Fellow Reflection: Sam Osakue

Over the past two years of being a fellow at Life Together, I have gained a lot of experience here, at the house, and at my site placement. I had my highs and lows, in my moments, but I learned a lot, especially at my site placement, which is Grace Episcopal Church in Medford. In my site placement at Grace, I have been given the opportunity to help with the livestream, website, and eNews, and lead a monthly film discussion series. I also will be given the opportunity, in a few weeks, to preach for the first time there. The opportunities that I have been given at Grace Church have truly given me the experience of working at a church.

I have grown a lot as a person during my time at Life Together. I gained new insights into myself, especially regarding my interests and activities, as well as those of my fellow housemates. My spirituality has also shifted thanks to the spaces that Life Together provided, such as Prayer Partners, a mentor, and a spiritual director. As someone who is autistic, I really appreciate the support that I have gained, especially with my mentor and in group therapy. As for what is next for me after Life Together, I plan on embarking on a career in tech. I hope that Life Together will grow stronger during its year of sabbath. Thank you, Life Together, for all the memories and experiences I have gained.

Fellow Reflection: Olivia Stanley

I’m writing this reflection from the annual Life Together Advent Retreat at the Bethany House of Prayer. Last Advent I was gearing up for my second to last finals season. I remember the feeling of anticipation to finish my last Advent semester at Sewanee. The period of waiting to be done with all of the exams is long, hopeful, and preoccupying. I had to work hard to recount the semester in two weeks in order to enjoy my reward: a long break from school. I expected a clear reward for all of my waiting.

Where I was last year compared to where I am now in Advent is a mirror of this life I once lived. I always want a break; the feelings of anticipating something are resurfacing as my body prepares for the finals season it’s been used to for so long. There are no tests to take, all nighters to pull, and the people around me are very different. No academic pressure, just the same old waiting. This Advent I’m reflecting on questions around lingering. Why are we waiting? Do we want things to be better or just different? What are we waiting on? What makes us wait? Henri Nouwen offers some answers to these questions:

“Open-ended waiting is hard for us because we tend to wait for something very concrete, for something that we wish to have…for this reason, a lot of our waiting is not open-ended. Instead our waiting is a way of controlling the future. We want the future to go in a very specific direction, and if it does not happen we are disappointed and can even slip into despair.” !!!!!!

I am someone that tries to control the uncontrollable. And fix everything. To change. To be better and do better, all the time. I am feeling so lost about what I’m waiting for this season because I have had control of my direction, up until this point. I am a college educated young adult with anxiety that does not want to make the wrong move – and there is a bleeding and suffering world that needs a lot of tending to – how am I supposed to know how I can best heal the wound? There is so much to do it feels impossible to know when is the right time to take action and how to do it right.

Rebecca Solnit writes about human existence in the 21st century in the book Hope in the Dark:

“This is an extraordinary time full of vital, transformative movements that could not be foreseen. It’s also a nightmarish time. Full engagement [in the world] requires the ability to see both…The 21st century has seen the rise of hideous economic inequality, working conditions, and social services…the elites who forgot they conceded to some of these things in the hope of avoiding revolution…Hope doesn’t mean denying these realities [CLIMATE CHANGE]. It means facing them and addressing them by remembering what else the 21st century has brought, including the movements, heroes, and shifts in consciousness that address these things now…This has been a truly remarkable decade for movement-building, social change, and deep profound shifts in ideas, perspectives, frameworks for broad parts of the population.”

I am an Enneagram 4, the type known as the Individualist – I dream up lives I could spend forever waiting for. I have a vast imagination and I love to fantasize about the world I could live in. Particularly I dream up lives I think have worth, and they often do not align with my reality. Having unrealistic expectations of myself can be really unfair to me, and also to those that support me because it can prevent me from being grateful for my reality. Easing into open-ended waiting and embracing the in-between can make it easier to accept our best. Showing up authentically as ourselves and uplifting the support that carries us through the waiting combats self-isolation. Life Together has been a time of waiting for me – I am taking a gap year in between college and graduate school. An intentional gap year can produce beautiful products out of the waiting. I am trying to ease into not having control over what is next for me. I am able to do this because of the immense intention I have put into waiting. Even though it feels like I have been passively waiting for life to happen to me, I have been seriously discerning my vocation and purpose in the world. There will come a point when we have to stop waiting for the perfect moment to respond to the world’s needs and just do it. I hope that one day I will understand that while I was waiting for God to give me the full image of my life, God was painting on me the whole time. It has no allusion to worthiness being in good grades, or a list of letters behind my name. But it’s an image of a fulfilled call and a life well-loved.

