In our Pastoral Resident, Amelia Hamiter's sermon this past Sunday, we sit with Luke 10:25–42 — holding together the story of the Good Samaritan and the tension-filled moment between Martha and Mary. Two familiar passages. One shared thread: compassion.

Through the parable of the Samaritan, Jesus expands our definition of neighbor and redefines mercy as costly, embodied action. Through Martha’s overwhelm, we see what happens when service untethered from presence begins to drain us. Together, these stories invite us to wrestle with a hard question: How do we remain compassionate without burning out?

We explore compassion fatigue, the limits of our capacity, and the difference between urgency and intentional love. What if the invitation isn’t to do more, but to root our service in a different posture? What if mercy flows best from a place of grounded presence rather than anxious striving?

Whether you feel like the Samaritan on the road, Martha in the kitchen, or the weary traveler in need of care, this conversation makes space for honest reflection about loving well — and sustainably.

Ash Wednesday invites us to tell the truth: life is fragile, often unfinished — and yet we are deeply loved.

In this contemplative gathering, Held in the Ashes, we lean into the tenderness of this sacred day. Through scripture, poetry, silence, and song, we remember our mortality while rooting ourselves in belovedness. Even as we hear the ancient reminder, “from dust you came…,” we also receive the promise of a love that does not loosen its grip.

Featuring music including We Are Loved by The Avett Brothers, this service creates space to slow down, breathe deeply, and be honest — about grief, about limits, about hope.

Ashes are offered with words of blessing.
All are welcome — whether full of faith, full of doubt, or somewhere in between.

Come as you are. Remember you are dust. Remember you are loved.

In Luke 7:1–17, we see a faith that amazes Jesus and a compassion that stops a funeral procession. This message explores the authority of Christ, the power of humble faith, and the hope that meets us even in our deepest grief.

This past Sunday, Rev. Emily McGinley invites us into deeper connection through Luke 5:1–11, weaving the scripture together with reflections from her recent time standing in solidarity alongside other clergy in Minneapolis.

Jesus returns to His hometown full of the Spirit, welcomed at first—then rejected just as quickly. In Luke 4:14–30, we witness the turning point where admiration gives way to offense, and the mission of Jesus collides with human expectations. This sermon explores why familiarity can breed resistance, how grace challenges our assumptions, and what it means to follow a Messiah who refuses to be contained. A call to examine our hearts when God moves in ways we don’t expect.

Made For Love
Luke 3:15–16, 21–23a; 4:1–14

What does it mean to know who you are—and whose you are—in a world that constantly questions your belonging? In Rev. Emily McGinley's sermon, we follow Jesus from the waters of baptism into the wilderness, where his identity is named before it is tested. Luke tells us that Jesus is both God’s beloved Son and deeply rooted in human history—and it is from this grounded sense of identity that he faces temptation, empire, and distortion of purpose. As modern forces like algorithms, capitalism, and exceptionalism whisper their own versions of the devil’s promises, this message invites us to re-center our lives around a deeper truth: we are not made for performance, exclusion, or domination—we are made for love.

What obstacles are between you and being able to just be with God?

What if silence isn’t a punishment—but an invitation?

In Luke 1, Zechariah’s long season of silence finally gives way to song. But before his voice returns, something deeper happens: God is already at work, forming hope, preparing redemption, and teaching him to see the present differently.

Rev. Joshua Jalandoon's sermon invites us to reframe silence—not as God’s absence or disapproval, but as an aid that helps us pay attention to what God is doing now. In a world that rushes to fill every quiet moment, we explore how love breaks the silence not by erasing it, but by revealing its purpose.

A reflection for anyone waiting, listening, or learning to trust that God is still speaking—even when words fall away.

Short and sweet, a homily inviting us into this advent season to step into joy.

In this week’s sermon, “One Way to Help,” Rev. Emily McGinley begins with a story of a walk through the Tenderloin with the San Francisco Night Ministry and a simple truth offered there: “People fall on hard times and it’s not their fault. This is one way for me to help.”

From that moment, we turn to John the Baptist—accidental spiritual icon—calling out crowds chasing spiritual highs instead of real transformation, yet still offering an invitation: there is time, it is not too late, and who you’ve been doesn’t have to determine who you can become. We reflect on baptism as a ritual of beginning again when life feels heavy or directionless, and we return to the Tenderloin question: What’s one way I can help?