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Psalm 13

How long, O Lord?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and have sorrow in my heart all day long?

Psalm 13 doesn’t begin with praise. It begins with protest. With a voice that dares to say out loud what so many of us keep hidden: How long? Where are you? Why does it feel like you’re silent when I need you most?

These words are not polite. They are not tidy. They don’t fit neatly into a greeting card or a Sunday smile. But they are holy. Because they are honest.

Have you ever felt like the silence of God was louder than any answer? Have you ever whispered in the dark, How long? Have you ever looked around and wondered if your prayers have simply slipped through the cracks?

Sometimes we want faith to be neat and resolved, to wrap every struggle in a bow and call it a blessing. But the Psalms remind us that real faith makes room for honest lament.

• What grief or ache are you carrying today that doesn’t have an easy fix?
• Where in your life do you feel stuck in the question, waiting for a sign that hasn’t come yet?

Even as we struggle with questions like these, the Psalmist reminds us that we don’t need to rush past the pain. There is no false optimism here, no quick solution. There is just a heart, cracked open, daring to speak. And somehow, that honesty is the prayer. It is sacred.

Often we think we need to find the right words to make God listen, but maybe it’s our rawest most honest words that God loves most. Maybe lament is an act of trust in itself, “I trust you enough to bring you my mess.”

Yet this Psalm doesn’t stay only in the shadows. At the end there is a turn that is small, but brave: “But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice… I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.”

The questions are not answered. The sorrow is not gone. But faith remains, not instead of lament, but alongside a lament unresolved.

• What would it look like to hold both sorrow and trust in the same hand?
• What small, quiet hope do you dare to speak, even while the questions remain?

Psalm 13 invites us to pray honestly, to sing even when we don’t feel like singing, to remember that our “How long?” is a sacred song too.

As you reflect on how lament plays into your conversations with God, take these questions with you into the week.

• Where in your life are you waiting for God to show up?
• What truth might you speak aloud this week, even if it’s messy?
• How could you choose trust, not because you have an answer, but because you know you are heard?

Lets pray:

Holy Listener, You hear what we dare not say. You hold our anger, our questions, our tears. You do not turn away from our lament. You sit with us in the unresolved places. Teach us to trust that we are seen, even in silence. Give us courage to speak our “How long?” And help us find a song to sing, even while we wait. AMEN

Psalm 23

We like to be in control.

Even when we say we’re willing to let go and trust, many of us still keep a hand on the wheel, just in case. But the life of faith calls us into a different rhythm. One where we don’t always need to have the map, because we trust the One who is guiding us. Psalm 23 invites us into that different way of being. It doesn’t offer a checklist or a strategy. It offers an image: a shepherd leading, a sheep following.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

Not I will get everything I desire, but I will have enough.
Not I am strong enough to manage on my own, but I am held by One who knows the way.

It’s not easy. Trust rarely is. Especially when we don’t know what’s coming next. But what if trust isn’t about knowing where we’re going? What if it’s about knowing who is with us along the way?

So let me ask you:

• What are you holding onto that makes it hard to let go?
• Where in your life are you being invited to loosen your grip and follow?

There are seasons where we’re drawn toward stillness, where the soul longs to slow down, to breathe again. Sometimes it takes being brought to a full stop before we can receive what we need.

We often resist that kind of rest. We convince ourselves we have to earn it, or that things will fall apart without us. But trust means believing that the world won’t end if we take a deep breath.

But that kind of rest isn’t always easy. Even when we’re weary, there’s a temptation to push through, to earn rest, to prove ourselves, to stay useful. The Shepherd, though, invites us to lie down not because we’ve earned it, but because we need it.

• When have you resisted rest even when you knew you needed it?
• What might your soul be asking for right now?

And then there are the valleys.

Those moments when things feel uncertain or heavy. We don’t choose those places. But we do get to choose how we move through them, and whether we walk them alone.

Sometimes trust is as simple, and as profound, as taking the next step. Not because the road is easy, but because we are not walking it alone.

• What valleys have you come through that changed you?
• Where have you sensed presence, peace, or strength that wasn’t your own?

Sometimes, when we look back, we begin to notice something we couldn’t see at the time: The unexpected grace. The quiet companionship. The moments of provision that helped carry us through.

That’s the thing about trust. It doesn’t always come at the start of the journey. Sometimes, it’s what we grow into as we go.