Fall Newsletter from Executive Director Kelsey Rice Bogdan

In the midst of all the changes at Life Together, we have also been affected by a little-known transition that has evoked Halloween-level frights at the Diocese of Massachusetts' headquarters: office renovations. My diocesan colleagues have been abuzz since the summer about renovations to the fourth and fifth floors of the diocesan offices, including the cozy office and cubicle Life Together has called home since our move out of 40 Prescott in 2020. Shortly after Orientation, I finally got the word I had been dreading: we needed to pack up our spaces by the end of the week. So I wrapped my portrait-sized Mary Magdalene and Christ icons in strips of bubble wrap, where they will eventually return from the storage tomb to resurrected office glory. We don't know exactly what to expect when the renovations are over, though we are trusting that the freshly painted walls, gender-neutral restrooms, and reconfigured office spaces will ultimately make the building more comfortable and values-aligned.

Preparing for a sabbath year is a bit like office packing. Since Orientation, we have been standing in the metaphorical office, looking around at our stuff and figuring out where to start. In the case of the Discernment Team, this means defining the process for the next several months, as the necessary precursor to forming a team. Though that takes time-- sometimes more time than I would like-- failing to get that clarity at the outset will ultimately make the work ahead even more difficult. Our fellows just completed their Transformative Teams workshop, postponed after a fellow and trainer came down with COVID during Orientation. And as all our alumni who have been through that workshop know, taking the time to define shared purpose, norms, and roles can mean the difference between a strong team and a waste of everyone's time. 

We are busy packing and preparing for the new thing, laying the groundwork for an unknown future. Life Together isn't alone in this, of course. The Diocese is renovating its offices in the midst of a bishop transition. The Episcopal Service Corps program directors met earlier this month and spent time talking about new ways of doing this work on a broader level. Some days, it is hard not to feel a little overwhelmed by all the transitions and unanswered questions. But I am energized by the notes of encouragement and excitement about what is next that I have received from so many of you. I am hopeful when I read reflections like the one offered in this newsletter by Emmaus fellow Margaret Walker, sharing their own energy for this discernment. And I am grateful for those who have come alongside us in this year, especially new Prayer and Wellness Partner Lydia Strand ('13-'15), who bring so much insight and care to this community. We are in this together, finding the path forward together, and that gives me hope.

Being in this together also gives me a measure of hope in light of war and the deepening humanitarian crisis in Gaza and Israel. Last night I joined the Diocese of Massachusetts' online prayer vigil, responding to a call from Archbishop Hosam Naoum of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem for fasting and prayer by all in the Episcopal community. In the Zoom room, I saw Life Together fellows. I saw diocesan colleagues I had worked with over the years. I even saw quite a few parishioners from my site placement when I was a fellow back in 2009-2010. And even as we prayed and lamented together, it reminded me that we aren't alone. That in the stillness of prayer together, we can discern our collective call to work toward a just peace in the land of the Holy One. In this season of lament, transition, and fear, I pray that we find those spaces to discern together, to act together, to love together. And at Life Together, we will continue forming young leaders for such a time as this.

Fellow Reflection: Margaret Walker

The year is turning, in more ways than one. Despite the unseasonal warmth, the mass gatherings of geese and the golden locust leaves have made it clear that Autumn is approaching. The familiar, new smell in the air reminds me, too, that this time of year has been honored across time and space as a “thin place” of liminality, transformation, and deepening.

Life Together is in a bit of a strange season as well, both in the short and long term. Our cohort has started to settle in, and over the course of the last few months I have been deeply grateful to witness the cascade of small moments that have led to us becoming a community. The bursts of laughter or singing I hear from across the house have become part of my daily routine, and have brought me such joy. I also am aware of the ways in which this year is positioned in the life of Life Together, as we prepare for the upcoming Sabbath. We can expect that a time of reflecting, processing, and intention is ahead, yet there are so many unknowns underlying it all. Looking even more broadly, as we as Humans contend with various crises on both sociopolitical and environmental scales, all of us seem to be inhabiting a place of uncertainty and transition. In recognizing the convergence of all these places of liminality, I feel a calling to reflect more deeply on what it might mean for me to be a part of this Season. And that has led me to wonder also what God might be revealing about my/our role within the times we are in more broadly, in Life Together and in the world. What a holy opportunity, to be rooted in legacy, embedded in the networks that have been built, while also living into the joyful, challenging questions of new relationships, of new possibility, of radical change.

