I’m Sorry, but I Don’t Understand.

Dear Beloved of Trinity Church,

As I write this letter, I’m sitting in the teachers’ lounge at the school where Sophia is working in Madrid, Spain. My Spanish is elementary at best. The teachers come in and warmly welcome me, but after a brief exchange most conversations quickly and politely come to an end. If we continue, we both have to work very hard because we are, quite literally, speaking different languages with very limited fluency in the other. Two phrases I do know are : “Lo siento, pero no entiendo.” (I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.) “Hablo solo un poco de español.” (I speak only a little Spanish.)

So…it takes work—real work—if we want to engage in conversation. It takes patience, creativity, and a willingness to explore different ways of communicating.

This can also be true at times even when we speak the same language—it can seem as if we don’t. Even if we understand every word being said, we may not truly comprehend one another. We see the world through different eyes. We hold different perspectives and opinions about what is true, or right, or good. We may be speaking the same language, but we still fail to understand—and sometimes, even when we do understand, we simply no longer want to engage.

It takes work and commitment, especially in our current reality, to truly communicate with one another—to genuinely seek understanding and to discern a way forward. Many of us are tempted to take the easier path: to throw up our hands and walk away. After all, it’s so much easier to be with people who speak the same language and think the same way we do.

We must resist, however, that temptation and do the hard work to keep the conversation alive. Only then do we have any real possibility of finding a way forward. And perhaps that way forward, precisely because of our differences, will be richer and more vibrant for everyone.

Peace and blessings,
Paul+

Olga y Marta (Two of Sophia’s co-workers)

Seeing with Fresh Eyes

Dear Beloved of Trinity Church,

 Some weeks ago, I shared that a friend took me to Longwood Gardens for my birthday. It was a cold January day, but within the warmth and beauty of the arboretum, we discovered such color and life. It was an oasis in the middle of the barren landscape of winter.

When I stepped into the first conservatory, my glasses immediately fogged from the dramatic change in temperature and climate. After taking them off and letting my eyes adjust, I simply stood there—eyes wide—slowly turning in place, trying to take it all in. Everywhere I looked there was beauty: vibrant flowers, towering palms, rich greens, and bright colors alive in the middle of winter.

My friend stood nearby with a huge smile on his face and began to laugh.

“I love bringing people here and watching their reaction,” he said. “Because there’s nothing like seeing it for the very first time.”

And he’s right.

There is something sacred about experiencing things for the first time. The first time we taste something delicious, smell the fragrance of a flower, hear a beautiful piece of music, or witness a breathtaking landscape—we are filled with awe, wonder, excitement, and life. But over time, familiarity quietly dulls our awareness. What once filled us with amazement becomes ordinary. What once made us pause becomes something we pass by without noticing.

What a loss.

The French writer Marcel Proust once wrote,
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

And G. K. Chesterton reminds us,
“The world will never starve for want of wonders, but only for want of wonder.”

In this season, I invite us to awaken our souls again to the gifts of God and life that surround us—to see again, as if for the very first time, the sunrise in the morning sky, the faces of those we love, the taste of our favorite food, the sound of a song that stirs our hearts.

To see again, with fresh eyes, the gift of God’s love alive in the world—so that our hearts may be stirred, our souls nourished, and our spirits enlivened.

Lenten Blessings,

Paul+

Lent: A New Heart and Spirit

Lent is a time when the Church calls us to consider what it means to live a new and redeemed life in Christ. This year, I think I’m experiencing the season in a much more visceral way than usual after a closer brush with mortality than I would have desired. For me, the past month has been an uncomfortably literal experience of Ezekiel 36:26: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you.”  (Sorry, I had to make this joke at least once, and I have now done so.)

More seriously, this season truly is about changes of heart and how they happen. In our gospel this Sunday, we will hear the story of Nicodemus who famously comes to Jesus at night, and who is invited to a life beyond his imaginings – a new life. In this passage, Jesus tells Nicodemus about a new birth coming from above, and we hear the promise that God makes to us in Jesus Christ: “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son to the end that all that believe in him should not perish but have everlasting life.”  We hear of being born from above, born again, and just like Nicodemus we may find ourselves becoming a little disconcerted by the whole thing. Change is hard, and all-encompassing, life-upending change is even harder.

Nicodemus discovers that you can’t be a disciple in secret. Sooner or later, the way God changes us will show. As Andrew MacGowan writes, what Jesus means is that “your life must change in a way so radical that it can be spoken of as rebirth,” and “the changed character of your life will reveal that your true identity belongs to a reality other than this world.” The two meanings support one another, showing that the change Jesus calls for and offers is not just incremental or partial (even though it may not be instantaneous), nor is it driven by our own initiative. We’re not in control of birth, after all, and we’re not in control of how we are given a new birth in Jesus Christ.  

