Somebody

I met Rev. Jesse Jackson once. I was an aspiring young journalist at an HBCU, and Rev. Jackson was doing a tour of college campuses, warning young college students to “Stay out of the Bushes!” prior to the 2000 election. Even in the late 1990s, he was still coming up with catchy phrases for us to repeat. (Nothing will ever top “I am Somebody) He was an impressive figure, even then. His appearance was striking and his voice was strong. Standing next to him, I felt small. (Granted, I was probably only a hundred pounds and barely over 5 feet tall.)

This weekend, they buried the civil rights icon, and I didn’t watch for multiple reasons. First, I didn’t have 10 hours of free time this weekend. Those funerals were entirely too long. Yes, Rev. Jackson was a legendary figure who deserved all the accolades, but two days is too much. Second, I did not want to watch his children grieve. Yes, this was a tremendous loss for our community. But the Jackson children weren’t burying a presidential candidate and cultural critic. They were burying their father. I could bear witness to and acknowledge that grief, without watching it on TV.

I heard three presidents spoke, and songstress Kim Burrell remixed Tamela Mann’s “Take Me to the King.” I heard everybody went over their time limit. I heard that Jesse Jackson, Jr. berated the musicians for trying to rush one of his sisters through her portion of the program. But the thing I have heard the most about is President Obama not acknowledging Rev. Jeremiah Wright who was sitting in the front row.

As a Black Baptist, I have become familiar with pulpit etiquette. You acknowledge God, who is the head of your life, the pastor and other ministers on the roster, clergy in the pews, deacons, elders, officers, members and friends. In some places, you also acknowledge their wives. (I’m Black and Baptist. All of the church officers and every person in the pulpit is usually a man.) I’m pretty sure President Obama knows black church etiquette, too. And I don’t know if he did it on purpose or not. I can’t imagine he would purposely not acknowledge his former pastor. I don’t even like most of my former pastors, and even I would acknowledge them if I was behind the lectern. (The LORD does not allow me behind a lectern for a reason!)

Here’s what I know. Pastor Jeremiah Wright was a powerhouse preacher in the Chicago area. He was there paying his respects as we laid one of his contemporaries to rest. He was not supposed to be the story. Neither was Barack Obama. The fact that nearly every commentary I’ve read about the funeral talked about the two of them is insane.

Do I think Rev. Jeremiah Wright deserves to hear accolades while he is alive, especially from the people he directly impacted? Absolutely. But to make that all we’re talking about after 10 hours of a memorial is too much. We focused on the wrong thing.

The church is guilty of this on so many fronts. We focus on protocol over praise. Some of the best gospel artists in the industry sang at those funerals, and other than a parody of Kim Burrell’s remix, I haven’t heard a single word about it. We focus on possible grievances over an actual grieving family.

I hope the purpose of these services was to memorialize a man who worked to make the world a better place. I hope we aimed to honor his service and his sacrifice. I hope we wanted to offer comfort to a family who lost their patriarch. And I hope we wanted to thank God for the gift that was Jesse Jackson.

He was somebody, for sure. And he reminded us all, that we were, too. That should have been the story.

The Shadow Docket (Purim 2026)

If you’re unfamiliar with the term, it is shorthand for when the US Supreme Court issues rulings or procedural motions without a full hearing of arguments. Shadow docket cases do not receive written opinions or a vote from the full court. But the shadow docket often reveals clues about how the court is leaning. This is not about the Roberts’ Court. While I certainly would love to write about some of the court’s decisions in the last few years, that is not how I use this space.

This isn’t about politics at all, really. It’s about me. It’s about all of us, and the Jewish festival of Purim. I love the book of Esther. It’s one of my favorite stories to rehash, and Purim gives me the excuse to go through it again. To make a long story short, an unlikely heroine emerges. She saves her people and reveals the wicked plot of the villain, that wicked Haman (boo, hiss!), who is hanged on the very gallows he had set up to hang one of Esther’s relatives.

I was listening to a rabbi give her meditation, and she said the festival of Purim is about revealing what was hidden. She said the purpose of the costumes people often wear during the Purim festivities often reveal their shadowed selves. This particular rabbi was thinking of dressing up as a barely-clothed waitress from a famous restaurant chain, supposedly famous for their wings. I laughed, but then I started thinking, ‘what does my shadow self look like and what does that reveal about me?’