Although there is great meaning to be found in these times, I do not want to discount the grief, rage, and lament of all that is not right. Contending with the vast amount of change and disconnection can often be exhausting and discouraging. A quote that I came across in February, which is now posted at the top of the stairs in the Sacred Grove, has been particularly grounding for me as I have navigated the compounding layers of liminality:

“To live a lifetime of audacity, dwelling in the place where joy meets justice, year after year, can only be sustained by being so in love with a vision of what’s possible that we no longer flirt with despair”

– Aurora Levins Morales

In the past I have most definitely tended towards despair when I imagined what my/our future might hold, and that is one part of what led me to decide to join Life Together– I felt unequipped to face the impending crisis I was anticipating and wanted to quickly deepen my relational and community organizing skills. In a twist of irony, I have discovered, throughout my time here, a way of living that truly does give me hope that we as a species can transform towards something more life-giving for all of us. In other words, when I gather in community and see the ways we strive to show up in the world, I am sustained by that loving possibility of joy and justice. Life Together for me is a place where I/we can practice living into those ways of being and visions of liberation now, not just theoretically but in our actions. In these ways, I can see this Season as a bountiful space to imagine, discern, practice, and create a new way of life, together.

Summer Newsletter from Executive Director Kelsey Rice Bogdan

Since sharing news of Life Together’s sabbath year last week, I have encountered a wide range of reactions. Some have expressed curiosity about the broader trends that make this time necessary. Some speak of sadness about an era coming to an end. Many have shared support and encouragement, for which I am deeply grateful.

I have experienced all these reactions and more since last winter, when Life Together’s Advisory Leadership Team first began to imagine possibilities for a pause. And yet in this moment, as we reflect on the year that has passed and turn toward our 25th cohort of fellows arriving next month, I am excited. Excited for the year ahead, as we learn from and walk with a fantastic group of young leaders. Excited for the formation of a discernment team to dream of Life Together’s future, and the commitment to young adult ministry that it represents from the Diocese's bishops. Excited for the conversations already swirling, the partners emerging from unexpected quarters, the pieces coming together to give birth to what’s next. 

I don’t know what shape that new thing will ultimately take. But in the midst of it all, I come back to the core teaching from my own Life Together Orientation 14 years ago: “Leadership is helping others achieve purpose in the face of uncertainty” (Marshall Ganz). There is no doubt that we face uncertain times, in Life Together, in the young adult service movement, in the Church. Yet our network is rich in leaders formed for such a time as this.

I will share updates with our community, via email and on social media, as this sabbath process unfolds in the coming months. Please don't hesitate to reach out if you would like to offer insights or get involved in some way. Because I have also learned in Life Together that leadership isn't an individual activity for one or two of us. We will find a path forward together, in community, listening to the Spirit and leaning into our shared values. Whatever you can offer to this process-- your prayers, your wisdom, your networks and resources-- will strengthen the outcome. Thank you for walking with us into this season.

Fellow Reflection: Sarah Mattea Lane

Dear Friends,

Our role is essential

Olakoneo --- Greek: To be a servant, to serve

Windows and doorways

to the opening of understanding

disaster, impossible, interrupted

leads us to action

I remain so

For all of us to work and teach together

The longer I am … the deeper I delve

What’s Next?

FORWARD

During Dis-Orientation (our end of year programming), my housemate Kris led us in an activity called collage poetry. We flipped through magazines and books and wrote down words or phrases that stood out and constructed poetry out of what we discovered. We were asked to reflect on the past year and to let that guide our creation. The above poem was created in that reflection space. 

Life Together is inherently transitory, like windows and doors, a threshold for young adults to pass through. My journey in Life Together has been one of exploration and becoming. As I am looking backwards, I am in awe of the ways in which I have changed. That “advocate” is a descriptor that comes to mind when others think of me. That living with and loving others often means holding multiple truths, which are sometimes in conflict. That I believe the Divine lives in each of us. I am so grateful for the opportunities I have had to challenge myself and others, to root myself in community, to slow down and listen.

As I finish out my Emmaus year, the question of “What’s Next?” has been on everyone’s lips (including my own). And I don’t have an answer. That does scare me more than I would want to announce. However, I do feel that my years in Life Together have prepared me for whatever is next; from disasters to more doorways, I am ready to move forward. Forward towards new community-building. Forward towards living my values out loud. Forward towards whatever life might throw my way. I am ready for FORWARD.