Recall the famous prologue to John that we read at Christmas: “But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of a man, but of God.” Our faith is a gift. We can no more propel ourselves into faith than we can give birth to ourselves. We are not self-generated believers. But as we are given this gift of faith, as we are given these possibilities of something new, we may find that we end up being changed in ways we never would have expected.

Yours in Christ,

Kara+

PS From now through Easter, I am on a partial short-term leave and working reduced hours while I am in cardiac rehab. Part of this involves not working in the evenings, which is why you won’t see me at Pub Theology or the Wednesday night Lent programs. I’m incredibly grateful to Fr. Paul and especially to our intrepid interns Rachel, Rob, and Emma for stepping up in the meantime. If you would like to make an appointment during Lent, my hours look like this:

Mondays            9am - 12pm

Tuesdays           1pm - 4 pm

Wednesdays                12pm - 4pm

Thursdays                   Variable appointments

Sundays            7am - 12pm, 4pm - 6pm

Remembering Dr. John Bertalot

It is with sadness that we share the news that Dr. John Bertalot died on February 21, 2026, at the age of 94.

Many at Trinity Church will remember John for the joy, beauty, and reverence he brought to our music ministry during his years as Director of Music. His leadership shaped not only the choir’s sound, but also the congregation’s understanding of music as prayer.

Before coming to Princeton, Dr. Bertalot served for many years as Director of Music and Organist at Blackburn Cathedral in England, where he established a choral tradition of international renown. His work as a teacher, conductor, and author influenced church musicians around the world. Yet, even more so, he was a man of deep faith and a generous spirit. We give thanks for his life and faithful ministry.

We will be offering a service of Choral Evensong on Sunday, May 3, in thanksgiving and celebration of Dr. Bertalot.

More details will be forthcoming.

May light perpetual shine upon him.

Lent: A Journey of Recovery

Dear Beloved of Trinity Church,

There are recovery programs for almost every struggle imaginable because we have a tendency to lose our way. We drift. We fall. We forget who we are. Because our lives are fragile and fallible. We get ourselves caught in messes, tangled in confusion, knotted up in habits and hurts, and we often find ourselves wondering: How did we end up here?

Julian of Norwich, the 14th-century mystic, once wrote, “First there is the fall, and then we recover from the fall—and both are the mercy of God.” She names a fundamental truth of the human story: ever since the fall, we have been in a continuous state of recovery. Life itself is a soulful journey of remembering and returning—to the truth of who we are as beloved children of God.

Though we are forgiven immediately in and through the love of Jesus Christ, that does not mean we swiftly comprehend or easily live into that forgiveness. God’s renewal is given freely, but it often takes time for our hearts to receive it, trust it, and embody it.

So, I invite us, in this holy season of Lent, to accept with grace and humility the reality that we are in recovery. Not as a sign of failure, but as a sign of being human. The whole cosmos is, in some mysterious way, in recovery—groaning toward redemption. Though we continue to wrestle with sin and temptation until our final breath, God invites us to live gladly “because of the knowledge of his love.”

When we anchor ourselves in that love, recovery becomes reconciliation. Struggle becomes renewal. And we learn to trust, even in the midst of our healing, that “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Lenten Blessings,

Paul+

Addendum:

Though we are forgiven immediately in and through the love of Jesus Christ, that does not mean we swiftly comprehend or easily live into that forgiveness. God’s renewal is given freely, yet it often takes time for our hearts to receive it, trust it, and embody it.

So I invite us, in this holy season of Lent, to accept with grace and humility the reality that we are in recovery—not as a sign of failure, but as a sign of being human. The whole cosmos is, in some mysterious way, in recovery—groaning toward redemption. Though we continue to wrestle with sin and temptation until our final breath, God invites us to live gladly “because of the knowledge of his love.”

When we anchor ourselves in that love, recovery becomes reconciliation. Struggle becomes renewal. And we learn to trust, even in the midst of our healing, that “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Peace and blessings,

Paul+

Pathway of Love

Dear Ones of Trinity Church,

This evening, as I made my way from my office to the rectory, I took my usual path down by the Parish Hall and out the back door. But tonight, there was a wonderful surprise waiting for me along the way.

The hallway outside the Parish Hall was covered in little confetti hearts. It was our usual Thursday evening choir supper, but tonight there was a Valentine’s theme — beautifully decorated tables, special sweet treats, and heart-shaped confetti brought the occasion alive.