The scariest part for me was that I don’t believe my shadow-self looks any different than the everyday version of me. She is still a natural-haired hot mess with color changing eyes and a not-so sunny disposition. Shadow me is mean on purpose. Everyday me is just not approachable. Shadow me does all the good work that everyday me never gets around to actually doing. She also wants everybody to know about it. Everyday me prays Nehemiah’s prayer in secret. “Remember me for this”! Shadow me won’t ever let you forget what she did for you.

Unlike SCOTUS, I do not pretend the shadow docket doesn’t exist. I am fully aware of the darkness that lurks within. But I am also fully aware that the shadow only exists because of the light that dwells within. Shadows don’t exist in complete darkness.

So if the church is supposed to be a shining city on a hill, I wonder what it’s shadow self looks like.

Instead of a public hospital, does it become an exclusive country club, where membership has it’s privileges, but we damn everyone else to life outside the gates?

Instead of being a place for honest introspection, reflection, and change does it become an echo chamber of ideas we already espouse?

Instead of being a place where people come to be recharged, is it a place that is sucking the life out of people?

This Purim, as I think about hidden things being revealed, I can’t help but think about what is happening in this country and the world. I think about a school being bombed abroad, and school shootings here at home. I think about hatred and fear. I think about the uptick in depression and anxiety and am almost crippled by my own since of overwhelm and grief.

Then I remember, the only reason I can even recognize the darkness, is because I have been called into the marvelous light. My heart breaks for those who only know the darkness. Shadow work is hard and heavy, but is a privilege to be able to do it.

Usually at Purim, they will retell the story. They will eat, drink and be merry. They will laugh at the appropriate points in the story. (You see what I did there?)They will jeer and make noise whenever the villain’s name is said. I don’t know what Purim will look like this year, as a result of recent events.

But I would hope that we all could take a few moments to consider the idea of heroes and villains, and think about which one we want to be…and which one our actions are most closely aligned with.

Do not go gentle into that good night – Dylan Thomas

You Can’t be Serious!

For more than two weeks, I saw y’all post 101 commentaries about that lady’s dress. Some of y’all even wrote commentaries about the commentary. Somebody went viral for his derogatory comments about the dress from the pulpit. (For the record, I thought the dress was beautiful. I wish I could pull it off and that ‘pastor’ was way out of line.”)

And now those same people are providing discourse on Druski’s megachurch skit. This is the first Druski skit I ever watched in full, and while I chuckled a few times, I didn’t think it was that funny. I’ve seen way more hilarious things happen in actual churches. For instance, this one time at our last church home, this lady charged the pulpit, and in trying to wrangle her away, one of the deacons accidentally knocked the lady’s wig off. Then they tried to put it back on her, but they did it backwards. Fifteen years later, the deacons are still arguing about who was the guilty party. I am laughing now just thinking about it.

Which one of us as a kid didn’t reenact something funny we saw at church? Who among us hasn’t laughed at what is supposed to have been a sacred moment? The church can be a place where funny things happen. So no, I wasn’t offended by Druski’s Louboutin loafers.

What I am offended by is the silence of our churches as armed men smash in doors and car windows, and disappear people off our streets. I am upset the church hasn’t publicly wrapped their arms around Renee Good’s widow and children. I am upset that we are not calling for both justice and peace.

How could Dr. Turner-Bryant’s dress have been more offensive than extrajudicial murders carried out by government agents? How could a comedy skit rile us up more than what is actually happening to our neighbors? I want all those people talking about Christian modesty and “Holiness is right” to talk about issues that actually matter. I think targeting Illusion fabric and a comedian who wears designers whose first names happen to be Christian are safe and easy targets.

It’s harder to address injustice and persecution. It’s even harder to admit that the church has not only been complicit in said injustices, but that we have often perpetuated those injustices against our own members.

But until the church is able to do that, it will be harder for some people to ever take us serious.

Photo Credit: Nappy via Pexels.com

Such A Time As This

You know I stay critiquing our churches. It’s one of my favorite things to do. I do so out of love and profound respect for the institution. My goal has always to make the church be its best self. Every now and then I get a glimpse of that and it does my soul good.