Fellow Reflection: Sam Osakue

April is an interesting month for many people, especially those who are Autistic/Neurodivergent. April is Autism Acceptance Month. It was formed by people who are autistic and wanted to help shift the narrative and erase the stigma of being Autistic, according to the Autistic Self Advocacy Network. As to why it is better to say Autism Acceptance Month, instead of Autism Awareness month, the ASAN says, “Acceptance of autism as a natural condition in the human experience is necessary for real dialogue to occur.” Autism or autism spectrum disorder (ASD) is a developmental disability that affects how we experience the world around us, and that we think, process, communicate, and socialize differently.  

With Autism Acceptance Month coming up, I wanted to share my experience of being Autistic and being a Life Together fellow. Life Together has been a revolutionary experience for me. It has allowed me to truly discover more about myself and leave my comfort zone. I tend to struggle with social situations because of my autism. Thankfully, I found that my housemates deeply cared for me and that they almost feel like family to me. They have been very open and responsive to me whenever I share my needs, especially those that are related to my disability, and have helped me to find ways to meet those needs.

I also appreciate the resources that I have from Life Together. In our house, we have a lot of fidget toys that are great for when I need to stim (self-stimulatory behavior). I also enjoy the knowledge that I gain from our Prayer Partners and training sessions, which help me and others in my house find ways to connect. One training, in particular, was the Non-Violent Communication (NVC), which helped me understand needs and feelings, which is something I struggle with as an autistic person. I even helped lead a session talking about my experience with Autism and ways I struggle in social situations and it helped a lot with developing a greater relationship with my housemates, including resolving conflicts.

What I want to conclude is that being in Life Together has allowed me to fully open up and truly accept who I am. And so what can you do to help support Autism Acceptance Month? Let’s all be brave and proud of who we are, no matter what life hits at us. If I had a call to action for Autism Acceptance Month, a few things would be, first educate yourself about Autism and encourage others. If you know someone who is Autistic, try to get to know that person better and have a conversation. If you don’t know that, try to find blogs, books, YouTube channels, and social media pages of Autistic creators, the more the better. A few books to read are Neurotribes, We’re Not Broken, and On the Spectrum. A few Autistic YouTubers to watch are Autism from the Inside, The ThoughtSpot, and Mom on the Spectrum. Lastly, help amplify Autistic voices, and if you are on social media, use the #AcutallyAutistic hashtag to help find and spread Autistic voices.

A Modernized Continuation of the Beatitudes

by fellow Kris Varga

Blessed are the volunteers,

for their time is in God’s hands.

Blessed are the sorrowful,

for their tears will be wiped by angels.

Blessed are the empathetic,

for their lives will be wise and true.

Blessed are the broken,

for their pieces will be made into mosaics.

Blessed are the meditators,

for their peace will be shared in presence.

Blessed are the marginalized,

for they shall know liberation.

Blessed are the mindful,

for every detail of theirs will be tended.

Blessed are the helpers,

for they will be adored.

Blessed are the visionaries,

for they shall create hopes and dreams.

Blessed are the gentle,

for they shall soften the world.

Blessed are the joyous,

for their smiles will shine from the heavens.

Blessed are the givers,

for them love will be received.

Blessed are the sincere,

for them truth will be made reality.

Blessed are they who vocalize injustice,

especially when refraining from

hardening their hearts,

they are the true prophets of this world.

Image: “Christ Blessing” by Hans Memling

March Newsletter from Executive Director Kelsey Rice Bogdan

Eight years of practicing sacred chant with Life Together cohorts has made me a bold harmonizer. Though I have minimal formal vocal training, many of you have taught me over the years how to add layers to the sound we produce together. When it works, the result is rich and powerful. But sometimes, my harmony just comes out weird. Maybe my key is off-- there are some harmonies that are better in my head. Or maybe my deviation from the melody throws the whole group off-balance, and a moment of chaos ensues. In those moments, I pause, reset, and think to myself, "Back to basics," before rejoining the main melody.

The phrase "back to basics" has run through my head a lot in these past few weeks, and not just during a round of "To the Hills." In our current season of staff transition, the limits of my own capacity have meant thinking seriously about what is actually important. In that context, "back to basics" boils down to relationships. Relationships as the basis of our recruitment efforts. Relationships as the heart of our fundraising. Relationships as the core of how we all experience transformation through Life Together, as fellows, alumni, staff, and friends. Returning to my own Life Together organizing training more than a decade ago, I am doing a lot of 1:1s this spring to tend to existing relationships and help new ones to grow. And that time has already yielded creative energy and support to navigate this liminal season.

