The Book of Psalms is like a book of life’s exclamations. The Psalms are understood to me as a collection of prayer songs that reflect different times and experiences throughout Israel’s existence. The Psalms tell us about the people of Israel’s relationship with God and can encourage us to pursue our own collective and individual relationships with God through praying and exploring the Psalms. 
The Psalms are helpful examples of praying and praising in all seasons of life. They offer pathways to expressing through awe and wonder, in pain and letting go, in joy and praise, and with compassion and justice. 


​I appreciate what fourth-century philosopher St. Augustine said about the Psalms: 
“If the psalm prays, you pray. If the psalm laments, you lament. If the psalm exalts, you rejoice. If it hopes, you hope. If it fears, you fear. Everything written here is a mirror for us.” 
 (Augustine, The Confessions, Book IX)

When I turn to the Psalms, I can read and hear how to pray and praise in every season of life, whether rejoicing with those who rejoice, mourning with those who mourn, or languishing with those who languish. I read and hear Psalm 30 as a song of thanksgiving and praise based on the receiving of God’s mercy. A lamenting praise, penned by someone who’s been through some stuff and written through the voice of an individual. Psalm 30 reads to me as a song of praise that has faith, in a hope that has already been realized.

Psalm 30 Remix: A Psalm of Praise for a Hope Already Realized  

I thank you, O God, for your quiet presence in my life.
   Because of You, my anxieties do not completely consume me.
When I have called out for help, I have felt your touch of comfort.
   You have breathed new life into me and made me aware.
I gleefully dance in gladness and praise,
   and sink deeply into joy.
My emotional anxieties and nervousness fade, 
    Love is expansive and unending.
I may have silent tears late in the night, 
   But clarity and joy rise with the sun.
When all was well and easy in my life, I ignored You,
   You did not disrupt my self-contentment.
When I sought you, 
      I fumbled around and lost my way.
What use is it to acquire all the world’s alluring treasures,
    If I have no spiritual anchor in the depths?
You heard my cry and, like manna, sprinkled my path with breadcrumbs to call me home.
    You reached out and guided me through my mind's disorienting darkness. 
My hope in You is realized not just in fleeting moments, 
    But lingers like a song in the air. 
My heart sings, my spirit dances,
    And my soul gives thanks.

We’ve seen the signs at protests.
​We've made the signs! 
Spray-painted on cardboard.
Black marker, bold letters:
NO KINGS!
It’s more than just a rejection of authoritarian monarchy.
It’s a cry against domination.
Against systems that hoard power, demand obedience, and try to enforce and claim peace based on someone else’s silence.
And here’s the wild, subversive truth:
I believe Jesus would’ve carried that sign.
When Pilate asked him, “Are you a king?”
Jesus didn’t play the game.
He didn’t deny it, but he refused to answer on Empire’s terms.
“My kingdom does not belong to this world,” he said.
Not because it’s a kingdom in the clouds.
But because it doesn't work like the kingdoms we know.
No thrones. No weapons. No walls.
Just tables. Just healing. Just welcome.
Jesus didn’t come to replace one ruler with another.
He came to reinvent or even end the rigged game entirely.
To dismantle power built on fear.
To call the poor blessed.
To flip the tables.
To wash the feet of those the world would rather ignore.
So when we say “Jesus is Lord,” we are not crowning a new tyrant.
We’re announcing a new reality:
No kings. Only kin.
No Kingdoms. Only Kin-doms. 
A movement, not a monarchy.
A beloved community, not a holy hierarchy.
That’s the kin-dom. That’s the protest.
That’s the Way of Jesus.

A Prayer for June 14th, 2025 No Kings!
Jesus,
you stood before empire and didn’t flinch.
You redefined power, not by ruling, but by serving.
Not by fear, but by love.
You didn’t seek a throne, but a table where all are welcome.
You didn’t demand loyalty but called us into kinship.
Let us rise up to face this urgent time.
Let us walk in your way disrupting what harms, healing what’s broken,
and building a world where no one is above another, and everyone belongs.
No kings. Only kin.
Amen.
​
Find your local protest gathering:  https://www.nokings.org/

Make your safety plan: https://www.hrc.org/resources/tips-for-preparedness-peaceful-protesting-and-safety

This past Sunday was Pentecost Sunday in our Christian Tradition.  A few years ago, in a blog post, I imagined what a modern-day depiction of this story could be like. I tried to imagine the loyal and beloved friends of Jesus, the disciples, gathered together in a room during the celebration of the Jewish Feast of Shavuot.   (Shavuot meaning 'weeks' and the celebration happens 7 weeks/50 days after Passover.)  The familiar narrative, set this time in 2025.  What would that look like, and feel like, and sound like now?   I took that blog post and recreated it as a first-person account, asked our
NextGen group to edit it, and then they read it aloud in worship this past Sunday.   It was a powerful retelling of an ancient tale made relevant for today.  Below is the final reading.  
​___________________________________________________________________________________________________

It's June 8th, 2025. We are a group of young adults—ages 16 to 35—gathered in the upstairs flat of what some activists call a “safe house.” We huddle together, not just out of loyalty to our beloved Jesus, but out of fear. Fear of being targeted, profiled, detained, deported, or simply erased, because of who we follow, who we love, how we identify, or where we were born.