Yesterday, I had the privilege of attending a revival hosted by the Kaw Valley District’s Congress of Christian Education. The revival, entitled “Stepping Out in Such a Time Like This.” The book of Esther is one of those stories I like to revisit. I usually read through Esther during the annual festival of Purim. But also, whenever I am considering a fast, the Esther text is my preferred reading. (I do the Daniel fast sometimes, but Esther’s fast is only three days, and I am much more likely to have a successful completion of the shorter fast.)

Anyway, I thought it was important that I be there last night, not just because the title resonated, and not just because I am related to the featured speaker of the night. But our fairly conservative little local conference hosted a revival with three women speakers. That might not seem like a big deal to you. But I know for a fact that there are churches in this district where those gifted women who stood in the pulpit this week would have to speak from a podium for the floor, if they were invited to speak at all. The moderator pretty much confirmed this in his remarks last night, acknowledging that he had taken a few lumps for having this revival.

I’m choosing to celebrate the positive steps that the Kaw Valley District made last night to being more progressive and inclusive. Last night, my aunt talked about the little girl who had served in multiple ministries of the church, from serving on the back door as an usher to serving upfront as a worship leader and choir director, and every ministry in between, but being told she should never even get near the pulpit. She was that little girl. So was I. And I’m guessing there were a few more of us in the pews last night. There are hundreds of thousands of us in the pews every Sunday…and many of us are still hearing that same message.

As someone who is seriously considering trying to go back to church, this is a struggle for me. Many of the churches that I love, the ones who have the infrastructure I need to support my family, still are clinging to those patriarchal norms. But I can not, in good conscience, take my children to a church that teaches them that the calling of God on their lives is dependent on their genitals. That’s a crazy thing to type. It’s a crazy thing to teach, and yet so many of our churches are still doing exactly that.

But last night, my aunt stood behind the sacred desk, and she preached. She didn’t evangelize (though there was an evangelical appeal.) She wasn’t giving a missionary report like it’s 5th Sunday, but she was on mission. And she wasn’t just leading worship, though she did that, too. She preached, and I was glad that I got to see it. Tonight, another woman will do the same, and I can only pray that each of these women will get the opportunity do it again soon. Who knows if they have come to their positions for such a time as this?

So yes, I love talking about what our churches are doing wrong. But I also not-so secretly love it when I see our churches are doing something right, and at least for the last few nights, the Kaw Valley District did something right. There is hope, after all.

That’s what advent is all about.

Admin vs Ministry: The Milk (baby formula) of the Word

A couple of weeks ago, Nikalie Monroe, decided to do an informal social experiment. She called places of worship asking for help with purchasing formula for a newborn. Less than a quarter of the churches she contacted said yes. The yes category included a Buddhist temple, a black church, a mosque, and a Hispanic church. Monroe did not have much luck with the mega churches. The social media posts went viral and she now has more than a million followers.

I’ve been chewing on this story for a couple of weeks. As someone who loves research, I have a couple of problems with her methods, but this is not an academic study, so I can let that slide. As someone who has received help from various churches, I was excited about every yes. I love that the Buddhists and the Muslim places that were contacted gave freely. But as a person who has worked in several administrative capacities at a Christian church, I am torn. What do you do when generosity and good governance are at odds?

Most churches that I know, and certainly the ones I grew up in, took up a benevolence fund offering. I never knew what the fund was used for. I just knew that’s where I usually put my dollars because I didn’t have an income to tithe, and I wasn’t about to put a dime in the building fund. (The church I grew up in looks exactly the same as it did when I was a teenager except now they added two TV monitors. Maybe I should have put my coins in the building fund.)

But as an adult, I learned that the benevolence fund was to help those less fortunate, though I wasn’t quite sure what less fortunate meant, since almost everybody in the church was struggling in some way or another. Most of us had more month than money. Most of us were living paycheck to paycheck, and very few, if any of us, were not in some kind of debt. When I started working as the church secretary and gained access to things that ordinary pew members don’t get to see, I learned a few things. Then, when I joined the finance committee, I learned a few more things.

I learned that in that particular church, in order to request benevolent funds, you had to complete an application. I think I may have even had to help create a new application at some point. Once the application was completed, it was submitted to the finance committee for a vote. Preference was given to members who paid tithes. If approved, the application was forwarded to the people who were authorized to write checks, and then sent to the people who could actually sign those checks. Two signatures were required on every check. At our church,the committee, which consisted of 5-7 people, generally only met once or twice a month. The people who signed the checks were not on the committee, and sometimes the people who wrote the checks were not on the committee either.