And of course, "back to basics" has also meant fostering the spiritual practices that connect us to God and the sacred. As we prepare for a training next month on contemplative practice, our community has talked about the deep lament we're holding over the brokenness of relationships. Some of this brokenness is interpersonal. We also experience it in the social climate of transphobia and racism that impacts so many within and beyond Life Together. And while we seek ways to act for justice and repair, we are also returning to those deep spiritual connection points as the wellspring for action: to the Bible and other sacred texts; to centering prayer and meditation; and yes, to chanting. Because as the upcoming story of Holy Week and Easter reminds us, year after year, death is not the last word. The fear and hatred surrounding us are not the last word. God speaks something new on the other side: through those 1:1s, through our action together, through the still, small voice in our exhausted hearts.

So in this spring of transitions, I am returning to the melody of Life Together, the melody of the Spirit. As we approach Holy Week in the Christian tradition, I hope that you also find and anchor yourself in the "back to basics" melody of your own life and faith.

Fellow Reflection: Margaret Walker

As a teenager growing up in Minneapolis, I couldn't wait to move far away. Despite my best efforts, I ended up attending college at the University of Minnesota, a whopping 6 miles away from my house. There, I discovered there was something deeply right about being in my hometown in this new way. I fell in love with the closeness of the skyline, the hushed wonder of the Mississippi River, which I crossed daily, and the wild turkeys who roamed the streets. Over the past 22 years, my heart has been both broken and filled with joy because of this city, as I have been raised in the midst of rivers, artists, bogs, and uprisings. (An essay, or perhaps novel, for another time). Moving across the country gave me a whole new perspective on what home means, and the significance of Place. I had never spent more than a few weeks outside of Minnesota before coming here. Now that I was gone from the city I had once been itching to leave, nothing seemed to make sense. How could this Place embrace me when it does not know me? Why are the roundabouts called rotaries, and why are everyone’s vowels so short? How could I belong here when I have almost no understanding of this Place?

On my first day here, as I was pulling up to my new home, I saw a tree on the boulevard that made me do a double take. I gazed at the smooth, flaking bark and the pointy tipped leaves. A sycamore. Never in my life have I had them so close, so constant. I was abuzz with excitement. What other newness will I share space with here? Months later, although my heart still longs for my cottonwood friends, I rejoice at the shagbark hickory, sweet gum, pin oak, and beech trees that have now become part of my surroundings. I have tasted the salt of the ocean, and watched honey bees bathing in pokeweed pollen. I still see wood ducks, great blue herons, and wild turkeys, but they live near Scarboro Pond rather than Minnehaha Creek. I have also exchanged homemade bread and locally grown eggplants with parishioners, and held people’s hands as they shared their stories with me on the mobile clinic where I work. I have slowly found new walking routes, new neighbors, a new community and way of living that have been extraordinarily transformative. Even during our house meetings, which often go on for hours, I am filled with wonder, love, and a sense of simple yet indescribable correctness. I have been connected with a web of people who exist at the intersections of spirituality and social justice, and I have finally begun tangibly developing resources, skills, and relationships to engage with my commitment to emergency preparedness.

After a night walk with one of my housemates one day, we sat and talked on the porch for a while, watching the steady stream of traffic go by. As we moved through the conversation, we approached the subject of friendships, reciprocity, and the desire for change. I paused and asked, “Do you want to create a new pattern with me?” They agreed, and we sat in excited silence, marveling at the magic of that moment. I am grateful for the Life Together ecosystem, which allows such conversations to occur regularly. Questions of belonging and feelings of homesickness still arise within me, but over time I have seen myself and others creating incredible new ways of being. My suspicions that intentional community has the power to re-calibrate who we are as a species on this planet have been confirmed in the ways I have seen us show up together, and in the ways we strive to carry our values and connections more wholly into our lives. Being here has allowed me to live in the way I have always wanted to, and I know these experiences will always be with me, no matter where I call home.

Fellow Reflection: Kristopher Varga

Kris preached the following sermon at Church of Our Saviour in Milton, MA on October 2, 2022.

I was officially received as an Episcopalian yesterday. I’m sure it’s not common for a new member of the church to preach the day after they become a new member. So I’m hoping what I say here will have that extra zest of spirit that I received at St. Paul’s Cathedral.