Questions to Take With You:

• What would it look like to live today as if you truly trusted in God’s presence?
• Where might you be invited to let go of control and follow with more courage?
• What helps you pause and receive the care you need?
• When you look back, where have you noticed grace catching up to you?

Let’s pray:

Loving Presence, when the path ahead feels uncertain, remind us that we are not walking alone. Help us to release what we cannot control and find peace in being led. In the still moments, restore our weary hearts. In the shadowed places, steady our steps. And when we look back, may we see the grace that followed us all along. Amen.

Psalm 87

I once sat in a church where, during the announcements, the minister paused and said, “If no one has told you this week that you belong—let me be the first.”

It was such a simple phrase, but it caught me off guard. Something in me needed to hear it.

Psalm 87 paints a picture of a place where that kind of belonging is declared over people from all sorts of places, some of whom you’d least expect. Rahab, Babylon, Philistia, these weren’t friendly neighbours. And yet, the psalm says that God embraces them all as children with 5 simple words: “This one was born here.”

Not “this one was allowed to visit,” or “this one made the cut,” but born here. It’s a powerful image, like a passport stamped with grace.

There’s something beautiful in imagining God scribbling names into the book of belonging – names others might have crossed out.

It makes me wonder:

• Have I ever written someone off too quickly?
• Have I ever assumed someone didn’t quite “belong” in the circle of faith or community?
• And on the flip side, when have I been surprised by someone else’s welcome?

Psalm 87 doesn’t give us instructions or rules. It just offers this bold vision: that God is gathering people from everywhere. That our assumptions about who belongs and who doesn’t might need to stretch a little.

Maybe today is a good day to notice the walls we’ve built – or the ones we’ve walked into. And maybe it’s a good day to remember that God’s city has wide gates.

Let’s pray:

God of wide gates and open arms, thank you for the grace that welcomes us in, even when we feel on the outside. Help us to see others through your eyes – as beloved, as belonging, as born into your heart. Stretch our vision, widen our welcome, and make us builders of your city of love. AMEN

Psalm 8

There are moments – often unexpected – when something stops us in our tracks.

A pink-streaked sunrise peeking through the blinds. The echo of a loon call across still water. The quiet hush that falls over a starlit night. And in those moments, without even trying, we breathe differently.

• When was the last time something in nature made you pause – really pause?

Psalm 8 begins and ends with praise: “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” And tucked in between the praise is a deep sense of awe. The psalmist looks up at the moon and stars and asks, “What are human beings that you are mindful of them?”

It’s the kind of question that doesn’t need an answer, just space to settle in the soul.

• How does it feel to be reminded that God is mindful of you?

There’s a sacredness in allowing ourselves to be small – not insignificant, but small in the way that a child is small in the arms of someone they trust. When we stop long enough to pay attention to the beauty around us, we’re reminded that we are part of something vast, intricate, and pulsing with the presence of God.

• What happens in you when you allow yourself to feel small, without fear, without pressure?

But wonder takes time. It rarely arrives in a rush. It asks us to slow down. To notice. To listen.

So here’s an invitation this week: Take five minutes – just five – and step outside. Look up. Look around. Let yourself be amazed.

• What might God be saying to you, not in words, but through the beauty of the world around you?

You don’t have to solve anything. You don’t have to accomplish anything. Just stand in it. Let wonder hold you.

🌱 A Few Questions to Carry With You

• Where is awe waiting for me in the ordinary?
• How can I become more present to the sacredness of creation?
• What practices help me stay open to wonder, rather than rush past it?

Let’s pray:

A Prayer of Wonder

God of starlit skies and whispered winds,
You speak through the beauty of the world around us:
in moonlight, in birdsong,
in the stillness of a moment we didn’t know we needed.

Slow our steps this week.
Open our eyes to the sacred in the ordinary.
Help us to stand in awe,
to breathe deeply,
and to remember that we are held,
not because we are mighty,
but because You are mindful.

With wonder and gratitude,
Amen.

Romans 5:1-5, John 16:12-15, Hebrews 12:1-11

This Sunday, our own Bob Bartlett is offering worship leadership, and he has chosen some powerful pieces of Scripture on which to reflect.

