encounter it. Perhaps you can ask for evidence, challenge an assumption, or share a story that restores the individuality of people being discussed as a group.

The spiritual discipline is to resist allowing public narratives to determine whose humanity we are willing to recognize.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.whitehouse.gov/fraud/

https://ccf.georgetown.edu/

https://apnews.com/article/ilhan-omar-home-search-immigration-probe-21e4b07a2c3a18addc751e4535f2954f

https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/W/bo3633529.html

The Geography of Our Grief

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Wed, 21 Oct 2026 08:01:37 GMT

“Listen; your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground!” — Genesis 4:10, NRSVUE

Yesterday, I stood where Renée Good was murdered.1 People had left photos, flowers, handwritten notes, and small tokens to honor her memory. It was just a regular street in Minneapolis, the kind people drive every day to work or school. Now, though, it is also a place marked by her violent death, where the community gathers because her absence is now part of their lives.

After that, I went less than two miles to where Alex Pretti was killed.2 There was another memorial, another ordinary street turned into a special place because an innocent man died there. I stood there for a while, trying to take it all in.

I have been to places like these before. On a previous trip to Minneapolis, I visited the spot where George Floyd died under a police officer’s knee. In Ferguson, Missouri, I stood where Michael Brown was shot by a police officer.

I never intended to make a pilgrimage to places where people have been killed by those entrusted with the authority of the state. Yet somehow, over the years, I have found myself standing in one after another.

I am becoming deeply weary of this terrible geography. I am tired of seeing regular streets turned into memorials. I am tired of meeting people whose lives have been changed forever by violence. It saddens me to know I will likely visit more places like this in the future.

Something is deeply wrong in a society that keeps making new locations for this kind of grief.

This week, I have listened to people in Minneapolis talk about what they are going through during the federal immigration raids. They shared stories of neighbors too scared to leave their homes, children learning to recognize the sound of warning whistles, and families planning their lives around the fear that someone they love could be taken away.

I have also heard amazing stories of courage. People who never saw themselves as activists started delivering groceries, going with neighbors to appointments, recording encounters with federal agents, and building support networks. They found a sense of solidarity they didn’t know they had. Their courage inspires me, though I wish they had never needed to find it in these situations.

I keep thinking of the words “war zone,” even though these are neighborhoods where people should be living safe lives. Children should be riding their bikes. Families should be out walking their dogs. People should go to work without worrying if they will make it home. Instead, some of these streets have become places where neighbors come together to grieve.

The Hebrew scriptures tell an old story that feels especially fitting here. In Genesis, Cain kills his brother Abel. When God confronts Cain, he asks: “Where is your brother Abel?”

Cain replies, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

God then says something remarkable: “Listen; your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground.” In this story, the earth itself becomes a witness.

Abel’s life was taken, but the violence did not end with him. Something lingers in the place where he died, asking to be recognized.

I thought about this today as I stood at those memorials. The people caring for them are doing something timeless. They refuse to let a place of death fade into anonymity. They leave reminders because love needs a place to go when the person is gone. Maybe they come back because it feels like the ground itself asks someone to bear witness.

There is another part of Cain’s story that bothers me. God’s question is aimed at the one who did the harm, but it also speaks to all of us, even now.

Where is your brother? Where is your sister? What responsibility do you have for people whose lives are at risk because of the power others hold over them?

I have been thinking about these questions as I meet people in Minneapolis who have organized to protect their neighbors. They are answering Cain’s question through their actions. They have become their neighbors’ keepers, sometimes risking their own safety. They refuse to believe that someone else’s suffering is not their problem.

There is something both beautiful and heartbreaking about this. I wish we lived in a world where this kind of courage was not needed. I wish children could blow whistles just for fun. I wish people could walk their streets without fear. I wish the places where I have mourned were remembered for the lives lived there, not for the violence that ended them. But wishing cannot change what has already happened.

I do not know how many more places like this I will visit in my life. I hope there will be none. But I worry that somewhere, right now, another family is living an ordinary day that will soon become their worst. Another neighborhood will become a place of mourning. Another community will have to come together around a loss that should never have happened.

I am thankful for the courage I have seen in Minneapolis. I have met people whose love for their neighbors is both strong and practical, people willing to risk their own safety to protect others. Their courage gives me hope, even though I cannot forget what it has cost them.

I keep thinking about the words from Genesis, about Abel’s blood crying out from the ground. That old story recognizes that violence leaves something behind that cannot be buried or forgotten. The ground becomes a witness to what happened, and those who are still here must decide how to respond to that knowledge.

Today, I stood on two more spots that hold these memories. I felt the sadness of lives cut short and the tiredness that comes from knowing how many places like this already exist. I thought about the people who will come in the days ahead, bringing their grief to these same streets.

I want to live in a country where the places we visit to remember each other are places where people lived good, ordinary lives, not places where those lives were taken by violence.

I want us to stop turning the places where we harm each other into sacred ground.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

Have you ever stood in a place where violence or tragedy occurred and felt the weight of what happened there? How did being physically present change your understanding?
What have you learned from people who have responded to violence or injustice by organizing to protect and care for their neighbors?
How do we remain open to grief and moral responsibility when repeated exposure to violence leaves us exhausted? What helps you resist becoming numb?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer: The Ground Remembers

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy One,

You hear the blood
that cries out from the earth,
the grief that lingers
where a life was taken.

Receive all whose lives
were ended by violence.

Hold their families
in the tenderness of your love,
and comfort the communities
who carry their absence.

Give courage to those
who stand beside the vulnerable,
and protection to those
who risk themselves for others.

Do not let our weariness
become indifference,
or our grief harden into despair.

Teach us to cherish the living
with the same devotion
we bring to remembering the dead.

May the streets of our cities
become places of belonging again,
where children can play without fear
and neighbors can live in peace.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: A Place Worth Remembering

Today, find a place that holds meaning for you because of someone who lived there. It might be a childhood home, a park where you spent time with someone you loved, a neighborhood where you formed important friendships, or a place where you experienced kindness that changed your life.

If possible, visit that place. Otherwise, sit quietly and bring it to mind.

Remember the ordinary life that unfolded there. Think about the conversations, laughter, meals, friendships, and small acts of care that gave the place its meaning.

Now consider the memorials in Minneapolis and the communities that continue tending them. Those memorials exist because people are trying to preserve the memory of lives that mattered far beyond the circumstances of their deaths.

Spend a few moments remembering someone whose life has made your world more humane. Let your gratitude for that person deepen your awareness of the lives around you now.

Before the day ends, offer one concrete act of care to someone in your community. Check on a neighbor, spend time with someone who feels isolated, or offer practical support to a person facing uncertainty.

The practice is to honor the dead by becoming more attentive to the living.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.fox9.com/news/minneapolis-ice-shooting-renee-goods-death-homicide-hennepin-medical-examiner-jan-23

https://19thnews.org/2026/01/alex-pretti-minneapolis-ice-shooting/

The Children Who Will Never Blow a Whistle for Fun

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Tue, 20 Oct 2026 08:00:46 GMT

“But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live.” — Exodus 1:17, NRSVUE

Photograph: Roberto Schmidt/AFP/Getty Images

This week, I am in Minneapolis, helping lead a conference and meeting with faith groups and other organizations. Everywhere I visit, people share stories about what they experienced during the recent surge in federal immigration enforcement. I’ve heard about neighbors coming together to protect each other, families too scared to leave home, children afraid to go to school, and everyday people doing things they never thought they would have to do.

People here carry a deep sense of exhaustion that’s hard to put into words. They hold memories they wish they didn’t have. At the same time, they are finding out they have more courage, generosity, and determination than they realized.

On Sunday evening, I heard a moving story from Flannery Clark, a brave mother from South Minneapolis who helped organize her neighbors during the immigration enforcement surge.

Last fall, Flannery started handing out whistles to her neighbors, hoping they could use them to warn each other if immigration agents showed up. She ordered 10,000 whistles, and they arrived just days before federal agents began working in her neighborhood in December.

On December 3, while driving home from work, she saw immigration agents in someone’s front yard with a man in handcuffs. A few neighbors had gathered, but no one had whistles yet.

She got out of her car and blew her whistle. Then she handed out whistles to everyone nearby. More neighbors showed up, and people started honking their car horns. She said the agents eventually left without taking the man away.

That was just the start. Soon, whistles became a regular sound in South Minneapolis. She heard them while walking her child to school, shopping, or even sitting at home. Sometimes, she even heard them in her sleep. By January, she wore a whistle all day, from getting dressed to going to bed.

On January 7, the day Renee Good was shot and killed by a federal immigration officer, Flannery had just finished helping kids get to school safely. When she got home, she joined a neighborhood rapid-response call. Minutes later, she heard that Good had been shot about a mile away.

Then she looked out her window and saw immigration agents stopping another car. She ran outside without even putting on shoes. In the freezing Minnesota cold, she stood on the ice in her socks, blowing her whistle as neighbors came outside. They recorded what was happening and tried to get attention for the detention. She remembers shouting at the agents, feeling both scared and angry about what had just happened nearby.

Later that day, she joined hundreds of people near Roosevelt High School after hearing that immigration agents were confronting students at dismissal. She remembers the shouting, the confusion, and the tear gas. But most of all, she remembers the sound of whistles.

Over ten weeks, she said, 170,000 whistles passed through her home. Many came from people far away. She, her husband, and their second-grade child helped hand them out across the community.

Then she said something that almost broke my heart. Her son is now in third grade. She knows he is part of a generation of Minneapolis kids who will never blow a whistle just for fun. For him, a whistle will always mean danger and bring fear.

Most of us remember whistles from when we were kids. We used them at birthday parties, sports games, and on playgrounds. They were loud toys that made us happy and sometimes annoyed our parents. We never thought that blowing a whistle could be an act of courage or a warning that someone was in danger.

But this child has learned that a whistle means people need to come outside. Someone might be scared. Someone might be taken away. His mother might suddenly run out the door, and he might not know when she’ll be back.

I wonder how it changes a child’s view of the world when the normal sounds of childhood turn into warnings of danger.

The Hebrew scriptures contain a remarkable passage in the book of Exodus about the Hebrew midwives, Shiphrah and Puah. Pharaoh has ordered them to kill newborn Hebrew boys, hoping to weaken a population he regards as threatening. The midwives refuse. The text says they feared God, and they allowed the children to live.

What stands out to me in this story is that the first people to resist Pharaoh’s violence were women whose everyday job was to protect life. They weren’t generals or politicians. They were caregivers who saw that following orders had crossed a moral line. Their resistance started when they refused to help harm the vulnerable.

I hear echoes of that ancient story in what people are telling me in Minneapolis. Parents, teachers, clergy, neighbors, and everyday people have started organizing care networks because they believe those around them are in danger. They watch school entrances, deliver groceries, walk with scared neighbors, and respond when they hear whistles.

Many of these people never thought of themselves as activists. They just wanted to live decent lives and care for their families. But the situation asked more of them.

Their courage is remarkable. But I hesitate to celebrate their resilience without also mourning the reasons it was needed.

Sometimes we talk about resilience as if suffering is valuable because it shows us how strong we can be. I find that troubling. People shouldn’t have to face terror to find their courage. Children shouldn’t have to learn to spot federal agents or join emergency networks before they finish elementary school.

The people I’ve met in Minneapolis have built strong bonds. They know their neighbors better now. They’ve learned to organize quickly, share what they have, and protect those who are vulnerable. Their care for each other is inspiring.

But their trauma is real as well.

I think we often misunderstand what it’s like for communities living with constant fear. From afar, we notice the dramatic moments—confrontations, arrests, protests, and violence. But we don’t always see how these experiences become part of daily life. People start checking the street before leaving home, memorize emergency numbers, sleep lightly, and teach their kids what to do if something scary happens.

At the end of her story, Flannery said that when she put on her coat for the first time this fall, she found one of the original 10,000 whistles she had ordered almost a year ago in the pocket. I wonder what memories came back to her. Maybe she remembered that first afternoon when neighbors gathered around a man in handcuffs. Maybe she thought of running barefoot into the January cold. Maybe she remembered the sound of hundreds of whistles outside her son’s school. And maybe she thought of her child who helped her hand them out.

The Hebrew midwives couldn’t stop Pharaoh’s oppression. All they could do was refuse to take part and protect the lives in their care. Still, Exodus remembers their names thousands of years later because their courage mattered.

I hope the same will be true for the ordinary people of Minneapolis who have spent these hard months protecting their neighbors.

I hope people remember their courage. I hope their communities keep growing. And I hope the children who went through this will one day live in a world where they don’t have to listen for whistles anymore.

For now, I’m grateful to be with people who have shown me what love looks like when it never gives up on a neighbor.

But I’m also grieving what this experience has taken from them, especially from the children.