What does it mean to be a Christian? The easiest answer is a follower of Christ. Maybe that’s a simple response, but the actuality of it is far from simple. There’s a line from Paul’s letter today that says God “called us with a holy calling, not according to our works, but according to his own purpose and grace.” That’s hard to embrace, realizing that what it means is to let go of what we think we want, and to accept what God knows we need. Think about this for a moment. How much do we involve God in our lives, communicate with God in our decision making process, and trust that God is with us as we continue forward? How much of our lives involve humbling ourselves to the truth that we, alone, might not have the best answer, and that God, who knows us better than ourselves, does contain that answer? This takes a deep faith.

And faith is far from easy. I wish I could say that it is easy, that all one has to do is check the box once and all is fine for life. But that’s not the case. Faith is a struggle, sometimes daily. And here we are, having faith in Jesus, a man who lived two thousand years ago, written in text that was put together not long after. So what compels us to have this faith? I’m sure for everyone it’s different. Maybe some of you truly have seen miracles. Maybe it’s that feeling you get when you walk into church and receive communion, or when your prayers are answered, or you witness acts of kindness from strangers, or look an infant in the eyes and revel in their wonder. Maybe it’s marveling at nature, sighing at sunsets, discovering the serenity of a calm ocean after a storm. Maybe it’s hearing and reading scripture, or admiring the discipleship of your priest, or learning about the saints and their sanctity.

Today is the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi, one of my greatest inspirations. St. Francis himself was born into luxury, his father a prosperous silk merchant. Yet, during the Crusades, spirit moved him to turn away from a life that might have been physically fulfilling, but was not spiritually fulfilling, and he fully embraced Christian values, living among the poor and the disregarded, tending to them and spending his days praising and glorifying God. Through this divine intervention, he entered into the faith of God’s will, trusting that this grace and the teachings displayed in the gospel were of a deeper truth than anything humanity could conjure.

Paul is another example of this conversion from a life of comfort to a life of discipleship. Having been a Pharisee, he was seen as a well-respected individual in society, someone who knew Jewish law and Torah. Yet, because of a vision, because of a change of heart, Paul relinquished his title, his respect in the Jewish community, and followed what God intended, which was to live out the gospel and share the love of Christ to all. There’s a quote from Henri Nouwen in his book Spiritual Direction: Wisdom for the Long Walk of Faith that goes, “Those who have really listened to God’s voice have often found themselves being called away from familiar and relatively comfortable places to places they would rather not go.” Both Francis and Paul here are prime examples of this, and so are numerous others who have decided to embark upon the Christian faith. They have entered into union with Christ, one who willingly surrendered himself to the cross, and are thus called to go out into the world and embody the “good news”.

My journey of faith is shared in these stories. I was born Catholic, altar-server and everything, but during my teenage years I abandoned my faith, losing connection to God and spiritual life. In my early twenties I began working in the film industry, pursuing a life of money and success. But it was an ugly lifestyle. I recall working at a casting agency and after a series of auditions, the casting agents returned to the office and started mocking with cruelty a majority of the people who auditioned! This made me feel really uneasy inside. On sets of Hollywood movies, I noticed how cold everyone was to each other, how desperate some people were to be noticed, focusing only on their own ambition. It was all wrong. There was no love being shared. Yet, we idolize Hollywood, its people and fame and glamour. 

Life outside of that business wasn’t much better. I was working at a corporate audio/visual job at a prominent hotel in Philly, and I was miserable. One night I had to sleep in the office because I finished work at midnight and had work again at five in the morning. There was another instance where a woman demanded a refund on her million dollar event, all because we had a technology issue and it took a minute for her video to start playing. I put on my best customer service performance, and all that did was prevent her from trying to get me fired. This lifestyle of working for a paycheck, to gain recognition and to buy material things is ultimately hollow, and it wasn’t until a late night of divine intervention that I wrote a long prayer to God asking for help to change my life. From there I started to discover new opportunities. I began working at natural food stores and got involved with various spiritual groups. My inner light began to shine again. Later in my twenties I came across an Episcopal church that offered “mindfulness worship” in the evenings. I remember walking into the chapel and seeing a priest dressed in ordinary attire sitting at the head of a circle of lit candles, Celtic music playing faintly in the background. He offered me a pamphlet and we began the worship, incorporating Christian texts in ways I never thought of before (this was my initiation to mysticism). I loved being in the chapel with its stained glass and old, wooden pews. It brought back the familiarity of church life in my youth. I started to attend the Sunday service and discovered that the values and beliefs of the Episcopal church matched my own. From there my faith was reawakened, and I began to devote my life to God’s servitude. For years to come I saw my calling as working with people with disabilities, supporting them and promoting their inclusivity. Now, God has inspired me to pursue a calling towards priesthood. And to be honest, neither path is very lucrative. Yet, the importance of living a way of life that focuses not on the individual, but on everyone is fundamental to the Christian faith. A life that has gratitude for existence and the wonders around us, that cares for others as yourself and recognizes the futility of what our society deems as success. On trusting the guidance of a power beyond your own logical reasoning at times, and seeing that wisdom in not aiming for the top, but taking care of those at the bottom.

