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

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+

Spread Your Love Princeton

Dear Good People of Trinity Church,

I would like to extend to you a heartfelt invitation to an evening of creativity, art, community, and love. On February 13th, Trinity Church will host #SpreadYourLove Princeton, a gathering rooted in our shared humanity and our call to love more deeply.

We are honored to welcome local artist Perry Milou, a local artist who has worked for several years with the Spread Your Love initiative, exploring our common humanity and the unifying power of love that created us. His work invites us to consider meaningful ways we can express and embody love in the world, helping to make our shared life more compassionate and whole.

In a time marked by division, discord, distrust, and animosity—when harsh and demeaning words often feel loud and overwhelming—we are called to gather together, grounded in love and grace. This evening is an opportunity to come together as a church community and as a wider community, united in hope and purpose, to help make our world a better place.

Please view the link below for a short video about the evening, and look for more information to come. Most of all, I hope you will join us on February 13th for #SpreadYourLove.

Forward in faith.

Forward together. 

Forward in Love  

In Christ,

Paul+

The Eyes of Jesus

Dear Beloved of Trinity,

As you may know, each day this month, I have been posting a short video reflection on social media, working my way through John O’Donohue’s book To Bless the Space Between Us.

Today, I offer a brief reflection on O’Donohue’s blessing entitled The Eyes of Jesus.

I imagine the eyes of Jesus were harvest brown,
the light of their gazing suffused with the seasons:
the shadow of winter,
the mind of spring,
the blues of summer,
and the amber of harvest.

The eyes of Jesus gaze on us.¸
This gaze knows the signature of our heartbeat.
It recognizes us before we explain ourselves,
names us before we speak.

Forever falling softly on our faces,
his gaze piles the soul with light.

What we cast our gaze upon, over time, shapes our lives. Our attention is never neutral; it forms our desires, trains our loves, and slowly makes us into a certain kind of person. So we are wise to be gentle and cautious with our looking—with what we linger over, what we scroll past,
what we allow to claim our eyes and our hearts.

And yet, there is a gaze that does not drain us or scatter us.
The gaze of Jesus does not demand or diminish.
It rests upon us with patience and delight.
To meet his eyes is to be seen without fear,
known without being reduced,
loved without condition.

This is the gaze that changes us.
This is the gaze that sustains us.
This is the gaze that quietly reminds us, again and again,
that we are already beloved.

Grace and peace,
Paul+

Beauty

Dear Beloved of Trinity,

Yesterday, a good friend took me on what he called a “field trip.” He sensed that I needed a break—a day set aside for quiet, reflection, and beauty. In other words, a soul-cation.

We drove about an hour and a half to Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. Longwood describes itself as “the living legacy of Pierre S. du Pont, bringing joy and inspiration to everyone through the beauty of nature, conservation, and learning.” In their vision statement, they declare: “We envision a world where beauty is accessible to all.”

The Irish poet and theologian John O’Donohue once wrote, “Beauty isn’t all about just nice loveliness. Beauty is about more rounded, substantial becoming. I think beauty, in that sense, is about an emerging fullness, a greater sense of grace and elegance, a deeper sense of depth, and also a kind of homecoming for the enriched memory of your unfolding life.” O’Donohue insisted that beauty is a human calling.

We are meant to live our lives embraced and animated, challenged and healed, inspired and sustained by beauty. Beauty is all around us, yet so often we fail to recognize it. Our world offers cheap imitations—quick dopamine hits that fire in our brains—and we mistake these fleeting sensations for beauty itself.

God, with great intention, infused all of creation with beauty, knowing it would help to sustain and heal us, revive and inspire us. To remind us of this sacred truth, I share with you the iconic hymn “For the Beauty of the Earth.”

For the beauty of the earth,
for the glory of the skies,
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies.
Christ, our Lord, to you we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the wonder of each hour
of the day and of the night,
hill and vale and tree and flower,
sun and moon and stars of light.
Christ, our Lord, to you we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human love,
brother, sister, parent, child,
friends on earth, and friends above,
for all gentle thoughts and mild.
Christ, our Lord, to you we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For yourself, best gift divine,
to the world so freely given,
agent of God’s grand design:
peace on earth and joy in heaven.
Christ, our Lord, to you we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.

May the beauty of God—and of God’s creation—bless you this day.

Peace and Blessings,

Paul+