I hope that someday, a little boy in Minneapolis will pick up a whistle, blow it just because he likes the sound, and find that nothing bad happens afterward.

Maybe that will be one small sign of how much healing we still have ahead of us.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

Flannery Clark’s story reminds us that children absorb the fears and experiences of the adults around them. What experiences from your own childhood changed how you understood safety, belonging, or the world around you?
Where have you witnessed ordinary people discover extraordinary courage when someone in their community was threatened or vulnerable?
How might we honor the resilience of people living through frightening circumstances while also recognizing the trauma they carry and working to prevent others from experiencing the same harm?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For the Children Who Hear the Whistles

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy One,

Hear the whistles
rising through frightened streets,
the voices calling neighbors
out of their homes
and into one another's care.

Hold the children
who have learned too early
the sounds of danger.

Shelter the families
who sleep with fear nearby,
and strengthen those
who stand beside the vulnerable.

Bless the courage
of ordinary people
who refuse to abandon one another.

May the streets grow quiet
without becoming indifferent.

May doors open again
without fear.

And may every child
one day lift a whistle
to their lips
simply for the joy
of making a sound.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: The People Who Answer

One of the most moving parts of Flannery Clark’s story is how quickly ordinary people learned to respond when a neighbor was in danger. They had not planned to become activists or emergency responders. They were people going about their lives who discovered that caring for one another sometimes required more than good intentions.

Today, take a few minutes to think about the people who would come if you needed help. Who would notice if something happened to you? Who would answer the phone in the middle of the night? Who knows enough about your life to recognize when something is wrong?

Now turn the question around. Whose life are you paying close enough attention to that you would notice if they needed help?

Choose one person who might be living with more uncertainty or fear than you realize. Reach out, not to offer advice or reassurance, but to ask how they are doing and what would help them feel more supported. Listen carefully, and resist the temptation to solve everything.

Then consider one practical way to strengthen the relationships around you. Perhaps you could exchange contact information with a neighbor, learn who lives alone on your street, or make a plan with friends to check on one another during difficult times.

Flannery’s story reminds us that communities capable of responding to danger are built through relationships that already exist before the danger arrives.

The spiritual practice is to become someone another person knows they can call.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

October 20, 2026 - 12:30 - 1:30pm ET - ONLINE BOOK CLUB - For the next 3 weeks, I am hosting a book club where we will read Fr. Gregory Boyle’s “Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times.” Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, has spent decades building community among people whom society has often discarded. In Cherished Belonging, he draws on those relationships and stories to explore what might happen if we stopped sorting people into categories of worthy and unworthy, us and them. Don’t worry if you don’t have time to read the book. We always have incredibly rich conversations. All are welcome. RSVP Here.

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

My dear friend Brian McLaren has a new novel coming in November, and I’m excited about this one. The Great Rift is the second book in his Last Voyage trilogy, imagining ten pioneers leaving a dying Earth for a fragile human settlement on Mars. The story weaves together ecological imagination, spirituality, art, survival, and the possibility of creating a genuinely different future. Brian is one of the most thoughtful and imaginative writers I know, and I love seeing him use fiction to explore questions he has spent a lifetime asking. The Great Rift comes out November 3 and is available for preorder now.

My friends at Church Anew have been building a terrific library of resources for congregations and church leaders navigating ministry in these strange and demanding times. You’ll find thoughtful worship and preaching resources, practical tools, and material designed to help communities engage the questions actually shaping our lives right now. I deeply appreciate the imagination and theological depth Church Anew brings to its work, so if you’re a pastor or congregational leader looking for fresh resources, spend a little time exploring what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

Where Have All the Grown-Ups Gone?

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Mon, 19 Oct 2026 08:02:15 GMT

“Learn to do good; seek justice; rescue the oppressed; defend the orphan; plead for the widow.” — Isaiah 1:17, NRSVUE

Jack Taylor/Reuters

A few weeks ago, teenagers in working-class neighborhoods around Paris started protesting outside their schools. They were fed up with crowded classrooms, rundown buildings, and missing teachers who should have been helping them prepare for their futures. Some students had gone weeks without lessons in certain subjects. They wanted an education that matched the futures they hoped to create.

Their frustration quickly spread. Students at other schools started organizing protests too, and soon parents, teachers, and labor unions joined in. By Saturday, the Interior Ministry estimated that 550,000 people were marching across France, while organizers said the number was closer to 800,000.1 What started as a protest about education had grown into a much bigger outcry about rising living costs, economic inequality, and a government that many feel no longer listens.

The photos from the weekend are hard to see. Streets were filled with tear gas. Cars burned. Young people ran from police. Officers were hurt in violent clashes. Shops were looted and public buildings set on fire. In Paris, a protester died after a medical emergency during the demonstrations. A fifteen-year-old lost a hand after a stun grenade exploded near a school, and a sixteen-year-old lost sight in one eye after reportedly being hit by a police projectile.

There is much to condemn in the violence. Burning buildings and hurting people will not fix a school or bring back missing teachers. Still, I think about the teenagers who were hurt and wonder what it means for a society when kids asking for a better future end up facing the force of the state.

I wonder how their parents feel today. Some are probably proud of their children’s courage, even as they worry about their safety. Others might be angry that their sons and daughters are getting hurt while asking for things that should never have needed a protest. And I imagine some parents feel a deeper pain because they know they have also been struggling in a society where decision-makers seem more and more removed from the real consequences.

It is heartbreaking to see young people realize that so few adults seem willing to take responsibility for the world they will inherit. These kids did not create the economic problems that make their futures uncertain. They did not choose how schools would be funded, which neighborhoods would get investment, or whether struggling families’ needs would come before other political goals. Adults made those choices, many with a lot of power, knowing the consequences would hit those with the least influence the hardest.

I am not saying the world is just made up of irresponsible adults and innocent children. Parents, teachers, public servants, and community leaders are working very hard, often in tough situations, to help young people have a better future. Many adults marching with these students have spent years trying to change the problems that finally pushed their children to protest. But these protests reveal something troubling about power. Too many people hold authority without accepting the responsibilities that come with it.

The Jewish theologian Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote, “Few are guilty, but all are responsible.”2 He meant that moral responsibility goes beyond those who directly cause harm. We are all part of relationships and institutions shaped by decisions we may not have made, but whose effects we cannot ignore.

That idea is uncomfortable because it asks something of those of us who see ourselves as decent people. Maybe we never voted to cut a school budget or failed to replace a teacher. Maybe we have spent years working hard, raising families, and trying to do the right thing. Still, the world our children inherit is, in some way, a world we have helped keep going.

Heschel’s prophets were especially frustrated with people who mixed up personal innocence and moral responsibility. They knew that a society could get used to suffering so slowly that even good people stopped noticing what was happening around them.

I wonder if the young people marching in France are asking adults to regain that sense of responsibility. They want decision-makers to think about the lives affected by their choices. They are asking those who are comfortable with the status quo to see the real cost of that comfort.

Maybe this is part of what it means to be a true adult. It means taking responsibility for situations we did not fully create and for consequences we may never face ourselves. It means caring about the future of people whose lives will continue long after our own choices are forgotten.

The students in France should not have to bear that responsibility by themselves.

Martin Luther King Jr. once said that riots are the language of the unheard.3 He was describing the conditions that can lead to violence, not supporting violence as an answer. He knew that condemning anger without dealing with the suffering behind it leaves the real problem unsolved.

That difference is important here. We can mourn the injuries, condemn the destruction, and still see that hundreds of thousands of people are trying to say something about the lives they are working hard to build.

I think many of us feel the same longing. We hope our children and grandchildren will grow up in communities where they can thrive. We want them to have good jobs, safe homes, healthy land, trustworthy institutions, and enough freedom from fear to find out who they can become.

Maybe that longing is part of why the images from France are so painful. We see our own hopes and disappointments reflected in those young faces.

Tomorrow, students across France will go back to their classrooms, though some will still find their schools disrupted. Families will keep worrying about the cost of living. Injured protesters a

d police officers will have tough recoveries ahead. The debates about responsibility will go on. And somewhere, a teenager will sit at a desk, waiting for a teacher who might not show up.

I hope we can keep that image in mind along with the photos of burning streets. It reminds us why the protests started and what is still unresolved after the crowds leave.

The young people of France are asking if the society they have inherited is willing to make space for their future.

That question deserves a better answer than tear gas. It deserves the patient, hard work of building a world where young people can imagine growing old.

Maybe that is what it really means to be a grown-up.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

When you think about the world today’s children are inheriting, what troubles you most? What gives you hope?
Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “Few are guilty, but all are responsible.” Where might you be called to accept responsibility for something you did not personally cause but have the power to help change?
Who were the adults who took responsibility for your future when you were young? What did their care make possible in your life, and how might you extend that gift to another generation?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For the Children Who Inherit Our World

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Merciful God,

Forgive us for the burdens
we have placed upon the young,
for the promises left unfulfilled,
and the suffering we have learned
to call inevitable.

Remember the children
who march because no one will listen,
and the parents who wait
in fear for their safe return.

Give wisdom to those entrusted
with the lives of others,
and courage to those
who must challenge their neglect.

Awaken in us the responsibility
that love requires.

May the world we leave behind
hold more possibility than fear,
more justice than indifference,
and enough hope
for every child to imagine a future.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: A Promise to the Next Generation

Find a photograph of yourself as a child, preferably around the age of the young people protesting in France. Spend a few minutes looking at it. Remember what you hoped your life might become, what frightened you, and which adults made you feel that the future was a place worth growing toward.

Now imagine a young person living in your community today. Consider the world they are inheriting, including the possibilities available to them and the difficulties they will face through no choice of their own.

Place the photograph somewhere you can see it and ask yourself what you would want the adults of your childhood to have protected on your behalf.

Then make one small promise to the next generation. Perhaps you will support a teacher, mentor a young person, speak up about a decision affecting children, or help create a place where young people feel heard and valued.

Write your promise on a piece of paper and place it beside the photograph.

Leave both there for the week.

The practice is an invitation to remember that adulthood carries responsibilities beyond our own survival. We are entrusted, for a time, with helping shape a world that others will inherit.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://apnews.com/article/44b9d3ba91ffad4029f975dced7e31cb

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/selected-writings-abraham-joshua-heschel

https://nmaahc.si.edu/explore/stories/language-unheard

Why Are You Still Carrying the Raft?

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Fri, 16 Oct 2026 08:02:17 GMT

“You should let go even of the teachings, to say nothing of things contrary to the teachings.” — The Buddha, Alagaddūpama Sutta (Majjhima Nikāya 22), translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu

Photo by Joshua Earle on Unsplash

The Buddha told a story about a traveler who reached a wide river. The side he was on was dangerous, but the far side was safe. There was no bridge, no boat, and no clear way to get across.

The traveler gathered branches, twigs, grass, and anything else he could find. He built a raft, got on it, and used his hands and feet to move across the water. In time, he reached the other side.

He must have felt relieved. The small raft carried him through the dangerous water and brought him safely to shore. Without it, he might not have made it across.

But now the traveler faced a question. What should he do with the raft?

The raft had been very important to him. He worked hard to build it, and it did exactly what he needed. Maybe he should carry it with him everywhere. After all, how could he leave behind something that saved his life?

The Buddha asked his listeners whether carrying the raft would be a sensible thing to do.

Of course, that would not make sense. The raft had done its job, and carrying it through forests and over mountains would only make the rest of the journey harder.

The Buddha shares this story in the Alagaddūpama Sutta, an early collection of Buddhist teachings.1 His message goes beyond the usual advice to let go of things we do not need. He is actually talking about his own teachings.

The Buddha compares the Dhamma, his path of spiritual practice and freedom, to the raft. His teachings help people move from suffering to freedom. But even these teachings, he warns, can become things we cling to. Sometimes we focus so much on keeping what helped us that we forget where it was supposed to lead us. That is a surprising thing for a spiritual teacher to say.

I have thought about this in my work with congregations. Over the years, I have seen many communities holding on to things that once helped them. A certain way of worship brought people together. A building became a favorite meeting place. A program changed lives. A leadership structure helped a congregation grow for years.

People put their love, work, money, and creativity into these things. They built relationships and kept communities going through many changes. It makes sense that people become attached to them.

But sometimes the crossing is already behind us. The world changes. Communities change. People’s needs change. Still, congregations keep carrying the raft because putting it down feels like betraying those who helped build it.

None of us are immune. We get attached to things that have given our lives meaning. Sometimes we think being faithful means keeping things the same, because we cannot see how to honor the past without repeating it. But maybe real gratitude means seeing when something has finished its purpose.

This is not just a problem for religious groups. Many of us hold on to ways of living that once helped us get by.

Maybe you learned early on that being independent was the safest way to get through life. You became capable, responsible, and very good at looking after yourself. That independence may have helped you through tough times. But now, you might find it hard to accept help, even from people who care about you.