I will add a disclaimer that I don’t believe there’s anything inherently wrong with success or money, with using the rational, thinking mind to make logical decisions. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures and comforts of life. Life is meant to be joyful, but when these aims become our sole focus, we lose sight of the presence of Christ in all, we forget to support each other’s needs to help ensure equality and to help relieve the suffering that we all encounter. I chose to become an Episcopalian because I believe the truth of this church today embodies these values in its seeking for social justice and change, in its inclusivity and focus on love, and also in its worship and prayer and devoted relationship to God and Jesus (you can learn more about this by joining our spiritual discussion group). To me this is the meaning of being Christian, and sometimes this means getting out there and volunteering, or trying out a different career path, or changing your lifestyle altogether, and sometimes it means checking in on your neighbor to make sure they’re doing okay, or treating your friends to a meal or planting a garden or even taking time to provide some needed self-care and turning to God for consolation. Of course attending church and being part of a community is important, but Christianity is beyond the walls of the chapel you worship in. So take the time today and ask yourself, what does it mean for me to be a Christian?

Christ tells us in today’s lesson that if we have faith the size of a mustard seed, miracles can happen. We might view these miracles as healing the sick, turning water into wine or raising the dead, but I've seen other miracles that are just as important. I have seen people change their entire lives around, view the world through a new lens, from a heart-centered way of love. This is what Christ is trying to showcase, that we need to allow the faith that we have, even if it’s as small as a mustard seed, to crack open and become something miraculous. If we can have the courage to do this, then by God’s grace we can become the change we wish to see.

I leave you today with this famous prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi which I feel embodies what it means to be a disciple of Christ, that which is not fixated on one’s self, but on the entirety:

Lord make us instruments of your peace:

where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Fellow Reflection: Andrea Albamonte

Greetings friends,

I was accepted to Life Together in February of 2020. I planned to build a network in Boston and within the Episcopal Church. I planned to get some great experience, start the process to the priesthood my second year in the program, and then settle in Boston while being sponsored for the priesthood by my site placement, Grace Episcopal Church. I imagined all the cool things I would get to do and try, the people I would get to meet, the places I would get to explore in Boston.

As you can imagine, I could not have imagined that a month after being accepted into the program, the COVID-19 pandemic would dash my plans. I still learned a lot, built a network, got a lot of great experience, and grew deeply into my faith. But my network was mostly virtual, and many of the chances that I expected to have to make friends and meet new people couldn’t happen because of COVID safety reasons. I still had a lot of great experiences, but there were a lot of tears and grief over the fact that much of that experience occurred online. 

I also couldn’t have anticipated the direction that my faith journey would take. 

I entered with questions about what kind of ordained vocation I would explore. I spoke with Death Doulas and military chaplains. I spoke with young priests who had come through Life Together. I spoke with older priests who had been in this Diocese for decades. I got involved in the Young Adult Advisory Committee. I taught classes, preached, and started a new ministry at my site placement. 

Upon reaching the deadline to sign the papers to commit to starting the process to the priesthood in the Diocese of Massachusetts, I realized that I needed to put this on hold so that I could explore whether I had a monastic vocation first. I never would have anticipated that this would be my path when I began this program. It used to be that I didn’t fully believe in the power of prayer. I was embarrassed about being a person who prayed. Turning to God in the hardest, most uncertain times has deepened my prayer life to an extent that dedicating my life to prayer is a lifestyle that now makes more sense. After getting in contact with a few different monastic communities and planning visits (two of which had to be rescheduled because of COVID sickness), I finally visited my first community this past weekend. 

I’m so grateful for everything that I have learned since I joined this program, vocationally, personally, spiritually. It’s been an incredibly difficult and fulfilling journey.