And as children are prone to do — and as I wish adults would do more often — they found the confetti hearts irresistible. They couldn’t help themselves. The hearts were scooped up and joyfully spread throughout the room and into the hallway.

I did not witness the actual scattering of the hearts. I saw only the evidence of it. And immediately, I smiled. My own heart was warmed as I walked home on a pathway literally covered in hearts.

If only we would do the same with our own hearts — with our lives and our words. If only we would find such joy in spreading the love that already dwells within us. The hope that lives within us. 

May we move through these coming days with the joy and freedom of the children, scattering kindness as freely as they scattered confetti hearts. May we spread God’s love generously, lavishly, without calculation - that all of us might walk each day along a pathway covered in love.

Peace and blessings,

Paul+

Welcome Jacqueline Burkholder!

A recent graduate from Westminster Choir College, Jacqueline Burkholder is a mezzo-soprano soloist and bass chorister who lives in Riverton, NJ. She teaches piano and voice at Cornerstone Music Studios in Millstone NJ and is a staff chorister at Trinity Church, Princeton. Jacqueline is thrilled to be expanding her involvement at Trinity Church, Princeton to include the role of Administrative Assistant for Music. She looks forward to taking her place in the staff who support the music program and the enrichment it brings to the community here. Jacqueline is the parent of an eleven year old girl and enjoys making and listening to music with her daughter, cooking meals for the people she loves, and reading books aloud with her partner.

A Letter From 150+ Bishops

A letter to our fellow Americans.

We, the undersigned bishops of The Episcopal Church, write today out of grief, righteous anger, and steadfast hope.

What happened a week ago in Minnesota and is happening in communities across the country runs counter to God’s vision of justice and peace. This crisis is about more than one city or state—it’s about who we are as a nation. The question before us is simple and urgent: Whose dignity matters?

In the wake of the tragic deaths of two U.S. citizens, Alex Pretti and Renee Good, we join Minnesotans and people across the nation in mourning two precious lives lost to state-sanctioned violence. We grieve with their families, their friends, and everyone harmed by the government’s policies. When fear becomes policy, everyone suffers.

We call on Americans to trust their moral compass—and to question rhetoric that trades in fear rather than the truth. As Episcopalians, our moral compass is rooted firmly in the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

This is what we know. Women were shoved to the ground, children torn from their families, and citizens silenced and demeaned for exercising their constitutional rights. These actions sow fear, cast doubt, and wear us down with endless noise.

We cannot presume to speak for everyone or prescribe only one way to respond. For our part, we can only do as Jesus’ teaching shows us.

A Call for Action

This is a moment for action. We call on people of faith to stand by your values and act as your conscience demands.

We urge the immediate suspension of ICE and Border Patrol operations in Minnesota and in any community where enforcement has eroded public trust. Because the rule of law is weakened, not strengthened, when power is exercised without restraint.

We also call for transparent, independent investigations of the people killed—investigations centered on truth, not politics. Justice cannot wait, and accountability is essential to healing.

We call on the elected officials of our nation to remember the values that we share, including the rule of law. Rooted in our Constitution, it ensures that law—not the arbitrary will of individuals—governs us all, protecting individual rights, ensuring fairness, and maintaining stability.

A Shared Commitment

Every act of courage matters. We must keep showing up for one another. We are bound together because we are all made in the image of God. This begins with small, faithful steps.

As bishops in the Episcopal Church, we promise to keep showing up—to pray, to speak, and to stand with every person working to make our communities just, safe, and whole.

We are committed to making our communities safer and more compassionate:

    •    So children can walk to school without fear.

    •    So families can shop, work, and worship freely.

    •    So we recognize the dignity of every neighbor—immigrant communities, military families, law enforcement officers, nurses, teachers, and essential workers alike.

You may feel powerless, angry, or heartbroken right now. Know that you’re not alone.

Each of us has real power: community power, financial power, political power, and knowledge power. We can show up for our neighbors, support small businesses and food banks, contact elected officials and vote, and learn our rights so we can speak up peacefully without fear.

Choosing Hope

This crisis is about more than one city or state—it’s about who we are as a nation. The question before us is simple and urgent: Whose dignity matters?

Our faith gives a clear answer: everyone’s.

Safety built on fear is an illusion. True safety comes when we replace fear with compassion, violence with justice, and unchecked power with accountability. That’s the vision our faith calls us to live out—and the promise our country is meant to uphold.

In the face of fear, we choose hope.

By the grace of God, may this season of grief become a season of renewal. May courage rise from lament, and love take root in every heart.

By the grace of God, may this season of grief become a season of renewal. May courage rise from lament, and love take root in every heart.

Faithfully,

† 150+ Episcopalian Bishops

Letter here