There are multiple problems with this structure. First, if you had an emergent need, there is a very high likelihood that you would not receive a response in time. This lady claimed to have needed money to feed her hungry child. It might have been four weeks before we even responded to her request. Second, at this point, a whole lot of people know your business. In a church with maybe 300 on the church roll, and about 150 in average attendance, ten or so have had to touch your request. They knew you didn’t have money for your light bill, or as in this case, couldn’t afford to feed your baby. This is not ideal. America already shames people for being poor. We’re on the verge of criminalizing it.

I am completely on the side of churches crossing every T and dotting every I. I think churches ought to set the standard for good business practices. We should be models of good governance. I believe our churches should be able to account for every dollar spent, and that a lot of that money should be spent on actual ministry. I just don’t know how to do that well.

There are churches that are doing it successfully. Wheeler Avenue in Houston just paid off 55 million dollars in five years. That’s incredibly impressive. I’m sure there are others with fantastic stewardship models. But churches like the ones I grew up in, and the one I was last a member of, are struggling to pay their own monthly bills. I remember a pastor asking for a raise one time, and I had to look that man in his eyes as I voted not to pay him more. We couldn’t afford to pay him the salary he was already receiving. I don’t know how some of these churches are managing to serve their local communities, and pay their bills, especially since attendance and giving are down across the nation.

But I do know how the people that are members of those churches are serving. A Kentucky pastor bypassed the whole process. He asked what the name of the formula was and where he could buy it. He said he was a grandfather and that he’d buy the formula himself so that the child wouldn’t go hungry. He reminds me that we, the people, are the church. We have been called to be the hands and feet of Jesus. And we are the ones who will have to minister to our neighbors in these tough times.

When the current president was elected, I posted that I hoped that our churches were prepared in this moment to minister to people that they have never had to serve before. I think I want to revise that statement. The church is now going to have to prepare its people to minister to those it had never served before. You may have government workers who used to bring in six figures standing in food lines. You may encounter folks seeking refuge in your sanctuary who don’t even speak the same language you do. You may encounter “Tik-Tok” stars and Instagram models who are using your ministry for a social experiment. And you, I mean, we have to be ready for any and all of it.

Our people are the churches’ greatest asset. The people can nimbly go into spaces where our clunky organizational structures just won’t fit. When administration butts heads with actual ministry, may our hearts lean into ministry every single time. That’s the winning formula.

Women’s Ministry: A Rant

If you know me, then you know that I’m Baptist-born and Baptist-bred and when I die I’ll be Baptist dead. I am one of those girls that memorized the church covenant and knows all four verses of my favorite hymns. Sometimes I wish they’d bring back Baptist Training Union, and then I remember I like brunch more than I actually like being at church.

But also, if you know me, you know that nothing can tick me off like the church. I jokingly threaten to convert to Methodism every time the Baptists make me mad, so let me tell you how the Baptists angered me this week.

The National Baptist Convention is coming to KC next week, and my little church-girl heart was excited. I knew that meant that some of the pastors I can only see on YouTube would be in town this week. I knew that there would be a fantastic musical at some point in time, and I knew that the Baptist women’s auxiliary would be meeting.

So I took a quick peek at the schedule. I saw some of Kansas City’s favorite sons were on program, as well as one of my favorite preachers. I checked my calendar to see if I could attend any of those events. And then, I looked at the flyer for the women’s auxiliary, and I darn near threw my phone.

Do you know what the first program is for the women’s auxiliary? A blasted fashion show. I almost cussed. We deserve better. I deserve better. As a Baptist woman, I am incensed. I am grieving and trying to care for my ailing mother. I am trying to parent a young adult, while also parenting a teenager, and an adolescent. I’m also trying to maintain a marriage, while also trying to stretch every dollar. Oh yes, and the world is also on fire! I am desperately in need of a women’s ministry to walk through the Bible and through life with me.

I don’t care that Sister So-and-So’s organza suit perfectly matches those red-bottoms. (She does look sharp though!) This isn’t about the first lady’s suit collections. Heck, a decade or so I go, I had a couple of those suits in my closet. I want the first ladies to look spectacular. I love a good shoe and hat combination. But a four hour fashion show as the opening event for the national convention…We have to do better than that. Yes, from 9:00 to 1:00, there’s no prayer meeting, no Bible study, no street evangelism, or even a training session.