Maybe you learned to avoid conflict because it once meant danger. That instinct kept you safe. But years later, you find you cannot speak honestly about what you need or believe. Or maybe an identity, a job, a relationship, or a strong belief about yourself once gave your life meaning, but now feels too small for who you are becoming.

These are not silly attachments. They often started as smart ways to deal with real situations. The problem comes when we keep shaping our lives around things that are no longer true.

The Buddhist idea of upādāna, which means clinging or grasping, helps explain this.2 We get attached to identities, experiences, beliefs, and situations that cannot give us lasting security. When life changes, we suffer because we are still trying to hold on to the past.

The Buddha was not saying we should stop caring about what we love. The raft was truly helpful. The traveler was right to build it and to be thankful for it. The trouble started when he thought gratitude meant carrying it forever.

We can honor what helped us without staying tied to it. We can cherish the communities that shaped us while letting them change. We can be grateful for the identities that once gave us courage while staying open to becoming someone new.

Of course, knowing when to let go takes wisdom. Some commitments are worth keeping for life. Love, justice, compassion, and faithfulness are not things to give up just because they are hard. The Buddha’s story asks us to look at whether something still helps us live well, or if we are holding on just because we cannot picture life without it.

As I get older, this question matters more to me. There are ways of working, leading, believing, and living that helped me for many years. Some still help. Others may now be burdens I do not need to carry anymore.

Maybe part of growing spiritually is learning to trust life enough to know when a crossing is finished.

I picture the traveler standing on the far shore, looking at the small bundle of branches and grass that carried him across the river. Maybe he felt fond of it. Maybe he remembered how scared he was when he first got on.

Then he set it down. He had a new life ahead, and he needed his hands free for whatever was coming.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

What belief, habit, relationship, or way of living once helped you through a difficult season but may now be limiting who you are becoming?
Where might you be confusing faithfulness or gratitude with the obligation to preserve something that has already served its purpose?
What might become possible in your life if you were willing to set down something you have been carrying for a long time?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For The Courage to Let Go

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy Mystery,

Thank you for the things
that have carried us
through difficult waters.

For the wisdom that guided us,
the people who sheltered us,
and the strength we discovered
when the crossing seemed impossible.

Give us grateful hearts
for all that has brought us here.

And when the journey changes,
give us courage to release
what we no longer need to carry.

May we honor what has been
without fearing what is becoming.

Free our hands
for the life still waiting
to be lived.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Setting Down the Raft

Pick up a small object that fits easily in your hands. It could be a stone, a piece of wood, or anything that reminds you of your past.

Sit quietly and hold the object for a few minutes. As you notice its weight, think of something that once helped you through a hard time but might not be as helpful now. It could be a habit, a way you see yourself, an expectation, or a belief you have held for a long time.

Think about what this way of living gave you. Remember when it became important, and let yourself feel thankful for the protection or strength it brought.

Now ask yourself if you still need to hold on to it. When you feel ready, slowly open your hands and set the object down on the ground or a table. Pay attention to how it feels to let go of its weight.

If you like, you can say: Thank you for carrying me this far. I am ready to travel differently now.

Stay still for a moment longer, letting your empty hands rest open in your lap.

You do not have to make a big decision today. Some things take time to let go of, and some may still be needed. This practice is just about seeing that gratitude and letting go can go together.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.dhammatalks.org/suttas/MN/MN22.html

https://encyclopediaofbuddhism.org/wiki/Upadana

The Government Comes for Its Critics

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Wed, 14 Oct 2026 08:01:10 GMT

“Justice, and only justice, you shall pursue, so that you may live and occupy the land that the Lord your God is giving you.” — Deuteronomy 16:20, NRSVUE

Consider waking to federal agents at your door. They have a warrant to search your home. You stand aside while strangers enter the rooms where you sleep, eat dinner, and spend time with your family. They examine your belongings and search through the private spaces of your life. Whatever happens afterward, you will remember the morning the government came to your house.

On October 12, federal agents searched the Washington, D.C. home of Representative Ilhan Omar from Minnesota.1 A judge approved the search as part of a criminal investigation. News reports say investigators are looking into claims about immigration documents linked to Omar’s family history. Authorities have shared little about the evidence, and no charges have been filed. Omar says she did nothing wrong and calls the search political intimidation.

In other situations, this might just be seen as a question about an elected official’s actions. Members of Congress must follow the law, and serious accusations should be investigated. But we can’t look at this search without considering the political climate around it.

Omar is a Black Muslim woman who came to the United States as a refugee from Somalia. She became a citizen and was later elected to Congress. President Trump has often singled her out in speeches and on social media, attacking her personally and pointing to her Somali background. His words have sometimes suggested that people like Omar do not really belong in America.

These attacks happen in a political climate where threats against elected officials are more common than before. In 2025, the U.S. Capitol Police looked into almost 15,000 concerning messages, behaviors, and threats involving members of Congress, their families, staff, and the Capitol. That’s nearly 60 percent more than the year before.2 Earlier this year, Omar was physically attacked while speaking at a public meeting in Minneapolis.

I wonder what it’s like to serve in public office under these conditions. You know your words might lead to threats against your family. You have to question whether the next person who approaches you in public wants to ask something or do you harm. The president keeps saying you don’t belong, and then one day, federal agents show up at your door.

We should be very concerned about how this environment affects people who serve and those who might want to serve. Political intimidation doesn’t mean everyone gets arrested. It just takes enough fear to make people worry about what could happen if they speak up.

Today is the 120th birthday of Hannah Arendt, the German Jewish political philosopher who spent much of her life studying how political communities can become vulnerable to unchecked power.

Arendt escaped Nazi Germany in 1933 and later came to the United States. As a refugee, she learned that the protections we expect from citizenship can become very fragile if the institutions created to defend them stop working independently. She called this the problem of the “right to have rights.”3

Arendt knew that rights depend on being part of a political community that can make those rights real. A constitution can promise freedom of speech, equal protection, and due process. But these promises become shaky when the institutions designed to enforce them start treating some people as less worthy of protection than others.

Omar is not without a country, and her situation is not the same as Arendt’s experience under Nazism. Still, Arendt’s questions matter whenever people start to wonder if their citizenship protects them as much as it should.

There’s another part of this situation that worries me even more. When elected officials fear for their safety, when public criticism turns into personal attacks, and when federal investigations happen in a hostile political climate, the effects can reach far beyond the person at the center.

Other people are paying attention. They are deciding if they should run for office, speak out, challenge a government policy, or defend someone targeted for political reasons. Some will keep going despite the risks. Others might decide it’s just too costly.

This is one way political freedom can slowly disappear, even if it’s never officially taken away.

The Hebrew scriptures set a high standard for judging how power is used.

In Deuteronomy 16, the people of Israel are told to appoint judges who will be fair and impartial.4 They must not twist justice, favor the powerful, or take bribes that would affect their honesty. The passage ends with the command tzedek, tzedek tirdof, which is often translated as “Justice, justice shall you pursue.”

The repetition is important. The biblical tradition teaches that justice is not only about the result. The way decisions are made must also be fair.

This is especially important when people in power believe they are doing the right thing. It’s easy to think that good intentions make any method acceptable. But the government’s moral legitimacy can’t just depend on what its leaders say about themselves.

An investigation should be based on evidence. A prosecutor needs to be able to drop a case that isn’t supported. A judge must stay independent. Citizens’ rights should hold up even in tough political times. And people need to trust that the same standards apply to everyone, not just those favored by those in power.

When people start to think that investigations are driven by politics, every prosecution looks suspicious. Supporters of the government assume its critics are guilty. Those who don’t trust the government think its investigations are corrupt. Evidence stops settling arguments because the institutions that should establish facts are no longer trusted.

In the end, even a fair investigation might not convince the public.

That’s a terrible situation for any society.

Arendt knew that political freedom relies on strong institutions, but she also stressed the moral responsibility of the people working inside them. Her thoughts on Adolf Eichmann made her look at what happens when people give up their own judgment to follow rules and authority.

Her warning is a canary call to us today. Justice Department leaders must keep questioning what they’re being asked to do. They should ask if their actions advance justice or just the interests of those in charge.

The rest of us must keep asking these questions too. I think many Americans are scared by what they see. There are threats against elected officials, attacks on political opponents’ legitimacy, and more doubt about whether institutions can be trusted to act on their own. This is especially troubling for people whose race, religion, immigration history, or minority status already puts them at risk of being left out. That fear is real and should be taken seriously. But it shouldn’t be the last word.

There are still people working to keep public institutions honest. Judges demand evidence, accountability and compliance with rulings. Lawyers protect constitutional rights and fight for the rule of law. True journalists look into abuses and follow the facts wherever they lead. Public servants say no to improper requests. Citizens organize, speak out, and take part in civic life, even when it’s risky. Their work is important because political freedom lasts only as long as people are willing to defend it.

Today, as we remember Hannah Arendt, maybe we should think about what it means to defend the right to have rights in a society where trust is so fragile.5

It means making sure the law protects people we distrust just as much as those we admire. It means requiring accountability when public power is abused. It means refusing to treat political opponents as enemies whose rights can be taken away for our own convenience. It means understanding that the safety of people who speak in public is tied to everyone’s freedom to speak.

When a member of Congress is too afraid to challenge the president, when a journalist fears payback for telling the truth, or when a citizen worries that disagreeing with the government could bring trouble to their door, the effects go far beyond just those people.

The real question is whether we can keep a society where people can disagree without being afraid of personal ruin. That’s a question worth asking as we remember Arendt’s birthday, and it’s one we can’t leave to future generations to solve.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

How has the growing climate of political intimidation affected your own willingness to speak publicly, challenge authority, or stand alongside people who have become targets of hostility?
Hannah Arendt wrote about the “right to have rights.” What does citizenship mean if the protections it promises become unreliable when someone challenges those holding power?
Who in your community is especially vulnerable to intimidation because of their race, religion, immigration history, identity, or political convictions? What would meaningful solidarity with them require of you?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For When Power Comes to the Door

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

God of Peace,

You know the sound of fear
when power comes knocking,
the trembling of those
whose safety has become uncertain.

Remember those who speak
while threats gather around them,
and those whose families
carry the cost of their courage.

Guard the vulnerable
from the cruelty of unchecked power.

Give integrity to those entrusted
with the authority of law,
and courage to those
who must refuse its misuse.

When silence becomes tempting,
strengthen our voices.
When fear begins to isolate us,
draw us into solidarity.

May justice remain a shelter
for every person,
and may we become guardians
of the dignity we share.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Keeping the Light

Find a candle and place it somewhere quiet. Beside it, set a small stone to represent the weight of fear and intimidation that so many people carry.

Light the candle and sit quietly for a few minutes. Think of someone who has spoken courageously in the face of threats or hostility. Imagine the courage it takes to continue speaking when silence would offer greater safety.

Hold the stone in your hand and consider the people whose freedom has become fragile because of their identity, beliefs, or willingness to challenge power.

Then speak these words aloud: May those who live in fear find protection. May those entrusted with power remember justice. May those who speak the truth find companions in their courage. May we never abandon one another to intimidation.

Place the stone beside the candle and sit for another minute, allowing the light to become a symbol of the freedom and dignity we are called to protect.

When you extinguish the flame, make a quiet commitment to stand beside someone whose courage is costing them something.

Let the stone remain where you can see it for the rest of the day, a reminder that the rights we cherish must also be protected for those whose voices others would silence.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

October 15, 2026, 7-8:45pm ET - I will be joining Jackie Sussman for an online session on practicing eidetics as part of our “Reclaiming the Power of Imagination” monthly series. Eidetic Imagery is a powerful tool for pastors, denominational leaders, coaches, and spiritual directors working with others, and for individuals seeking deeper integration and healing in their own lives. Jackie is a psychotherapist, author, and leading expert in Eidetic Image Psychology, and has spent over forty years helping leaders and individuals unlock creativity, uncover hidden strengths, and move through limiting patterns. During this session, she will lead a live Eidetic process shaped by mythic imagery, offering a direct experience of the work. REGISTER HERE.

October 20, 2026 - 12:30 - 1:30pm ET - FREE ONLINE BOOK CLUB - For the next 3 weeks, I am hosting a book club where we will read Fr. Gregory Boyle’s “Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times.” Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, has spent decades building community among people whom society has often discarded. In Cherished Belonging, he draws on those relationships and stories to explore what might happen if we stopped sorting people into categories of worthy and unworthy, us and them. Don’t worry if you don’t have time to read the book. We always have incredibly rich conversations. All are welcome. RSVP Here.

