Dear Friends,

I write this message in the midst of uncertainty. Uncertain about the verdict in the Chauvin murder trial. Uncertain about the treatment of protesters expressing sadness, pain, frustration, and anger generations deep. Uncertain about legislation in Minnesota designed to hurt trans people and to disenfranchise anyone arrested for any reason while exercising First Amendment rights. Uncertain about the fate of other legislation that will separate traffic stops from other arrest warrants, legislation that aims to powerfully reform the criminal justice system, to cut off the circuits of mass incarceration due to being Black and Brown and poor. Uncertain about the health of family members and members of this beloved congregation. By the time you read this, some of these uncertainties may be resolved, while others have a long way to go. And any resolution does not prevent more uncertainty.

My worry and anxiety do nothing to appease these realities, nor do they ease my mind and heart. Uncertainty is the nature of our reality. We predict, and we expect a future we imagine, even a minor future like will the oven light or the car engine turn over. But nothing is really certain at all. We simply want it to be.

And so, I make a friend of uncertainty today and tomorrow and now. This friendship accepts implicitly that I do not know. I cannot be sure of anything. The future is always spilling out, spooling forward outside of my control. And so, I bring my mind and heart to acceptance, into a place where I will plan and work and write as if I know what is next and also ready to pivot when I must. This friendship with uncertainty is only possible with love—love for my own imperfect self, love for my family and friends, love for our human world, so fragile and faulty, so prone to error and division. And I love you, each of you. May you remember this, today and every day: you are loved, you are worthy, you are welcome, and you are needed. May you feel it so, and may it be so.

Blessings, Rev. Rita