This week’s readings invite us to consider how God meets us – not in moments of ease alone, but in the real, complicated, and sometimes painful places of life. They remind us that while God does not send hardship our way, God is present with us through our pain. In the very midst of life’s struggles, the Spirit is at work – guiding, strengthening, and inviting us to grow.

In Romans 5:1-5, Paul writes about the peace we have with God through Jesus Christ – a peace that holds steady even when life is anything but peaceful. He dares to say that even suffering can lead somewhere good: to endurance, to character, and ultimately to hope. Not because suffering is good, but because God’s love, poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, can meet us there and help us grow.

Jesus echoes this promise in John 16:12-15, telling his disciples that the Spirit of truth will come to guide them into deeper understanding. He acknowledges that there is much they don’t yet know – and can’t yet bear – but assures them that they won’t be left alone. The Spirit will lead them forward, step by step. It’s a reminder that God meets us right where we are, but doesn’t leave us there. The Spirit walks with us into truth, into healing, into hope.

And in Hebrews 12:1-11, we’re invited to imagine our lives as a race run with perseverance. The passage doesn’t deny that the race is hard – it names the exhaustion, the discipline, and the pain. But it also offers encouragement: that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, that we can lay aside the things that weigh us down, and that God’s desire is not to punish, but to shape us into wholeness. Again, the message is not that hardship is sent by God — but that nothing we go through is outside of God’s loving, redeeming reach.

With these scriptures and encouragement in mind, I invite you into some deeper reflection on your own journey through life and through faith.

• How have you experienced God’s presence in the midst of a difficult season?
• What practices help you stay open to the Spirit’s guidance when you feel unsure or weary?
• Are there “weights” or distractions in your life that are keeping you from running freely?
• What kind of hope is God forming in you right now?

As you carry these reflections into the rest of your week, remember: God does not cause our pain, but God never abandons us in it. The Spirit walks with us, bearing truth, comfort, and quiet invitations to grow – one breath, one step, one grace-filled moment at a time.

Let’s pray:

Loving God, You are not the cause of our pain, but you never leave us alone in it. When life feels heavy, help us sense your Spirit beside us – guiding, strengthening, and gently calling us to grow. Give us courage to face what is hard, faith to trust your presence, and hope that rises even in the struggle. We offer this and all our prayers in the strong name of Jesus Christ, our comfort and our strength. AMEN

As we mark the 100th anniversary of the United Church of Canada, the words from Ephesians echo across time with surprising freshness:

“I pray that… Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love.”
-Ephesians 3:17

One hundred years is a long time to be rooted. Rooted in worship and witness. Rooted in justice and compassion. Rooted in struggle and in hope. And yet, the deeper question isn’t just what we’ve been rooted in, but what we’ve been rooted for.

Paul’s prayer goes on to say:

“I pray that you may have the power to comprehend… what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge.”

That phrase – breadth and length and height and depth – feels like a holy invitation. An invitation to stretch our imagination, to expand our compassion, to wonder just how far Christ’s love might reach through us.

So we pause and ask:

What does it really mean to be rooted and grounded in love as a church today?
Is it simply about holding on to tradition? Or might it be more like a tree, whose roots anchor it so that its branches can grow ever outward – toward light, toward others, toward the new?

How wide is Christ’s love, really?
Wide enough to gather those who’ve felt excluded?
Long enough to endure through changing times?
High enough to lift communities beyond despair?
Deep enough to meet us in the shadows of uncertainty?

I would say, “yes,” to these and so much more!

Perhaps this anniversary is not only a time to look back with gratitude but to look forward with longing. To ask how we might continue to grow into a church whose reach reflects the immeasurable love of Christ. Not through grand gestures or perfect plans, but by letting that love take root in us again and again.

So here’s a question to carry with you this week:

Where is love inviting us to grow next, both as individuals and as a community of faith?

As we continue into the next hundred years, may we keep growing deeper, wider, and fuller in love.

🎉 Join us this Sunday to celebrate 100 Years of Faith, Hope & Love 🎉

⏰ June 8 at 10:30 AM
📍 Tom Morrison Theater, Fredericton High School

Let’s pray!