December Newsletter from Executive Director Kelsey Rice Bogdan

Back in my first year as Executive Director, I wrote a piece for this newsletter in which I spoke of the “cold barrenness of winter.” One of our fantastic alumni, who is an environmental educator, wrote back a few days later: the land is NOT barren in winter, far from it. Under the blanket of snow, microorganisms are preparing the ground for growth. The cold kills off harmful pests. Winter prepares the way for new life in the spring.

Maybe it makes sense, then, that the two seasons of preparation in the church calendar, Advent and Lent, fall in the darkest and coldest months in the northern hemisphere. During those seasons, we are called to slow down, to be quiet, so that we can hear the still, small voice calling out the seeds of new life within us. But at Christmas, too often we settle for the cheap version of preparation that we see modeled around us: lengthy shopping lists, perfect home decor, or for some of us, plowing through the landslide of work tasks before wearily putting on the holiday out-of-office message. Convinced that the quiet and darkness are barren spaces, we ward them off with the noise and glitzy light of our busy-ness. And the soil of our souls remains malnourished.

Yet I’m drawn to what Black author Cole Arthur Riley writes on Instagram (@BlackLiturgies) about Advent: “As we wait, we remind ourselves that darkness (which is far too often reduced to a trite symbol for sin and death), actually has the unique capacity to bear the divine. In Advent, we reclaim the holy dark.” What would it mean, in these final days of Advent, to reclaim that darkness, to recognize its divine potential? What would shift within us?

When I think about the holy dark, I think about reflection, openness, willingness to let the cold kill off what no longer helps me so that I can make space for growth. And it is in that spirit of holy dark that Life Together is entering its own season of reflection over the next few months. Accompanied by consultants from the Capacity Institute, we will explore where Life Together has been in the darkness of this pandemic season, and where it is going in the years ahead. We want to reflect on the needs of Gen Z young adults and what we are called to offer the next generation of prayerful and prophetic leaders. It is a chance to prepare the soil for a new season in our organizational life. I am eager to begin this work, and excited to share what we are learning with you in the coming months.

May you embrace the holy dark of these final days of Advent, and find the joy of new life this Christmas. Happy holidays to all of you in our Life Together community!

September Newsletter from Executive Director Kelsey Rice Bogdan

It’s September again, with another Life Together cohort beginning a year of community life and site placement work. For me, there is something comforting in the rhythm of our year– even in the midst of the uncertainty wrought by an ongoing pandemic, fellows still arrive in Boston, full of excitement for this new adventure and openness to all that the year holds. 

Their arrival reminds me that for all our American notions of time as a linear march into the future, our experience of time is often cyclical. Summer fades into fall, then hardens into winter before life bursts forth again in spring. Year after year, the Christian liturgical calendar takes us through the central stories of the faith, from waiting for Jesus’ birth in Advent to the Holy Week journey through his death and resurrection. Each of these cycles offers the opportunity to learn something new, or revisit something the season has already taught us. The time is the same, yet different.

After a year in which most of our training and formation activities took place online, this year’s Orientation felt like a return to familiar milestones. A fully vaccinated cohort allowed us to meet in-person, while wearing masks indoors in accordance with guidelines from the Diocese of Massachusetts. Once again we prayed together daily and stumbled through our first attempts at public narrative. Perhaps most powerfully, the Co-Creation Dinner returned this year as an actual dinner, with a small group of pre-registered guests joining us on the lawn in front of our new home in Dorchester for spring rolls and kebab skewers prepared by a rock star food team. As we circled up for worship, I felt overwhelming gratitude— for this group of young adults who said “yes” to transformation, for the community whose steadfast support has sustained us through this challenging season, for a God who is always doing a new thing for us to perceive.

Yet much has changed as well. After 20 years in the training room at 40 Prescott Street, we were nomads this year. We held trainings in four different locations over eight days, and that doesn’t even count visits to site placements and a field trip to Boston’s King’s Chapel. And our cohort is smaller than in previous years, with six fellows living in one community house. We are trying new formats in the training space out of necessity, reflecting the needs of a very different group in different circumstances than in years past. And as we move into the program year, we’re more deeply asking questions about generational changes among our cohorts: how are we called to build Gen Z leadership?

I believe that Life Together, with its culture of learning and experimentation, is well-equipped to navigate these changes. But to do this learning, we will need your help! Stay tuned throughout the fall for opportunities to offer your thoughts on this cycle in Life Together’s organizational life. This includes our triennial Alumni Survey, which we hope you’ll fill out when that becomes available later in the fall. Because regardless of the season, it is the engagement of this community that makes possible all that we do.