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://apnews.com/article/8e18c2aea948bd90f4d7a4eb32b9ec3a

https://www.uscp.gov/media-center/press-releases/uscp-threat-assessment-cases-2025

The Origins of Totalitarianism (1951), Part II, Chapter 9, “The Decline of the Nation-State and the End of the Rights of Man.”

https://www.sefaria.org/Deuteronomy.16.18-20

Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (1963)

When Killing Becomes a Spectator Sport

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Tue, 13 Oct 2026 08:01:35 GMT

“As I live, says the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from their ways and live.” — Ezekiel 33:11, NRSVUE

Photo by David Underland on Unsplash

On November 5, 2009 Nidal Malik Hasan, an Army psychiatrist, opened fire at Fort Hood, Texas, killing 13 people and wounding over 30 others. The victims were soldiers and one civilian, all of them en route to deployment. They had families, friends, lives and futures which were brutally cut short that day. Their families have been living with the grief of those murders for nearly 17 years now.1

Hasan was convicted and sentenced to death. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth now wants that execution (which is reportedly scheduled for Dec 3rd 2026) to be live streamed for the American people to watch.

This proposal is morally wrong.

It is repugnant for a government to invite people to watch the planned killing of someone. No matter what the execution is meant to achieve, showing it to the public turns it into a spectacle. It encourages us to see another person’s death as something to feel satisfied about, a show of power, or even entertainment.

This is not new in our history. In the past, public hangings drew large crowds. Lynchings became events where predominantly white people brought their families, took photos, and even kept souvenirs. These violent displays were used to show power, shame the condemned, and warn others that their lives could be taken with the crowd’s approval.

I am not saying that a military execution ordered by law is the same as a lynching. The history and legal context are very different. Still, making a death into public theater comes from a troubling part of our culture. It teaches people to gather around killing and see it as something that supports the moral order.

Christianity has a special perspective on this issue. At its heart is the story of a man who was executed in public by the Roman government. Crucifixion was meant to be a public display. The Romans made sure people saw the suffering, using it as a warning to others about the cost of defying their rule. The crowds were part of the punishment process.

For two thousand years, Christians have thought about this scene and seen how people can justify violence when they think they are right. Still, we are drawn to these public displays.

Our culture is filled with violence. We see it in movies and TV, play it in video games, and come across it on social media. We also watch real suffering in videos online. Some of these images help us see injustice, but others turn pain into entertainment. This difference matters because what we watch often shapes how we feel.

We cannot build a less violent society by cultivating an appetite for watching people die. We cannot teach reverence for human life while inviting the public to celebrate its deliberate destruction. And we cannot expect the next generation to develop compassion if we repeatedly present cruelty as a legitimate source of satisfaction.

This is a spiritual problem because faith shapes our character. Our traditions call us to practice compassion, mercy, self-control, and respect for life, especially since these qualities are not always easy for us. We learn compassion by practicing it again and again. But we can also get used to cruelty if we keep seeing it.

The old story of Cain reminds us of this moral line. After Cain kills his brother Abel, God punishes him and sends him away. But when Cain is afraid others will kill him for what he did, God marks him for protection. Even the first murderer in the Bible is not simply handed over to others for revenge.

In 2015, Pope Francis expressed that principle with extraordinary clarity when he wrote, “Not even a murderer loses his personal dignity.”2 This belief is not easy to hold. It asks us to see the humanity in someone who has done things we can barely understand. Hasan’s crimes were terrible. His victims should be remembered, and their families deserve our care. But his guilt does not mean we have to give up our own humanity.

I also worry about what this public event would mean for the memory of those killed at Fort Hood. Hasan would once again be the focus of national attention. His death would be shown, talked about, replayed, and watched. The people he killed could end up as background characters in another story about him. They deserve better.

For centuries, we have worked to build societies where justice keeps our desire for revenge in check. We created laws, courts, and systems to stop punishment from turning into uncontrolled anger. These systems are not perfect, but they show that we have learned power must be guided by moral responsibility.

Broadcasting a public execution takes us backward. It asks us to share in state violence as a group experience, encouraging the very feelings that a fair justice system should help us control.

I pray this plan is dropped. Even more, I pray religious leaders will speak out about what is at risk. A society cannot grow more compassionate by being cruel, and a government cannot teach respect for life by letting people watch someone die for entertainment.

The Christian cross should remind us of the danger of public executions. It should make us question any time the state asks a crowd to watch the suffering of someone it has condemned.

Maybe the most important question is what happens to us when we accept that invitation.

Every time we come together to celebrate someone else’s suffering, we lose a part of our own humanity.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

How has our culture’s constant exposure to violence affected your own capacity to feel compassion, grief, or moral outrage when someone suffers?'
Where do you see the difference between seeking justice and taking satisfaction in another person’s suffering? How do you recognize that distinction within yourself?
What responsibility do religious communities have when governments or public figures encourage people to regard cruelty as a legitimate expression of strength or righteousness?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer To Deliver Us From Cruelty

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

God of Peace,

We grieve the lives taken by violence,
the families left with empty places,
and the wounds that years cannot heal.

We grieve, too,
the hardness growing in our common life,
the ease with which suffering becomes spectacle,
and the hunger for vengeance
we have learned to call justice.

Have mercy upon us.

Guard the dignity of those we condemn.
Restrain the hands entrusted with power.
Awaken compassion where contempt has taken root.

Keep us from finding pleasure
in another person's pain.

And teach us to build a world
where justice protects life,
mercy tempers power,
and no human death becomes a celebration.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Refuse the Spectacle

The Sisters of St. Francis begin their direction statement with a commitment to ongoing conversion through contemplative living, respectful dialogue, and nonviolent action.

For today’s practice, choose one of those commitments and allow it to shape an ordinary part of your day.

If you choose contemplative living, set aside fifteen minutes to be fully present to something you usually rush past. You might sit outside, tend a garden, walk through your neighborhood, or simply enjoy a meal without distractions. Pay attention to what happens when you stop treating the present moment as something to get through on your way to the next obligation.

If you choose respectful dialogue, seek out someone whose experience or perspective differs from yours. Ask a sincere question and listen without preparing your response. Notice what it feels like to approach another person with curiosity rather than the need to persuade them.

If you choose nonviolent action, consider where your words, habits, or decisions might be contributing to unnecessary harm. Perhaps you can interrupt a pattern of contempt, support someone experiencing exclusion, make a choice that reduces harm to the natural world, or take one concrete step toward repairing a strained relationship.

At the end of the day, reflect on what you experienced. Did the practice change how you felt, what you noticed, or how you related to another person?

The Franciscan understanding of conversion invites us to keep returning to the work of becoming. We need not wait for some extraordinary spiritual experience to begin. Our ordinary lives provide more than enough opportunities.

Tomorrow, you can begin again.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

TODAY!!!!!! October 13, 2026 - 11-12:30pm ET - FREE ONLINE EVENT - The Art of Creating Community - We talk a great deal about the need for community these days. We are living through an epidemic of loneliness, deepening polarization, declining trust in institutions, and a growing sense that many of the places that once brought us together no longer do. But gathering people is not the same thing as creating community. Join me for a conversation with community strategist Laura Zug about the art and practice of forming communities that people genuinely want to be part of.

TODAY!!!!!! October 13, 2026 - 12:30 - 1:30pm ET - FREE ONLINE BOOK CLUB - For the next 5 weeks, I am hosting a book club where we will read Fr. Gregory Boyle’s “Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times.” Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, has spent decades building community among people whom society has often discarded. In Cherished Belonging, he draws on those relationships and stories to explore what might happen if we stopped sorting people into categories of worthy and unworthy, us and them. Don’t worry if you don’t have time to read the book. We always have incredibly rich conversations. All are welcome. RSVP Here.

October 18-21, 2026 - PREACH! 2026 Conference- I’ll be co-hosting PREACH in Minneapolis with Church Anew, a new gathering for preachers, storytellers, worship leaders, and spiritual communicators navigating what it means to speak with clarity, compassion, and courage in a changing world. If you’ve sensed that the preaching moment has changed and are longing for thoughtful community and renewed imagination for this work, I hope you’ll join us.

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://apnews.com/article/fort-hood-shooter-execution-pentagon-818853afc1be5c70fe41c5b781a8d559

https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/letters/2015/documents/papa-francesco_20150320_lettera-pena-morte.html

A Different Way to Live

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Mon, 12 Oct 2026 08:01:27 GMT

“Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewing of the mind.” — Romans 12:2, NRSVUE

I just returned from a wonderful weekend with the Sisters of St. Francis in Dubuque, Iowa.1 I was invited to help lead their community retreat as the Sisters and their associates keep exploring how to live faithfully and bravely in a world that often challenges the values they care about.

Over the years, I’ve been lucky to work with several Franciscan communities, and each time I come away with a greater respect for their unique spiritual tradition. The Franciscan way of life feels especially important right now. It offers a vision of human flourishing that our culture needs, and maybe has almost forgotten how to imagine.

The Sisters in Dubuque have adopted a direction statement that names three commitments: acting with a more courageous prophetic voice, collaborating with faith-based and justice-focused organizations, and sharing the Franciscan way of life and spirituality. They conclude with a remarkable declaration: “This is who we are; this is what the global community can expect of us.”

I love the audacity of that promise. In a world where institutions routinely make commitments they have little intention of keeping, here is a community of women telling the rest of us who we can count on them to be.

But the beginning of their statement became particularly meaningful to me over the weekend. “Together we commit to ongoing conversion through contemplative living and prayer, respectful dialogue, and nonviolent action as we respond to the urgent needs of our times.” For two days, I watched them put those words into action.

We talked about serious issues. The Sisters and associates are figuring out how to share their prophetic voice in a world filled with violence, environmental harm, inequality, and the exclusion of vulnerable people. They are asking how their unique gifts and commitments can help heal our shared life.

What stood out to me most was how they approached these questions. They welcomed everyone warmly, making us all feel at home. There was laughter, real affection, careful listening, and a willingness to tackle tough topics without losing kindness for each other. Their hospitality went beyond just providing food or a place to sleep. It showed how they see the Sacred in welcoming others. I left feeling truly cared for. I also wondered why this way of being together feels so rare.

Our culture is very good at shaping relationships around competition, consumption, status, and power. We learn to measure our lives by what we achieve, what we own, and how we stand out from others. Even religious groups can get caught up in survival, influence, growth, and protecting themselves.

But the Franciscan tradition starts from a very different place. When Francis of Assisi chose a life of poverty and simplicity in the thirteenth century, he was making a deep statement about what it means to be human. He rejected the idea that wealth, status, and power are the best measures of a good life. By choosing poverty, he wanted to free himself to connect with God, with others, and with all living things.

Francis saw creation as a family. He called the sun his brother, the moon his sister, and all creatures his relatives. This view challenged the strict hierarchies of his time, when people, especially the powerful, thought they had the right to own and control the world.

The Franciscan vision is based on the belief that creation is good, life is sacred, and our true identity comes from relationships, not separation. The spiritual goal is to let go of the need to own and control, so we can join more fully in the love that already exists in creation.

This way of seeing things has a big impact on how we live together. Simplicity helps us focus on what matters most. Peacemaking means having the courage to stay connected even when we disagree. Respect for creation means seeing the natural world as a community we belong to. Joy is a way to show thanks for the gift of being alive. Contemplation is the practice that helps us return to these commitments when the world’s pressures try to distract us.

I was especially moved by the Sisters’ commitment to ongoing conversion. In Christian spirituality, conversion is often seen as a single moment of change. But for Franciscans, it’s more challenging…and I might add, more honest. Conversion means a lifelong effort to let love transform our hearts, habits, relationships, and communities. It means that none of us is finished growing.

Even after years of prayer, service, and spiritual growth, these women see themselves as still changing, still learning about God. They are open to asking what needs to change in their lives and community so they can respond better to the world’s needs.

That attitude shows real humility, especially when combined with their brave commitment to speak out. Their contemplation helps them act more deeply. Their prayer prepares them to face injustice, build partnerships, protect creation, and support people whose dignity is at risk.

Last year, I wrote about another Franciscan community and said that the future needs Franciscans.2 I feel even more sure of that now.

We need people who can help us picture lives built on kinship instead of competition, having enough instead of always wanting more, and serving others instead of seeking power. We need communities that see peacemaking as a spiritual practice and know how to hold both joy and grief without giving in to despair. Most of all, we need real-life examples of what these commitments look like when they become more than just good ideas.

That’s what the Sisters in Dubuque showed me this weekend. They reminded me that a different way of living is possible because they are already doing it. Their community still faces struggles, disagreements, uncertainties, and limits like any other group. But they have chosen to keep coming back to a way of life shaped by prayer, hospitality, simplicity, justice, joy and love. They have made that commitment openly, as a promise to all of us. I find that deeply hopeful.

We often focus on what’s broken in our world and forget about the communities quietly working to heal it. Some are religious, some are not. They are people learning to share, care for the Earth, welcome strangers, solve conflicts peacefully, and build lives where everyone belongs. The Franciscan tradition is one especially beautiful example of this bigger human possibility.

