Much of what we see happening in the world today—political turmoil, economic inequality, migration crises, environmental destruction, and deep social divisions—has striking parallels in the Bible. Scripture is filled with stories of people struggling with oppression, injustice, and the challenge of living faithfully in a broken world. From Pharaoh’s enslavement of the Israelites to the prophets’ cries against corruption, the Bible repeatedly confronts power imbalances, wealth hoarding, and the marginalization of the vulnerable. Jesus himself embodied a radical vision of justice and inclusion, breaking down social barriers and calling people to a life shaped by mercy.

The story is still unfolding, and the question remains: how will we respond?

Over these first few weeks of Trump’s presidency, the relentless flood of headlines and notifications has made it nearly impossible to process one crisis before the next one hits. Perhaps it’s a deliberate strategy—designed to wear people down until exhaustion sets in. When every update feels like an emergency, the temptation is to stay plugged in, constantly refreshing, constantly reacting. But we can’t sustain this pace without burning out. In a culture built around constant connection and productivity, knowing when to unplug, even briefly, is critical.

The use of lies to achieve desired outcomes exposes how society processes conflict, power, and accountability—often prioritizing short-term gains or ideological victories over long-term integrity. When deception is normalized, truth becomes negotiable, bent to fit personal or political agendas. This reflects a deeper societal tendency to seek comforting narratives rather than confront difficult truths, contributing to the growing erosion of trust in institutions once relied upon to mediate facts. So, how do we stand for truth and integrity in a world where lies seem to dominate?

This week, we’re exploring moral courage. As harmful policies and rhetoric target marginalized communities, silence enables oppression. Defending those at risk takes more than good intentions—it requires tough, uncomfortable conversations. It means confronting harmful beliefs, even when it risks tension with friends, family, and leaders. But in a society that values politeness and shies away from controversy, how do we find the courage to speak up?

In times of uncertainty, when the future feels like shifting sand, how do we navigate the delicate balance between self-care and caring for others? How do we make space for our own well-being while remaining present for those who need us? These questions invite us to reflect on the ways we show up for ourselves and others, challenging us to find a balance that feels authentic and sustainable in an ever-changing world.

 This week, we're diving into the role of faith in times of crisis. While the typical answer might highlight faith as a source of hope and peace, I can’t help but wonder: is its true power found in driving action, building connection, and demanding justice?

As firefighting efforts continue, Lutheran Disaster Response is on the ground, working with the Southwest California Synod, Pacifica Synod, and local partners to address the immediate and long-term needs of those affected. You can learn more and support the work here.

Please take a minute to watch this message from Bishop Brenda Boss from the Southwest California Synod.

Resolutions and intentions are different in how they focus and how flexible they are. A resolution is usually a specific goal, like "I’m going to volunteer x hours" or "read x books of the Bible." It’s all about the outcome and whether you hit the target. Intentions, on the other hand, are more about your mindset and values, like "be more engaged in my community." They focus on the journey, not just the end result, and give you flexibility. If life gets busy, an intention might lead you to do smaller, meaningful things—like donating supplies or supporting a cause online—without feeling bad about not meeting a set goal.

In this episode, Pastor Joanne discusses The Merton Prayer

My Lord God,I have no idea where I am going.I do not see the road ahead of me.I cannot know for certain where it will end.nor do I really know myself,and the fact that I think I am following your willdoes not mean that I am actually doing so.But I believe that the desire to please youdoes in fact please you.And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,

though I may know nothing about it.Therefore will I trust you always thoughI may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

“The Merton Prayer” from Thoughts in Solitude Copyright © 1956, 1958 by The Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani.

This week, we're exploring hope—a quiet yet powerful belief that better things are possible, even in the face of uncertainty or hardship. During the holiday season, hope takes on a special glow, reminding us of renewal, connection, and the promise of new beginnings. It’s not about denying life’s struggles but about finding light amid the darkness—like the twinkle of holiday lights on the longest nights. Rooted in resilience and joy, hope inspires us to persevere, cherish moments of peace, and believe in brighter days ahead.

While the world seems to hum with merriment, some of us find ourselves longing for space to pause, reflect, and simply sit with the complexities of life. Today, we’re going to explore a practice that meets us in those moments, offering quiet comfort and a flicker of hope in the darkest nights.

The holiday season is finally here, kicking off this week with Thanksgiving! As you gather with loved ones to celebrate and give thanks, don’t forget to take a moment to honor the Indigenous peoples who have cared for this land for generations. For many Indigenous communities, Thanksgiving carries a deep and complex history of loss and resilience.