Loving God, root us once more in the deep soil of your grace. Stretch our hearts to know the breadth of your love: wider than fear, longer than history, higher than hope, and deeper than we can ever fully grasp. As we give thanks for a hundred years of faith and witness, guide us into the next hundred with courage and compassion. Let Christ dwell in us richly, that we may be a church grounded in love and reaching outward in hope. We offer this and all our prayers in the strong name of our brother and saviour, Jesus Christ. AMEN

📝 We Want to Hear From You! 📝: Your voice matters – yes, yours! Our Visioning Committee has been hard at work, dreaming, praying, and planning for the future of our church, and now we need your input to help shape what’s next.

This is your chance to share your thoughts, hopes, and ideas as we discern where God is leading us. Whether you’re here every Sunday, drop in now and then, or connect with us in other ways, we want to hear from you! 💬

This is only the first survey, but it is an important start as we dream together!

📅 Please return your survey by July 13!

You can fill it out in whatever way works best for you:

• 📄 Pick up a hard copy at the church this Sunday, or through the week.
• 🖨️ Download and print one from here (PDF) or here (DOCX) (or fill it out on your computer and email it back).
• 💻 Complete it online. Quick and easy! (https://forms.gle/5yPUj46xQhKio3sEA)

Let’s build our future together. Your input will help guide our ministry and mission—so thank you for taking a few minutes to share!

Genesis 28:13–15, 1 Corinthians 12:12–14, and John 17:20–22

There’s a difference between standing beside someone and truly growing with them.

One is about location. The other is about relationship, transformation, and trust. One can feel like coexistence. The other feels like community.

This week, we reflect on what it means to “grow together as one,” and we’re invited into a deeper understanding of what God is doing not only in us, but among us.

God Meets Us Where We Are

Genesis 28:13–15 tells of a night when Jacob – on the run, alone, uncertain – has a dream of God standing beside him. God speaks, not to scold or abandon him, but to reassure: “I am with you… I will not leave you until I have done what I promised you.”

God begins with presence. Before Jacob builds an altar, before he becomes the father of a nation, before anything changes externally, God promises to walk with him.

We all need to hear that sometimes. Whether we feel strong or uncertain, sure-footed or wandering, the first truth is this: God is with you. God is with us. That’s where growth begins.

• Where do you need to be reminded of God’s presence right now?
• What promises has God spoken into your life or your community that still shape your path?

Growing Together, Not Alone

From there, we move to 1 Corinthians 12:12–14, where Paul reminds us that no one grows alone in Christ. We are many members, but one body. Each of us matters. Each of us belongs.

This isn’t just about teamwork or collaboration. It’s about interdependence. When one part suffers, all suffer. When one part rejoices, all rejoice. The growth of one affects the growth of all.

In a world that celebrates self-sufficiency and individualism, the gospel gently but firmly calls us back to one another.

• What part of the body are you?
• Where might God be inviting you to grow in deeper connection, or to listen more carefully to another part of the body that you’ve overlooked?

Becoming the Answer to Jesus’ Prayer

And then we come to the heart of it in John 17:20–22. As Jesus prays for his followers, not just the disciples then, but all who would come after, he asks one thing:

“That they may all be one… so that the world may believe.”

Unity isn’t just a nice idea. It’s a witness. Our growing together is how the world comes to know the love of God. Not through perfection, but through presence. Not through sameness, but through shared grace. And this unity isn’t something we manufacture. It’s something we grow into, rooted in Christ, fed by grace, and shaped by the Spirit.

• Where do you long for deeper unity—in your family, your church, your wider community?
• What small step might you take this week to become more open to someone different from you in the body of Christ?

Growth is rarely fast. It’s usually messy. It takes time. And it almost always requires others. But God is still speaking the same words now that were spoken to Jacob long ago: “I am with you.”

And Jesus is still praying the same prayer for us now: “That they may all be one.”

So let’s grow,not just beside one another, but with one another. As one body. In love.

Let us pray:

Loving God, you meet us where we are and call us to grow together in grace. You have made us one body – many parts, deeply connected. Help us to honour each other’s gifts, to listen with compassion, and to seek unity not just in word, but in heart When we grow weary, remind us we don’t walk alone. When we drift apart, draw us back by your Spirit. May our life together reflect your love, and may our growth be a witness to your presence in the world. AMEN

Galatians 1:13–17; 2:11–21

There’s a moment in the Galatians reading that feels uncomfortably close to home. Paul confronts Peter – not for what he said, but for what he did. Peter believed the gospel was for everyone. He knew God had broken down the barriers between Jew and Gentile. He knew that God’s love didn’t come with fine print. And yet, when others showed up, Peter drew back. He stopped eating with the Gentile believers. He acted out of fear. His behaviour sent a clear message: You’re not really welcome here.