As I left Dubuque, I felt grateful for the wisdom the Sisters and associates shared and the kindness they showed. I also felt something I’ve missed lately: a new sense of hope for the kind of world we could still create together.

Their lives invite us to look at our own. What if we shaped our days around what truly makes life sacred? How might things change if our communities measured success by the strength of their relationships, the generosity of their hospitality, the courage of their values, and the health of the world around them?

The Sisters of St. Francis have spent generations exploring these questions. This past weekend, they reminded me that the answers come from living differently every day.

And it truly is a beautiful way to live.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

What did you experience in a community or relationship that helped you imagine a different, more generous way of living? What made that experience so meaningful?
The Sisters commit themselves to ongoing conversion through contemplation, dialogue, and nonviolent action. Where in your own life might love be inviting you to change a long-established habit, assumption, or way of relating to others?
If someone observed your daily life, what values would they conclude you were committed to? How closely would those observations reflect the person you hope to become?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer To Teach Us Another Way

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy Mystery,

You have woven our lives
into the great community of creation.

Teach us to live as though
we truly belong to one another.

Free us from the restless hunger
for more than we need,
from the fear that makes strangers
of our neighbors,
and from the violence
we have learned to call normal.

Give us the joy of simple things,
the courage to make peace,
and hearts spacious enough
to welcome one another.

May contemplation deepen our compassion,
and may our prayers find expression
in lives of generous service.

Keep converting us, Holy One,
until the love we seek
becomes the life we live.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: A Day of Ongoing Conversion

The Sisters of St. Francis begin their direction statement with a commitment to ongoing conversion through contemplative living, respectful dialogue, and nonviolent action.

For today’s practice, choose one of those commitments and allow it to shape an ordinary part of your day.

At the end of the day, reflect on what you experienced. Did the practice change how you felt, what you noticed, or how you related to another person?

Tomorrow, you can begin again.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

NEW!!!!!! October 13, 2026 - 11-12:30pm ET - FREE ONLINE EVENT - The Art of Creating Community - We talk a great deal about the need for community these days. We are living through an epidemic of loneliness, deepening polarization, declining trust in institutions, and a growing sense that many of the places that once brought us together no longer do. But gathering people is not the same thing as creating community. Join me for a conversation with community strategist Laura Zug about the art and practice of forming communities that people genuinely want to be part of.

October 13, 2026 - 12:30 - 1:30pm ET - FREE ONLINE BOOK CLUB - For the next 5 weeks, I am hosting a book club where we will read Fr. Gregory Boyle’s “Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times.” Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, has spent decades building community among people whom society has often discarded. In Cherished Belonging, he draws on those relationships and stories to explore what might happen if we stopped sorting people into categories of worthy and unworthy, us and them. Don’t worry if you don’t have time to read the book. We always have incredibly rich conversations. All are welcome. RSVP Here.

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

Sisters of St. Francis website: osfdbq.org

What If You’re Only Holding the Tail?

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Thu, 08 Oct 2026 08:02:00 GMT

“Do not be idolatrous about or bound to any doctrine, theory, or ideology, even Buddhist ones.” — Thich Nhat Hanh, The Fourteen Mindfulness Trainings

Photo by Nathalie Lays on Unsplash

The Buddha told a story about a king who brought together people who had been blind since birth and introduced them to an elephant.

Each person touched a different part of the elephant. One felt its head and thought it was like a large pot. Another touched an ear and said it was like a winnowing basket. Someone else felt the tusk and compared it to a plowshare. Others held the trunk, touched the big belly, or felt a leg or the tail.

When the king asked them to describe the elephant, problems started right away. Each person had truly touched the animal. No one was lying about what they felt. But since each only knew part of the elephant, they soon argued over whose description was right.

According to the Udāna, the argument turned violent. They started hitting each other, each insisting that their idea of the elephant was the only correct one.

The Buddha shared this story after seeing religious teachers and philosophers argue about their beliefs. Each was sure his view of reality was right. The Buddha found their certainty almost funny. They reminded him of people fighting over an elephant that none of them could fully see.

This story has spread far beyond Buddhism, and over time, we have made it gentler. We tell children that everyone holds part of the truth, so we should listen to each other.

I don’t think the original story is so comforting. There really is an elephant. If someone holding the tail insists the whole animal is a rope, he is mistaken. The person touching the leg has found something real, but he confuses knowing a part with knowing the whole.

That seems much closer to the real spiritual problem we face. Each of us is touching something. Our histories shape what we notice. Our bodies remember certain experiences of safety and danger. We grew up in families, religions, cultures, races, nations, and economic situations that shaped what we see. We have our own wounds and privileges. We have learned things through love, pain, education, travel, work, and failure that others may never know.

We do see something. We just don’t see everything.

I’ve been thinking about this as our book group reads Father Gregory Boyle’s Cherished Belonging. Boyle has spent decades at Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles, working with people whose lives have been shaped by gangs, prison, poverty, addiction, and violence. He says the community is built on two beliefs: everyone is inherently good, no exceptions, and we all belong to each other, no exceptions.

That second belief changes how I see the elephant story. If I think the person on the other side is just wrong, I can ignore him. If I think he is ignorant, I can make fun of him. If I decide he is evil, I can try to defeat him and feel good about it. But if we belong to each other, more is needed. I might need to get curious about what he has experienced.

That doesn’t mean we have to pretend every perspective is equally true. Some claims are clearly false. Some beliefs cause real harm. Some people twist facts on purpose. Humility doesn’t mean giving up our moral judgment. It just means remembering that I can’t see reality from every side.

Boyle calls cherishing “love with its sleeves rolled up.” I like that because cherishing asks more of us than tolerance does. Tolerance can happen from a distance. Cherishing means getting close enough to see the person behind the label.

Something shifts when the person I disagree with becomes important to me. I want to know how they came to their views. I get curious about the experiences that shaped them. I might still disagree, but I no longer feel right turning them into just the worst thing they believe.

Maybe this is what the men around the elephant were missing. They had facts. They had strong beliefs. They even had direct experience. But they didn’t have enough humility or connection to wonder what someone else might know.

We live in a time when we have more information than ever, but we often end up surrounded by people who see things the way we do. Algorithms learn what we like and show us more of it. Our political and religious groups create their own ways of talking and thinking. After a while, people on the other side of the elephant seem impossible to understand. Then, their differences start to look like proof that they are foolish or corrupt.

I see this temptation in myself. As I get older, I’m more careful when someone’s view seems impossible to understand. Sometimes, the reason really is that the view is cruel, dishonest, or out of touch with reality. But sometimes, my confusion just shows the limits of my own perspective. They might have seen or felt something I haven’t.

Buddhism encourages us not to cling to our views. This doesn’t mean having no beliefs. It means not confusing our ideas about reality with reality itself. We can take what we know seriously, but not hold it so tightly that we can’t learn anything new.

Boyle adds something more. The person across from me isn’t just another viewpoint to consider. They are part of the circle of human concern.

This is why belonging and humility go together. Humility without belonging can stay in the mind: I admit I might be wrong. Belonging asks more. It asks if I can stay in relationship long enough to learn something I couldn’t see from my own spot.

That doesn’t mean we can or should keep every relationship. Sometimes, safety means keeping our distance, and justice means setting clear boundaries. But even then, someone’s humanity doesn’t depend on whether I agree with them.

In the Buddha’s story, the men ended up fighting because each was sure he knew the elephant. Two and a half thousand years later, that part of the story still feels very familiar.

Maybe the spiritual lesson is to hold our views a bit more loosely. The elephant is bigger than what we can hold, and the person on the other side still belongs with us.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

When have you discovered that something you were absolutely certain about was true, but incomplete? What helped you see beyond your original understanding?
Who in your life sees the world so differently that you struggle to understand them? What experiences might have shaped their perspective that you have never encountered?
What might change in your relationships if you approached disagreement with the conviction that the other person belongs within your circle of concern, even when you believe they are wrong?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For Beyond What We Can See

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy Mystery,

How easily we mistake
the little we have touched
for all there is to know.

Open our eyes
to the vastness of what remains unseen.

Soften our certainty
without weakening our courage.

Give us humility to listen,
wisdom to discern,
and love spacious enough
to hold those who see differently.

When disagreement divides us,
help us remember
the humanity of the one
standing on the other side.

May we cherish one another
even as we struggle toward truth.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Walk Around the Elephant

Think of someone whose beliefs or choices you struggle to understand. Pick a person you can talk to safely, not someone who has hurt you or crossed your boundaries.

Start by writing what you think this person believes and why. Be as specific as you can. Next, ask yourself how much of this comes from real conversations with them, and how much is based on assumptions, their politics, social media, or what others have said.

If you feel comfortable, invite them to talk. Let them know you want to understand how they came to see things differently from you.

Ask them to share an experience that shaped how they see things.

Listen to them without thinking about how you’ll respond.

You don’t have to give up your beliefs, agree with them, or act like harmful ideas are okay. The goal is to learn something about this person that you hadn’t seen before.

Afterward, think about whether your view of the disagreement has changed. You might still believe what you did before, but maybe now you understand more about the person who sees things differently. That’s a meaningful first step.

Father Gregory Boyle says that belonging is harder than just tolerating others. It means staying curious about people we might otherwise ignore.

Maybe humility starts when we are willing to look at the whole picture.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

What Grief Must Never Give Us Permission to Do

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Wed, 07 Oct 2026 08:01:37 GMT

“My humanity is caught up in yours. And if you are dehumanized, I am dehumanized.” — Desmond Tutu

Photo by Mike Labrum on Unsplash

Three years ago, everything changed for millions of Jewish people. On October 7, 2023, Hamas-led militants entered southern Israel and attacked kibbutzim, military posts, homes, and the Nova music festival. Around 1,200 people were killed and 251 taken hostage.1 Parents lost children, children lost parents, and young people who had been dancing all night suddenly had to run for their lives. Families waited for news, which sometimes came as the devastating confirmation that someone they loved had been killed or taken into Gaza.

For Jewish communities around the world, the attack reopened old wounds. Jewish history is marked by centuries of pogroms, expulsions, antisemitic violence, and the Holocaust. Israel has long stood as a promise that Jewish people would have a place where their safety did not depend on others. October 7 shattered that sense of security.

Today, we remember those who died. Their deaths need no explanation. Mourning should never have to be justified.

But three years have gone by, and what happened AFTER October 7 must also be acknowledged, as it changed the lives of thousands of Palestinians.

Israel’s assault on Gaza has killed tens of thousands of Palestinians, forced most people from their homes, and destroyed houses, hospitals, schools, universities, and places of worship. It has also led to widespread hunger and hardship. In September 2025, the United Nations Independent International Commission of Inquiry said that Israeli authorities and security forces were committing genocide in Gaza. Amnesty International and B’Tselem2, an Israeli human rights group whose report is titled Our Genocide, reached the same conclusion.3

Israel disagrees with these findings and says it is fighting Hamas, which carried out the October 7 attacks and operates among civilians. No matter how the arguments over words continue, Palestinian families have faced almost unimaginable loss and destruction.

Their dead have names as well.

One of the hardest moral challenges we face is learning how to remember October 7 without letting it become a reason to justify what happened afterward.

Trauma is real. It changes both people and communities. It teaches us to always look out for danger, and when trauma is shared, its effects can last for generations. Jewish history shows why threats to Jewish safety are felt so deeply, even if outsiders do not always understand.

But trauma must not become a theology. Trauma shows us where we have been hurt and what we fear might happen again. It deserves honesty, kindness, and care. But trauma cannot tell us who someone else is, and suffering does not make everything we do afterward morally right.

It is striking that October 7 is also Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s birthday.

Tutu spent much of his life fighting apartheid, a system that decided whose lives mattered and whose did not. He had little patience for people who stayed neutral when there were big differences in power. In a 1986 speech, he said, “In a situation of injustice and oppression, there can be no neutrality.” He explained this with the image of an elephant standing on a mouse’s tail. Saying you are neutral in that situation does nothing to help the mouse.

Recognizing the humanity of both Israelis and Palestinians does not mean pretending their histories, power, or situations are the same. Compassion does not mean treating everything as equal. We can condemn the massacre and hostage-taking on October 7 without seeing the genocide of Palestinians as something that had to happen or is morally acceptable.

Tutu’s work in South Africa teaches us another lesson. Tutu understood that reconciliation could never begin by asking people to look away. “True reconciliation exposes the awfulness, the abuse, the hurt, the truth,” he taught. South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission began there. Something happened. Someone did it. Someone suffered. The dead had names. Reconciliation, if it ever became possible, had to pass through truth first.4

Memory was important because truth was important. But memory also needed to help the living. Memory can protect human dignity by making sure the dead are not forgotten. It can warn future generations about what people can do to each other. It can keep names and stories alive that violence tried to erase.

But memory can also be used to justify more violence. Our own pain can make us ignore the pain of others. We might use our dead to justify causing more deaths. We can become so sure that we are the victims that we stop seeing the suffering we cause.