Here’s the thing. I know women’s ministry is hard. Women, who make up a majority of our congregations, are not a monolith. We are in every stage of life. Our interests are varied, and again, the world is on fire. It is difficult to find one thing that all of us will be drawn to…except we’re talking about Baptist women who are attending the national convention!! These are women who believe in the power in prayer. They are women who teach Sunday school and lead praise and worship. They believe in Jesus. And instead of having a four hour prayer session, or a worship experience, the organizers of this event decided to have a fashion show.

And women, who like me, desperately need a prayer circle and a divine word, are completely left out. This is my beef with women’s ministry. It usually tends to cater to a very specific type of woman… and none of us are her. I don’t need cupcake and egg salad recipes. I’m never again going to wear taffeta on a Sunday morning. Teas and fashion shows are fine for fundraising and fellowship gatherings. But what I really want is actual fellowship. I need mother-figures, mentors, and money management tips, not fashion advice.

I need somebody with the spirit of Naomi, who will walk with me through my grief and for the single ladies, show me how to get a man, or how to live well without one, if that’s what I choose. I need someone with the spirit of Elizabeth, who will provide a safe place for me , who will sing over me, and remind me how blessed I am. I need somebody with the spirit of Shiphrah and Puah who will help me with the work God has called to me to do.

Here’s what I know. Those women exist in our churches. They are on the usher board and in the choir stand, and a whole lot of them are going to be in the convention this week. My prayer is that the church empowers them to walk in their own callings, and not just expect them to walk the runway in their Christian Siriano church lady collection.

Do better, Baptists. The Methodists are calling my name.

Mama Radford

P.S. I’m not saying we shouldn’t have the fashion show. Nobody deserves to get dressed up and celebrated more than church girls/women. Put your good Sunday go-to-meeting gear on and strut yourself down that runway. I’m saying, maybe it’s not the first thing we do, as a body.

P.P.S Women aren’t an auxiliary. We are, in many cases a majority of the church. And in every case, we are the church. We should be treated as such.

Thunderbolts (Spoiler Alert)

Let me be clear. This is not a movie review blog, but lately the movies have been speaking to me. Like almost everyone else with young children, I went to the movies this weekend. We took them to see the Thunderbolts. I had low expectations because I had never heard of the Thunderbolts before I saw the promo. I was fully expecting to fall asleep in the comfy recliner chairs at the bougie movie theater my husband and children prefer. I was presently surprised.

The movie was good. I laughed. I almost cried, and I marveled. I love any movie that makes me think, and this movie made me do just that. Here are my preliminary thoughts.

Even the tiniest story matters. In a comedic bit making fun of John Walker, the disgraced Captain America, the characters all tell terrible stories about their childhoods. Inevitably one of those stories becomes the inspiration for the name of the new the superhero team. This is a reminder that nothing in your life is insignificant. It all matters. Even if you don’t value a particular part of the story, someone will. So please, share your story, no matter how insignificant you think it might be. Someone needs to hear it.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. In this movie, there are people with supernatural abilities and political power. Unfortunately, they do not all use their powers for good. When one character discovers his full potential, he becomes the villain. Another character implies that there are bad people, and worse people, and it is clear that she might be one of the worst. Her quest for power is the basis for the entire movie, and it definitely comes back to bite her in the end.

May is Mental Health month and this movie is about that and so much more. I am a firm believer that every story is a love story and the Thunderbolts is an excellent example. One character loved his daughter. Another loved power. One character was learning to love himself. One was learning to love others. It taught me that love isn’t always about letting in the light. Sometimes, love looks going down into the dark with your loved ones and fighting your way out together.

Sinners (Slight Spoilers)

So, I watched the latest Ryan Coogler movie, and I have to tell you, my mind was blown. I need to see it at least one more time, and next time I’m taking a notebook. The movie was not scary, and I’m scared of almost everything, so if that’s what is keeping you from seeing it, go buy your ticket today.

Here are the top 5 lessons I learned from this incredible movie. I will warn you, there are some spoilers, so if you care about that kind of thing, go see the movie first, and come back.