Paul’s response is direct. “You are not acting in line with the truth of the gospel,” he says. Ouch. But necessary. Because the gospel isn’t just something we believe, it’s something we’re meant to live. And when our lives don’t reflect that truth, something has gone seriously off course.

We may not be drawing lines over table fellowship like Peter did, but the church today still wrestles with this tension: saying all are welcome while, in practice, sending the opposite message.

The sign out in front of our church says, “All are Welcome,” but do we actually make room?

Do we see our LGBTQ2S+ siblings, and celebrate their gifts and callings? Or do we quietly hope they won’t bring “too much” of themselves into the sanctuary?

Do we look a person who is unhoused in the eye, or do we avert our gaze and walk a little faster?

Do we talk about mental health with honesty and compassion, or do we stay silent and hope the discomfort passes?

Sometimes the lines we draw are invisible but no less real.

So let’s flip the perspective for a moment.

What would it feel like to walk into a church as someone who has been told – by word or by silence – that they don’t belong?

What would it feel like to hear “God loves you” but to be treated as a problem, a project, or someone barely tolerated?

What would it feel like to carry the weight of grief, trauma, poverty, or mental illness into a room where everyone seems to be pretending everything’s fine?

That ache? That tension? That’s what Paul was naming in Peter’s actions, and what we’re invited to name in ourselves.

To follow Jesus is to embody the truth we proclaim. It means letting love reshape our habits, our assumptions, our communities. This week, let’s ask ourselves:

• Who might feel out of place in the circles where I feel at home?
• What small shifts can I make to open the circle a little wider?
• Where is fear, comfort, or tradition keeping me from truly welcoming others?

The gospel is radical grace, and not just for some, but for all.

Let’s not just believe that. Let’s live it.

Let us pray:

God of welcome and grace, You call us to live what we believe, to make space at the table, to love with our actions, to reflect Your heart in how we show up. Forgive us for the times we’ve said “all are welcome” but made some feel like they weren’t. For the moments we’ve hesitated to embrace our siblings in creation, whatever road they are walking, forgive us. Soften us. Stretch us. Help us live the gospel fully with open hands, open hearts, and open doors. We offer this and all our prayers in the strong name of Christ, our brother and companion on the way. AMEN

Acts 11:1–18

“If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” – Acts 11:17

Peter’s words to the early church come not just as a defense of his actions, but as a moment of revelation, for him and for the community. The Spirit had been poured out on people they had never imagined would be included. It was undeniable. And so Peter asks a question that cuts to the heart: Who was I to hinder God?

But before that, Peter shares something even more radical: God has shown him that God shows no partiality (v. 12). It sounds simple. But for Peter – and for many of us – it requires a profound inner shift.

We like to think we’re open-minded and welcoming, yet we all carry assumptions about who belongs and who doesn’t, who is deserving and who is not, who’s “in” and who’s “out.” Sometimes those lines are drawn by culture, tradition, politics, or even our faith communities. But when we say that God shows no partiality, we’re affirming something that transcends all those human-made boundaries.

To believe that God shows no partiality means:

• Believing that grace is not earned by status, background, or behavior.
• Trusting that the Spirit is already at work in lives and places we may not expect.
• Acknowledging that our categories of “clean” and “unclean,” “us” and “them” don’t bind God.

It means sitting with the discomfort that grace sometimes looks like God giving gifts to people we didn’t think qualified. And still calling it good.

It means listening before judging. Opening before gatekeeping. Letting go of our need to control how God moves.

The Spirit challenged Peter to let go of his old framework so that he could embrace something wider. Something more generous. Something more like Christ.

So let’s return to the question:

👉 What does it mean to truly believe that God shows no partiality?

This week, hold that question close. Let it test your assumptions. Let it stretch your compassion. Let it shape your prayers. And maybe even your actions.

Because the truth is—God’s welcome is wider than ours. And that’s not something to fear. It’s something to rejoice in.

Let’s pray:

God of unexpected grace, you cross the lines we draw and open doors we thought were closed. Soften our hearts where they’ve grown guarded, and stretch our welcome where it’s become narrow. May your Spirit guide us beyond fear and into deeper love, until all your children know they belong. Amen.