This is not just something Israelis or Palestinians do. Families do it. Congregations do it. Nations do it. Religious groups do it. People can build their whole identity around what has been done to them, until their pain becomes the way they see everyone else.

Jewish tradition has a belief strong enough to resist this narrowing. Genesis says that every person is created b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God.5 This idea is universal before it is about any one group. The person who scares me, the person whose politics I dislike, the person across a border, and the child born into a history I did not choose all have a dignity that does not depend on whether I recognize it.

Three years after October 7, reconciliation still feels very far away. We should not pretend otherwise. There is too much grief, too much destruction, too much anger, and too much that has not yet been faced honestly.

Maybe the spiritual task for this anniversary is smaller and more difficult. We remember the Israelis killed on October 7 with care and attention to who they were. We remember the Palestinians killed in Gaza with the same determination not to let them become just numbers. We tell the truth about what happened and what came after. We resist the urge to ignore another person just because seeing them makes our story more complicated.

Grief deserves to be present among us. But grief cannot be allowed to decide who is still seen as human.

Maybe that is the question this anniversary leaves us with: Can we hold on to what has broken our hearts without letting it make us hard?

As we consider this, know that I hold all of you who are hurting on this day in deep loving care.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

Has there been a grief or trauma in your own life that changed the way you saw other people? What did it help you see, and what might it have made harder to see?
Where have you encountered memory being used to preserve dignity and truth, and where have you seen remembered suffering used to justify new harm?
What would it mean to honor your own grief fully while refusing to let it determine the boundaries of your compassion?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer To Keep Us Human in Our Grief

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy One of Love,

Receive the dead
whose names are still spoken through tears.

Hold those whose lives were shattered
on October 7,
and those whose lives have been shattered
in all the days since.

Give us courage to remember
without turning memory into a weapon.

Let grief deepen our humanity
rather than narrow it.

When pain makes another person disappear,
restore them to our sight.

Teach us to honor the dead
without creating more graves.

And when peace feels impossibly far away,
keep alive within us
the stubborn recognition
that no human being
is outside the circle of dignity.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Hold Two Names

Today, find the name and story of one person killed on October 7, 2023. Learn something about who they were beyond the circumstances of their death. Perhaps what music they loved, what work they did, who loved them, or what future they imagined.

Then find the name and story of one Palestinian civilian killed in Gaza during the war that followed.

Do not compare them. Do not decide whose suffering is greater. Do not use one life to explain or justify the death of the other. Simply allow two human beings to occupy your attention.

If you pray, speak both names in prayer. If prayer is not your practice, sit quietly with their stories for a few minutes. Notice whether something in you resists holding them together. Become curious about that resistance without shaming yourself for it.

The practice is not moral equivalence. It is moral attention.

War reduces human beings to categories because categories are easier to hate, defend, sacrifice and forget. Names make that harder.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://apnews.com/article/20950e811130e9a1ee4056f207150f55

https://www.btselem.org/publications/202507_our_genocide

https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/mde15/8744/2024/en/

https://tutu.org.za/news/global-leadership-we-need-skillful-dexterous-humble-leaders-to-create-a-world-order-with-sustainable-solutions

Genesis 1:26–27

What Is an Economy For?

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Tue, 06 Oct 2026 08:01:58 GMT

“Hear this, you who trample on the needy, and bring to ruin the poor of the land.” — Amos 8:4

Photo by Adam Nir on Unsplash

By one measure, the American economy seems to be doing quite well, if we can trust the statistics—a big if. Unemployment is around 4.2 percent, which economists usually consider full employment.1 Most people who want jobs have them.

But when I talk to people, few say this is a good economy. People have jobs, but many feel stuck. Hiring has slowed a lot, so changing jobs is riskier. Wages have not kept up with rising costs. Housing, groceries, insurance, health care, and utilities take up more of the family budget. Consumer confidence is now at its lowest point in over twelve years.2

There is no contradiction here. The unemployment rate measures how many people have jobs. It does not tell us if their lives are going well. Earning a living is not the same as building a life.

The biblical prophet Amos lived in the eighth century BCE, a time when ancient Israel was quite prosperous. Trade was growing, wealth was increasing, and new houses were going up. Many people could look around and believe the nation was doing well.

But Amos saw small farmers losing their land because of debt. He saw wealth piling up among those who knew how to work the system. He saw poor people becoming more at risk of being taken advantage of.

In one of his strongest passages, Amos talks about merchants who can’t wait for the Sabbath to end so they can return to business. They keep the holy day, but their thoughts are already on the market. They plan to “make the ephah small and the shekel great,” changing the measures so poor customers get less and pay more. They even sell the leftover sweepings from the wheat.

“Hear this,” Amos says, “you who trample on the needy.”

His anger is not aimed at trade itself. People bought and sold goods in Amos’s time just like we do now. He is questioning an economic system that can create wealth while abusing the people who make that wealth possible.

For the Hebrew prophets, economics was always tied to faith. Land mattered. Wages mattered. Debt mattered. Fair measurements mattered. Sabbath mattered. The way immigrants, workers, widows, and poor people lived mattered because the economy was never just about moving goods and money. It shaped how people could live.

Isaiah later makes a similar point about religious practice. People complain that they have fasted faithfully, but God does not seem to care. The prophet says their fasting means nothing while workers are mistreated and neighbors go hungry. The fast God brings freedom, shares food, gives shelter, and fixes what is broken. You cannot separate spiritual life from the real conditions your neighbors face.

Economist and systems thinker Riane Eisler brings that old idea into our time by saying that “the real wealth of a nation is not financial.”3 Eisler, whose work on what she calls a “caring economy” has challenged conventional economic thinking, argues that “a nation’s real wealth consists of the contributions of people and of nature.” She says we therefore need economic measures that give visibility and value to “the most important human work: the work of caring for people, starting in early childhood, and caring for our natural environment.”

Think about how much of what sustains life is almost invisible in our economic accounting. A parent can spend a whole day feeding, teaching, comforting, transporting, and caring for a child without producing a dollar of measured economic output. A woman can spend years caring for an aging spouse and still remain almost invisible to conventional economic measures. Without that work, families fall apart, workers cannot work, and communities cannot function.

This same blindness extends to the natural world. Eisler’s point is striking: we have built economic measures that count what we take from life much more easily than what sustains it.

David Korten makes the distinction beautifully: “Money is a tool of the economy—not its purpose.”4

We are so used to talking about the economy in numbers that it is easy to mix up the measurements with what is actually being measured. Employment rates matter. GDP matters. Inflation matters. Markets matter. Money lets billions of people who will never meet trade goods, organize work, invest in the future, and build things none of us could make alone.

But none of those things is the real purpose. The purpose is life itself.

An economy exists to help people and communities sustain life. Its success should be seen in more than just numbers. It should be seen in families who can afford homes, workers who have time to rest, children who are cared for, elders who can age with dignity, and young people who can dream about the future without worrying if they can afford it. It should be seen in communities that can support people when life gets hard and in land healthy enough for the next generation.

Reasonable people will have different ideas about how to build this kind of economy. There are real debates about markets, taxes, rules, public programs, business, and what government should do. The prophets do not give us a detailed economic plan.

They give us a standard that every plan should be measured against: what is happening to the people?

That is the real question behind our unusual economic moment. An unemployment rate of 4.2 percent tells us something important about the country. But people who say they are tired, worried about money, struggling to get ahead, or scared about the future are also telling us something important.

We need both types of information. Money is just a measure. Life is what really matters.

In the end, the health of an economy should be measured by the health of the lives within it.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

When you hear the word “wealth,” what do you instinctively imagine, and what forms of wealth might that definition leave out?
What economically invisible work sustains your own life, and who is doing it?
If you measured the health of your community by the flourishing of its people and land rather than primarily by money, what would you begin paying attention to?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer To Teach Us What Is Wealth

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy Mystery,

We have learned to count
many things that matter.

Teach us to notice
what our numbers cannot hold.

The hands caring for a child.
The neighbor tending an elder.
The soil making food from rain and seed.
The hours given freely in love.

Give us wisdom to build a common life
where work carries dignity,
rest is possible,
hunger is answered,
and no one is discarded
because they produce too little profit.

May money serve life
and never become its master.

Teach us again
what it means to be rich.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Count What Doesn't Count

For one day, notice the work around you that rarely appears in an economic statistic.

Notice who cooks, cleans, listens, drives, tends, teaches, repairs, comforts, organizes, checks on a neighbor, cares for an animal, raises a child, or sits beside someone who is sick.

Choose one person whose work is easy to overlook and ask them about it. What does the work require? What makes it difficult? What allows them to keep doing it?

Then thank them specifically.

At the end of the day, make your own small balance sheet. On one side, write down the things you spent or earned. On the other, write down what made the day genuinely rich.

See which list tells you more about the life you are trying to build.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

October 6, 2026 - 12:30 - 1:30pm ET - FREE ONLINE BOOK CLUB - For the next 5 weeks, I am hosting a book club where we will read Fr. Gregory Boyle’s “Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times.” Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, has spent decades building community among people whom society has often discarded. In Cherished Belonging, he draws on those relationships and stories to explore what might happen if we stopped sorting people into categories of worthy and unworthy, us and them. Don’t worry if you don’t have time to read the book. We always have incredibly rich conversations. All are welcome. RSVP Here.

October 6, 2026 - 7-8:30pm ET, ONLINE EVENT - Matthew Fox and I are teaming up again to launch a series called Journeying with the Mystics. The mystics have always emerged in times of uncertainty. They appear when old certainties are crumbling, when institutions no longer provide easy answers, and when people find themselves longing for a deeper experience of the Sacred. Join us for a 24-session exploration of the teachings of St. John of the Cross, Thomas Merton, Hildegard of Bingen, Kabir and Rumi, Meister Eckhart and more. This is more than a lecture series. It is an invitation into a living spiritual journey. REGISTER for the first session HERE!

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.bls.gov/news.release/empsit.htm

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/us-goes-into-midterm-elections-with-less-dynamic-form-full-employment-2026-10-05/

https://centerforpartnership.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/2011-UN-General-Assembly-Address.pdf

https://davidkorten.org/the-new-economy/

What Have We Learned to Live With?

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Mon, 05 Oct 2026 08:01:43 GMT

“Hear this, you who trample on the needy, and bring to ruin the poor of the land.” — Amos 8:4, NRSVUE

In October 2019, while Donald Trump was president, his administration said the next year’s G7 summit would take place at Trump National Doral, his golf resort near Miami.1

People reacted quickly. Democrats spoke out against the plan. Ethics experts did too. Even some Republicans felt uneasy. The issue was clear: foreign governments would be meeting at a business owned by the president. Public duty and private profit were openly at odds. Within days, Trump dropped the idea.

Seven years later, it is happening anyway. This December, the United States will host the G20 summit at Trump National Doral. Leaders, diplomats, security teams, journalists, and delegations from around the world will gather at a property owned by the president’s family. There has been some criticism, but nothing like the outcry in 2019. The summit is going forward.2

The ethical question is much the same. We are the ones who have changed.

People have a remarkable ability to adapt. This is one reason we survive as a species. What once felt unbearable slowly becomes something we manage. After hurricanes, people rebuild. When illness strikes, bodies adjust. Families find ways to cook dinner again after a loss. Even in war, people create routines because breakfast still needs to be made and children still need to get to school. This ability can be a mercy, but it can also be dangerous. We can get used to almost anything.

Aristotle saw this over two thousand years ago. He said that character forms through habit. We become brave by practicing bravery again and again. We become generous by doing generous things.3 Over time, what once took effort becomes part of us.

Many spiritual traditions are built on this idea. Muslims pray five times a day. Jews observe the Sabbath every week. Buddhists meditate regularly. Christians practice confession, forgiveness, communion, and prayer. These repeated actions matter because people are creatures of habit. What we do often starts to feel natural.

But habit itself is neutral. We can practice compassion until it feels natural, or we can practice indifference. We can get used to corruption, cruelty, dishonesty, poverty, violence, contempt, and abuse of power. What once shocked us can, if repeated enough, fade into the background.

This is what concerns me about America right now. The Trump family’s business interests have grown a lot during this presidency. Reuters reports they are involved in cryptocurrency, artificial intelligence, drones, venture capital, and prediction markets, and estimates the president’s personal wealth has grown by about $2.2 billion.4 Congressional Democrats say they will investigate possible conflicts of interest if they get subpoena power after the midterms. The White House says these concerns are political, and Trump family businesses deny any wrongdoing.

Every transaction should be judged on its own facts. But there is a bigger question for all of us: What happens when actions that once clearly crossed an ethical line no longer get much reaction?

I don’t think people have just stopped caring. We are tired. There have been so many controversies, broken norms, lawsuits, investigations, executive actions, wars, scandals, threats, and emergencies that our moral attention is worn out. What once filled the news for weeks now barely lasts a day.