  1. There is art/music/literature that transcends time and space. It bends genres and crosses cultural divides. These creators must be protected at all costs. They are our future. They are the way out. That’s why book bans and censorship are so dangerous. There is sacred knowledge that the powers that be don’t want us to be able to access. I have long believed that poets are the prophets of this generation. Please take this as my plea to support your local arts. Go to the fairs and the plays. Buy a print, Commission a piece if you can. Tip the musician who is performing at brunch. Read the book, and if you can’t afford any of that, at least like and share good content. Let the artist know you appreciate their work.
  2. ***Spoiler alert***There are people who would rather die than to let their sacred knowledge fall into the wrong hands. Annie, by far, is my favorite character in this movie. Besides being absolutely gorgeous, she was also the only one who knew how to fight the evil outside the door. The reason Stack and Mary were so upset when Annie died is because they knew what a resource she would have been to their tribe. Annie knew it too, which is why she made Smoke promise to do what needed to be done. Annie was a praying woman, a wise old soul with life-saving, life-giving, skills and abilities. There are people and places who would exploit those gifts in the worst ways.
  3. **Slight spoiler alert**Just because you can hop back and forth between two worlds, doesn’t mean you should! I don’t care if you are doing it for financial gain or for fun. There is a danger to your soul and to the people around you. I know that for survival’s sake, many of us have had to code switch for years. It’s a requirement for many communities. It’s actually a valuable skill. But Mary wasn’t code-switching. What she was doing was far more dangerous. She was trying to exploit her appearance and her proximity to whiteness in an effort to make herself more valuable to a community that already valued her. In doing so, she made herself and her loved ones subject to attack.
  4. Heed the warnings. Buying a slaughterhouse from a klansman is wild work. The invaders sang a song about cannibalism, and all our heroes heard was good harmony. Folks are telling you every day who they are. You see it in how they talk to other people. You see it in how they talk to you. You see it in how they vote. Believe your eyes and your ears.
  5. Vampires (formally known as culture vultures) come in every tribe, every language, every Creed and every color. Beware of people and organizations who will drain the very life out of you, while in exchange, they offer you the promise of eternal life. If this movie wasn’t a much needed critique of the American church, I don’t know what is! The movie left me with one very serious question. Who were the sinners, here? Because the vampires looked a whole lot like church folk to me.

I promise there is more, but this is what stood out to me at first glance. I’m interested in your thoughts. In the meantime, a clove a day keeps the vampires away.

Easter Monday (Holy Week 2025)

As a good Baptist, I love an Early Sunday Morning. My favorite service of the year is a sunrise service at a church just down the road from me. They didn’t have a service this year, but I was able to catch a sunrise service at one of my favorite YouTube churches. I love the early morning service at the Alfred Street Baptist Church for many reasons, but one of my favorites is the preacher. The early morning service is usually led by Dr. Judy Fentress-Williams. She’s basically my role model. She’s beautiful, she’s brilliant, and she is a biblical scholar.

Anyway, as usual, Dr. Judy blew my mind. Check her early morning sermon out. Anyway, she reminds me that it was the women who were at the foot of the cross, and that it was the women who sought to honor Jesus, even after his death. It was the women who first received the good news of the Gospel, and it was the women who first proclaimed that good news to other people.

Thank God for the women.

On Easter Monday, I always wonder what happened to the women. After all their service to Jesus and his ministry, they disappear from the narrative. I wonder what they did while the brothers gathered in Galilee? I wonder why no one ever thought to document their journeys. I wonder if they continued to gather, even without the brothers.

The women’s voices mattered. The women’s voices matter today. They matter to me, and they ought to matter to you. But most importantly, the women matter to God. He loved them then, just as he loves us now. And every now and then, I need a sister to remind me just how much God loves me.

Thank God for the women, the ones who brought us the gospel the first time, and those who dare to stand in pulpits and share it today.

Thank God for women.

The Day After (Holy Week 2025)

Heartbroken and weary, the women who had followed Jesus returned to their homes to observe the Sabbath. What do you do when it’s time for worship, but all you want to do is weep?

Easter is usually one of my favorite holidays. But I am dragging this year. I haven’t made the kids Easter baskets. I haven’t cooked a single thing. I haven’t even picked my clothes out for tomorrow.

I imagine the sisters at the cross felt similarly. All week long they were prepared to celebrate one thing, and ended the week feeling like their world had been turned upside down.

I know, simply from scrolling my timeline, that I am not the only person suffering from a broken heart this week, so my questions are these:

How do you prepare for worship?

How does grief impact our worship? How does worship impact our grief?

How can we better serve those who are celebrating and those who are mourning?