This is how things become normal. The line does not always move because someone convinced us the old one was wrong. Sometimes it moves because we cross it so often that we stop noticing. This should worry us about more than just Donald Trump. What else have we become used to?

Someone sleeping under an overpass we pass each morning can start to blend into the background. Another mass shooting alert pops up on our phones, and we swipe it away because we’ve seen it too often. Another species nears extinction. Another civilian death becomes just a number. Another cruel comment about immigrants, transgender people, Muslims, Jews, Black people, political opponents, or anyone outside someone’s group enters public conversation and barely gets noticed.

This does not mean we should always be outraged. That would wear us down too. Our minds and bodies cannot stay on high alert forever, and a way of life that keeps us angry all the time is not helpful. But there is a difference between learning to live with pain and learning to ignore it.

The Hebrew prophets knew this danger. Amos lived in a society where exploitation was so common that people could worship faithfully while cheating the poor at the market. His job was to make the familiar seem strange again. He wanted people to notice what they had stopped seeing.5

This is part of spiritual practice today. We need to regain our sense of moral astonishment. Not outrage at everything. Not constant panic. Not another excuse to spend the evening doomscrolling. Astonishment means seeing something familiar and asking again if it should ever have felt normal.

This practice has to start with us. It’s easy to spot what our political opponents have accepted as normal. It’s harder to see the contempt we’ve accepted in ourselves, the suffering we’ve stopped noticing, and the compromises that once bothered us but now feel easy.

Seven years ago, the idea of holding an international summit at a president’s private resort caused enough concern that the president changed his mind. This year, world leaders are getting ready to check in. Maybe the real question is not just how the ethical line shifted. Maybe we should ask what changed inside us as it moved.

What used to disturb you that no longer does?

And should it still?

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

What once disturbed you morally that you now find yourself barely noticing?
Where is the difference in your own life between healthy adaptation and becoming numb to something that should still concern you?
What practice helps you remain morally awake without living in a constant state of anger, anxiety, or outrage?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer To Keep Our Hearts Awake

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy Mystery,

Protect us from the slow sleep
of becoming accustomed
to what should still trouble us.

When cruelty becomes ordinary,
keep us tender.

When dishonesty becomes familiar,
keep us truthful.

When suffering becomes scenery,
restore our sight.

Save us from the exhaustion
that turns attention into indifference.

Give us hearts strong enough
to remain open without breaking,
and courage enough to notice
what we would rather not see.

May we never confuse
what has become normal
with what is good.

Keep us awake.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Make the Familiar Strange Again

Take a walk today along a route you know well. It could be through your neighborhood, around your workplace, through the center of town, or simply through the places you regularly move while running errands. Go slowly enough to notice what you usually pass without seeing.

Maybe someone is asking for money at an intersection. A stream filled with litter. A vacant building. A magnificent old tree. A political sign. A person eating lunch alone. A neighborhood where wealth changes dramatically within a few blocks.

Don’t immediately decide what any of it means or what you should do about it. Simply notice where familiarity has made something invisible.

Then choose one thing you noticed and become curious about it. Learn the person’s name. Find out what happened to the building. Learn where the stream goes. Look up the history of the neighborhood. Discover what kind of tree has been shading your street for twenty years.

The prophets were skilled at making people look again at things they had stopped seeing. This practice is an attempt to recover some of that attention.

At the end of the day, ask yourself one question: What have I learned to walk past?

You do not need to become outraged about everything you notice.

You simply need to see it again.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

October 15, 2026, 7-8:45pm ET - I will be joining Jackie Sussman for an online session on practicing eidetics as a part of our “Reclaiming the Power of Imagination” monthly series. Eidetic Imagery is a powerful tool for pastors, denominational leaders, coaches, and spiritual directors working with others, and for individuals seeking deeper integration and healing in their own lives. Jackie is a psychotherapist, author, and leading expert in Eidetic Image Psychology, and has spent over forty years helping leaders and individuals unlock creativity, uncover hidden strengths, and move through limiting patterns. During this session, she will lead a live Eidetic process shaped by mythic imagery, offering a direct experience of the work. REGISTER HERE.

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

The Convergence Music Project has scheduled the fall conference on October 7-10, 2026 in Louisville, Kentucky. We will sing new community songs created specifically for this time in our history and explore together how the songs we sing in worship (and beyond) can empower and encourage us as we live out the biblical call to “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God.” Learn more here.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.nytimes.com/2026/10/04/us/politics/trump-moving-ethical-lines.html

https://apnews.com/article/8130ecaafdde2f9bb09a880695a14d33

https://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/nicomachaen.2.ii.html

https://www.reuters.com/legal/government/democrats-probe-lucrative-trump-family-business-deals-if-they-win-midterms-2026-09-28/

https://www.sefaria.org/Amos.8.4-6

They Trained for Peace

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Fri, 02 Oct 2026 08:02:34 GMT

“I promise to serve humanity in the name of God. I promise to refrain from violence and from taking revenge.” — Oath of the Khudai Khidmatgar

Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan and Mohandas Gandhi

Today is October 2, which marks both the birthday of Mohandas Gandhi and the International Day of Non-Violence. While Gandhi is rightly remembered, I am thinking about one of his closest friends—a Muslim leader whose remarkable experiment in nonviolence is much less known to most Americans.

Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan was born in 1890 among the Pashtuns living in the mountains between what are now Pakistan and Afghanistan.1 His culture valued courage, honor, loyalty, and hospitality, but also had deep-rooted feuds and traditions of revenge that kept violence going for generations. British colonial rule brought its own violence and humiliation.

Ghaffar Khan realized that freeing his people meant more than ending British rule. They needed education, social change, and a new idea of strength. He opened schools and went from village to village, urging people to end feuds, educate their children, and help their communities. In 1929, this work became the movement he is best known for: the Khudai Khidmatgar, or “Servants of God.”

Eventually, about 100,000 people joined. They wore uniforms, marched, and drilled, organizing themselves into disciplined groups. In photos, they look like an army, but they carried no weapons.

Before joining, members made serious promises about how they would live. The wording of the oath changed at times, but the meaning stayed the same. They pledged to serve humanity in God’s name, to avoid violence and revenge, to forgive those who hurt them, to stay out of feuds, to live simply, and to serve without expecting anything in return.

When I first heard about this group, what impressed me most was their discipline and practice. They drilled, prepared, and took action.

We know why soldiers drill. No army sends people into battle with just a pamphlet about courage and hopes for the best. Soldiers practice because fear affects everyone. When chaos breaks out and there is no time to think, people rely on what they have practiced until it becomes instinct.

Ghaffar Khan saw that peace works in a similar way. It is easy to believe in nonviolence when no one is hurting you. It is much harder when someone humiliates you, scares your children, kills someone you love, or threatens what matters most to you. In those moments, a general wish for peace may not last against the rush of anger and fear.

So the Servants of God prepared themselves ahead of time. Their discipline came from Ghaffar Khan’s Muslim faith. Some people say his commitment to nonviolence came from Gandhi, but Ghaffar Khan understood it through Islam. He drew on sabr, the Quranic value of patience and steadfastness, as well as forgiveness, service, courage, and submission to God. The name Khudai Khidmatgar showed what the movement was about: serving God’s creation was serving God.

This is a Muslim story I wish more people knew. In the West, we often connect organized nonviolence with Gandhi or Martin Luther King Jr., while Islam is too often seen through stories of extremism and terrorism. Yet here were tens of thousands of Muslim Pashtuns promising before God to refuse revenge, even when they were beaten, jailed, or attacked.

Their nonviolence was active, not passive. They stood up to British colonial rule, organized communities, and built schools. They cleaned villages, settled disputes, and challenged customs that kept people in poverty and cycles of revenge. Ghaffar Khan was jailed many times and spent years behind bars. He knew that refusing violence can take more courage than committing it.

The setting of his story feels especially meaningful this week. Pakistan has once again launched airstrikes across the Afghan border in Kunar and Helmand provinces.2 Pakistan says it was targeting militants after deadly attacks inside its borders. Afghan officials report civilian deaths, and the United Nations says children were among those killed.

Almost a hundred years after the Khudai Khidmatgar started organizing in this border region, people there still live with violence, fear, revenge, grief, and ongoing struggles over security.

I do not want to suggest that Ghaffar Khan gives us a simple answer to the conflict happening there now. The history and politics are much too complex for that, and people living through war deserve more than easy moral lessons from afar. Still, his life leaves us with a question:

What are we practicing before the provocation comes?

Most of us practice something every day, even if we do not call it practice. We replay arguments in our minds, hold onto resentments, and revisit stories that confirm our dislike for others. We take in media that keeps us on edge. Over time, these reactions become habits. Then, when something happens, we wonder why anger comes so fast.

Spiritual traditions teach that we must build character before we are tested. That is why people pray every day instead of waiting for disaster to start. It is why Buddhists practice compassion, Christians practice forgiveness, Muslims fast, Jews keep Sabbath, and contemplatives return to silence again and again. We are training ourselves in ways of living that we hope will help us when life gets hard.

Maybe this is what Ghaffar Khan teaches us on the International Day of Non-Violence: peace cannot last on admiration alone.

If I want to have patience when someone makes me angry, I need to practice patience when things are easier. If I want courage when I am afraid, I need to build courage before a crisis. If I hope to resist revenge after being hurt, I need a deeper commitment already inside me.

The Servants of God understood this so well that they practiced for it. They knew challenges would come and wanted to be ready for them. That seems like good advice for us too.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

What response have you been practicing so regularly—anger, contempt, patience, curiosity, forgiveness—that it is becoming increasingly automatic?
When you feel attacked or humiliated, what usually happens inside you before you have time to think?
What quality would you want available to you in your next moment of genuine conflict, and how could you begin practicing it now?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer To Train Us in Peace

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Merciful God,

We pray for peace
while practicing so many things
that make peace impossible.

Teach our bodies another way.

Train us in patience
before anger arrives,
in courage before fear takes hold,
in mercy before we are wounded.

When revenge feels righteous,
give us strength enough to refuse it.

When another becomes our enemy,
help us remember their humanity
without surrendering truth or justice.

Make us servants of what gives life.

May the peace we desire
become the peace we practice.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Rehearse Another Response

Choose one situation that reliably provokes you. Do not choose your deepest wound. Choose something ordinary enough to practice with: a difficult colleague, a political conversation, a family tension, someone whose social-media posts reliably raise your blood pressure.

Imagine the next encounter in some detail. Notice the response you usually rehearse in your head.

Then rehearse another one.

Decide beforehand how you want to enter the conversation. Perhaps you will slow your breathing before answering. Maybe you will ask one sincere question before making your argument. You might decide not to use the sentence you know will wound the other person even though it would feel satisfying to say it.

Practice the response several times before you need it. This is not pretending conflict does not exist. Ghaffar Khan trained people precisely because conflict was real.

The point is to decide who you want to be before provocation makes the decision for you.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://khanabdulghaffarkhan.com/pages/khudai-khidmatgar.html

https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/pakistani-airstrikes-afghanistan-kill-nine-kabul-says-2026-10-01/

When Someone Puts a Thumb on the Scale

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Wed, 30 Sep 2026 08:01:50 GMT

“You shall have honest balances, honest weights, an honest ephah, and an honest hin.” — Leviticus 19:36, NRSVUE

Photo by Piret Ilver on Unsplash

Yesterday, the United States government launched a new website called America.gov.1 It sounds like good news. The federal government already runs more than 29,000 websites, and anyone who has tried to use Social Security, Medicare, veterans’ benefits, passports, student loans, or federal grants knows how confusing it can get. America.gov uses artificial intelligence to pull all that information together into what the government calls a single “front door” to federal services. In the future, people might use it not just to find information but also to do things like renew passports or sign up for Medicare. This is the kind of problem artificial intelligence should help solve.

Then reporters started asking the new system questions:

Who won the 2020 presidential election? America.gov answered that Joe Biden won. It explained that official federal sources found no widespread fraud that changed the outcome.

Reporters asked about President Trump’s impeachments and criminal conviction. The system answered those questions too.

But while the public launch was still happening, something shifted. America.gov stopped answering some of those questions and started saying it could not answer “political questions.” AP reporters saw some of these changes as they happened.2

This worries me for reasons that go beyond whether a chatbot gives the right answer. The government wants us to trust this tool. That’s the main point. Instead of searching through dozens of agencies, people are being invited to use one digital front door and ask for help. If the project works as planned, we might end up trusting it with even more important interactions with the government. So trust isn’t just a side issue for America.gov. The whole project depends on it.

The Hebrew scriptures use an old image to show what happens when something meant for trust is corrupted: a scale.

“You shall have honest balances, honest weights,” Leviticus commands.

Proverbs says that “a false balance is an abomination to the Lord.”

This might seem like an oddly ordinary topic for scripture. With all the things God could care about, why focus on a merchant’s scale? It’s because the scale made everyday life possible.

Picture an ancient marketplace. I bring grain, and you bring money. We might not know each other or share a family, village, religion, or history. But we don’t need total personal trust to do business, because we both trust the measure between us.

In a way, the scale doesn’t really belong to either of us. It belongs to the relationship between us.

That’s why the Torah and the prophets take dishonest weights so seriously. A merchant who secretly changes the measure does more than just cheat one customer. He takes something meant for everyone’s benefit and twists it for himself.

The prophet Amos was angry about this. He spoke out against merchants who wanted to “make the ephah small and the shekel great,” changing the measures so deals always worked in their favor. Their scales still looked the same and seemed fair, but the tool itself was no longer honest.

That image fits the times we’re living in. America.gov could become a powerful public tool. An older person confused about Medicare should be able to ask a question and trust the answer. A veteran trying to figure out benefits shouldn’t have to become an expert in government rules. Someone applying for a passport shouldn’t need to sort through six websites just to find the right form.

But a common instrument remains useful only as long as people believe the measure does not change according to the interests of whoever happens to be holding it.

This issue is bigger than artificial intelligence. We rely on shared tools in many parts of life. Until recently, we trusted our institutions to work for the common good. For example, we trust the National Weather Service to warn us about hurricanes, even if it’s bad for business. We trust public health agencies to report disease outbreaks. We trust the Census Bureau to count people fairly. We trust the National Archives to keep records, even if they might embarrass those in power. These institutions help millions of strangers work together.

The theologian Walter Brueggemann often talked about biblical economics as neighborliness.3 He said resources, institutions, and social systems should be judged by how well they help our neighbors, especially those with less power. When shared resources are treated as private property for personal gain, they become tools for taking advantage, not for building relationships.

This is especially important when the shared resource is information. The government holds a lot of information about us. It collects data, keeps records, and certifies facts. More and more, artificial intelligence will be the way we access that knowledge.

So the people building these systems have a special moral responsibility. They are the ones looking after the scale.

I don’t know yet what America.gov will turn into. The people behind it say it’s being built with privacy in mind, and right now, there’s no sign it’s being used for surveillance. The executive order says agencies keep control of their own records and the platform doesn’t create a central federal record system. We should keep an eye on these promises as the platform develops.

But what happened during its first hours should concern us. A public instrument began giving answers drawn from government records. Some of those answers became politically inconvenient. Then the instrument changed.

Maybe there’s a technical reason for what happened. But the main principle is already clear. Public trust is a kind of shared wealth. It belongs to everyone. Governments inherit it from generations who built strong institutions that strangers could rely on. Once that trust is broken, a press release can’t just fix it.

Ancient merchants knew how easy it was to cheat by pressing a thumb on the scale.

The prophets saw the bigger danger.

In time, people stop trusting the scale.

And then, something more valuable than the grain is lost.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

What institutions or shared sources of information do you depend upon precisely because you trust that they will serve the public rather than the interests of whoever temporarily controls them?
Where have you experienced the loss of trust in a person or institution, and what did it take—or would it take—to restore that trust?
What “scale” has been entrusted to you in your own life or work, and what practices keep you from putting your thumb on it when doing so would benefit you?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For Keeping the Measure Honest

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy Mystery,

You taught our ancestors
to keep honest weights
and trustworthy measures.

Teach us again.

Guard the things we hold in common
from the grasp of private power.

Give integrity to those
who tend our records,
our knowledge,
our institutions,
and the tools through which
we understand our common life.

When truth is inconvenient,
give us courage to leave the measure unchanged.
When power tempts us
to tilt the scale,
make us faithful to the neighbor
standing on the other side.

May what is held in trust
remain trustworthy.

And may we become worthy
of the trust placed in us..

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Tend Your Scale

Think about one place in your life where other people depend upon you to be trustworthy.

Perhaps you supervise employees, manage money, teach students, care for someone’s confidential information, lead a congregation, raise children, publish information, or simply have a relationship in which another person trusts you to tell the truth. That is your scale.

For today, pay attention to the moments when you are tempted to tilt it slightly in your own favor. Notice when you leave out a detail that makes you look worse, apply a rule differently because you like someone, present information selectively, take credit that should be shared, or tell a story in which your motives appear considerably purer than they probably were.

Don’t shame yourself for noticing. Catching the thumb moving toward the scale is the practice.

Then remove it. Tell the fuller truth. Apply the same measure. Give the credit. Correct the impression. Protect the confidence.

Trust is rarely built through heroic acts. It accumulates through hundreds of moments when we could have taken advantage of another person’s dependence upon us and chose not to.

At the end of the day, consider the people who trust your scale. Their trust is something you hold for them. Treat it accordingly.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.gsa.gov/about-gsa/newsroom/news-releases/gsa-joins-the-white-houses-national-design-studio-in-unveiling-americagov-09292026

https://apnews.com/article/ff86fcb161c1fe89538d6ecb294ea353

Walter Brueggemann, Money and Possessions (Westminster John Knox Press, 2016)

The Holy Interruption

Rev. Cameron Trimble — Tue, 29 Sep 2026 08:01:30 GMT

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” — Hebrews 13:2, NRSVUE

(Photo by Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times via Getty Images)

Rabbi Pinchas Shapiro of Koretz had a problem that some people might secretly wish for. People would not leave him alone.

Pinchas was an important Hasidic teacher in the eighteenth century, a disciple of the Baal Shem Tov, and a deeply thoughtful man. People came to him all the time. They wanted advice, asked for prayers and blessings, and brought him their problems.

The problem was that Pinchas wanted time to pray, to study, and to have some peace and quiet.

Eventually, as the Hasidic story goes, he became so frustrated by all the interruptions that he prayed and asked God to make people stop liking him. It seems God has a sense of humor, because the prayer worked. People stopped coming.

At last, Pinchas got what he wanted. There were no knocks at the door, no problems needing his attention, and no conversations taking up the hours he wanted to spend studying. He could focus on prayer and contemplation without anyone interrupting.

Then Sukkot arrived. Sukkot is a major Jewish festival (happening this week in the Jewish tradition),1 a harvest celebration when people build temporary shelters called sukkot. They eat, pray, celebrate, and welcome guests under these fragile roofs.

On the first night of the festival, Pinchas went to synagogue, hoping to find someone to invite home for dinner. No one wanted to join him. His prayer had worked too well. So Pinchas went back to his sukkah alone.

This is where the story becomes both strange and beautiful. In Jewish mystical tradition, there are the ushpizin, seven spiritual guests who are symbolically welcomed into the sukkah during the festival: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, Joseph, and David.2

On the first night, Abraham is welcomed. Pinchas began the traditional invitation, and Abraham appeared. But Abraham would not come inside. Pinchas was heartbroken and asked what he had done wrong.

The answer in the Hasidic story was simple. Abraham stands for chesed, or loving-kindness. In Genesis, he is known for his hospitality, sitting at his tent’s entrance and looking for strangers to welcome.3 Abraham would not sit at a table without guests.

I love this story because Pinchas finally created the perfect setting for spiritual practice, but God seemed to be waiting outside.

Sometimes I imagine how spiritually centered I could be if the world just stopped interrupting me. If the phone didn’t ring, emails didn’t arrive, nobody needed anything, the animals stayed healthy, the staff solved their own problems, and the news paused its crises for twenty minutes.

Then I could pray. Then I could meditate. Maybe then I could become truly compassionate.

Pinchas shows us the irony. Sometimes, the people who interrupt our spiritual lives are the sacred teachers.

The Zohar, which inspired the practice of ushpizin, teaches that welcoming spiritual guests into the sukkah should go hand in hand with generosity toward people who are poor. Hospitality in spirit alone is not enough.4

The great 12th-century Jewish rabbi and philosopher Maimonides was even more direct.5 When writing about the joy of Jewish festivals, he says that if someone eats and drinks only with their own family while shutting out strangers, orphans, widows, the poor, and the distressed, they are not truly practicing the joy of the commandment. He calls this only “the joy of the gut.” It seems spiritual teachers have been frustrated with exclusive dinner parties for a long time.

The lesson is clear. You cannot welcome the spirit of Abraham while turning away the people Abraham would welcome.

This does not mean that solitude is selfish. Pinchas needed time to reflect, and so do we. Every serious spiritual tradition understands that people sometimes need to step away from the noise to listen to what is happening inside.

Jesus went into the wilderness. The Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree. Muhammad withdrew to the cave of Hira. Jewish mystics practiced deep prayer and contemplation. Solitude can restore us, but its value is also seen in what happens when we come back.

If my prayer makes me less patient with the person at the door, something is wrong. If meditation makes me peaceful only until someone needs me, maybe I have just learned to be peaceful when no one interrupts me.

Sukkot gives us a beautiful example of another way. For a week, people leave the safety of their sturdy homes and live in shelters that are meant to be fragile. The walls are temporary, the roof lets in the natural world, and the line between inside and outside becomes thin. Then, people are invited in.

Maybe holiness needs walls that let things in. Boundaries are important. So are solitude and rest. We cannot be available to everyone all the time without running out of energy. But there is a difference between a boundary and a barricade.

Pinchas eventually realized what his perfect solitude had cost him. He prayed to have his old life back, and soon people started knocking again.

I imagine his prayer life became much less efficient. Maybe it also became more holy.

Sometimes a knock at the door is just an interruption. And sometimes, Abraham is waiting on the other side.

We are in this together,

Cameron

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Reflection Questions

What interruptions in your life have you been treating as obstacles that might actually be invitations into relationship?
Does your spiritual practice make you more available, patient, and loving toward other people? What happens when your peace gets interrupted?
Where in your life do you need a healthy boundary, and where might a boundary have quietly become a barricade?

A Prayer for the Day

A Prayer For When Love Knocks

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Holy Mystery,

Meet us in the quiet,
and meet us in the interruption.

Give us solitude that restores
rather than separates,
prayer that opens our hearts
rather than closes our doors.

When someone needs a place at the table,
make room in us.

When love arrives inconveniently,
help us recognize its face.

Keep our walls porous enough
for grace to enter
and our doors open enough
for someone else to follow.

May we discover the Sacred
in the silence we seek
and in the knock we did not expect.

Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Leave An Empty Chair

Put an empty chair somewhere you’ll see it today. If you have dinner at a table, leave one seat open on purpose.

Let this chair stand for someone you still have space for in your life.

Take your time before deciding who that person might be.

Maybe the chair is for someone you’ve been too busy to call. It could be for the neighbor you only wave to, someone new at your congregation, a colleague who seems lonely, or a friend going through a tough time.

The chair might even be for someone who has passed away. In Sukkot’s tradition of ushpizin, hospitality is wide enough to include those whose lives still touch ours across generations.

Take a moment with the empty chair and ask yourself, “Who have I made space for lately?”

Then turn the question into action. Invite someone for coffee. Make that call. Stay a bit longer after a meeting. Ask someone how they’re doing and give them time to answer honestly.

You don’t have to be available all the time. Pinchas needed solitude, and that was fine. The problem started when he made his spiritual life so private that no one else could join him.

At the end of your day, take another look at the chair. Maybe holiness is simply leaving some space for whoever might come.

Subscribe now

Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…

September 29, 2026 - 12:30 - 1:30pm ET - FREE ONLINE BOOK CLUB - We are starting our next book in The Commons. For the next 5 weeks will we read Fr. Gregory Boyle’s, “Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times.” Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, has spent decades building community among people whom society has often discarded. In Cherished Belonging, he draws on those relationships and stories to explore what might happen if we stopped sorting people into categories of worthy and unworthy, us and them. Don’t worry if you don’t have time to read the book. We always have incredibly rich conversations. All are welcome. RSVP Here.

October 6, 2026 - 7-8:30pm ET, ONLINE EVENT - Matthew Fox and I are teaming up again to launch a series called Journeying with the Mystics. The mystics have always emerged in times of uncertainty. They appear when old certainties are crumbling, when institutions no longer provide easy answers, and when people find themselves longing for a deeper experience of the Sacred. Join us for an 18-session exploration of the teachings of St. John of the Cross, Thomas Merton, Hildegard of Bingen, Kabir and Rumi, Meister Eckhart and more. This is more than a lecture series. It is an invitation into a living spiritual journey. REGISTER for the first session HERE!

Fun Things My Friends Are Up To…

I get to work with such amazing, creative people. This section is my way of celebrating them—no paid promotions, just joy in what they’re creating.

If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.

Subscribe now

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/sukkot-101/

https://www.sefaria.org/Zohar.3.103b

Genesis 18:1–8

https://www.sefaria.org/Zohar.3.103b

Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Yom Tov 6:18: https://www.sefaria.org/Mishneh_Torah%2C_Rest_on_a_Holiday.6.18