It’s been fifty days since the trauma and execution of Jesus, our teacher, healer, justice-worker, and friend. The grief still clings to us. The risks still linger. And still, we are here. Together.

Some of us are organizers. Some are seekers. Some undocumented. Some queer. Some nonbinary. Some disabled. Some of us are bone-tired from fighting for insulin, therapy, or shelter. But all of us? We are dreamers of a world that reflects the Way of Jesus.

And then it happens. We don’t know how to explain it. The air shifts. A roaring sound fills the room, like wind tearing through the walls. Heat rises. Movement pulses through our bodies. We don’t see fire, but we feel it, burning from the inside out. We start to speak, rapid, bold, fearless. Our voices are not just our own, they are everyone’s.  And somehow, people outside hear it too.

Out on the street, the city stops. People look up. “What is this?” they ask. “Some kind of Pride Month street theater? Are they high? Are they drunk on cheap wine?”
And maybe we are.
Drunk on love.
Drunk on justice.
High on dreams that feel dangerously possible.
Drunk on the Spirit that says we are more than pawns in someone else’s empire.
They’ll say we’re just 120 people. But if you’ve ever been in a protest that stirred your soul, you know the number doesn’t matter. This isn’t a flash mob. This is a movement being born.

And maybe--
This is the day we stop wondering if we all carry the Spirit.
The day we stop waiting for permission.
The day we stop asking for a seat at the table.
The day we start flipping the tables.
The day we say, “Enough,” and rise up.
We rise up and dance in the streets for trans rights.
We rise up and flow into the clinics for every uninsured neighbor.
We rise up and march at the border, holding signs and holding one another.
We rise up and stand in our churches and say, “We’re here. We’ve always been here.”

Why are we here?
What is the point of Church if we don’t open the windows wide to the winds of justice?
What’s the point if we don’t move—in spirit and in body—toward those on the margins?
Pentecost is not a ritual we observe.
It’s an uprising we join.
It is holy chaos.
It is defiant joy.
It is the refusal to let grief have the final word.
It is choosing to care before anyone gives us permission.
It is creating something new.
It is learning the languages of solidarity, equity, and compassion.
It is the dance we do when we realize:
God is already in the streets, waiting for us to show up.
Pentecost is not a moment, it is a movement.
It is the refusal to sit still in a room that was always meant to shake us awake.
It is our sacred, fierce participation in the Spirit’s holy disruption.
And we are part of it.

"When Pentecost Day arrived, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound from heaven like the howling of a fierce wind filled the entire house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be individual flames of fire alighting on each one of them. They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages as the Spirit enabled them to speak.  They were all surprised and bewildered.  Some asked each other, 'What does this mean?'"  Acts 2:1-4,12 (CEB)
 

What spiritual practice of faith formation can we learn from the Magi? We may need to explore what it means to journey towards an unknown destination and embrace the uncertainty that comes with it. 

How about a good old-fashioned Coddiwomple? Coddiwomple: to travel purposefully toward an unknown or vaguely defined destination, possibly meandering along the way.

In our society, we tend to be very goal-oriented—whether in work, school, hobbies, or life in general.
Every summer, my family vacations in Whistler, BC. It’s beautiful in the summer, and I am always in awe of the mountains, trees, rocks, wildflowers, and waterways. Despite some assumptions, I love hiking the trails. However, I often struggle with impatience because I focus on the trail app to track where I’m going, rather than just taking it one step at a time.   I watch myself, the moving blue dot dutifully flowing the green trail outline on the screen of my iPhone.  My thoughts racing: Where am I going? How long until I get there? What elevation are we at now? Did we pass that landmark? 
I get bogged down in reaching the trail's end as the destination itself. While this isn’t inherently bad, I realize that by focusing solely on the end of the trail, I miss out on the journey and all that it has to offer.  I don't allow for the journey to unfold in front of me in each step.  I predict the journey's end before the destination truly unfolds before me. 

Perhaps it’s the struggle with uncertainty that heightens my anxiety to track the trail.   For me, uncertainty triggers an instinct to control information.  The feeling of not being in control or not knowing what comes next makes me want to learn more, while also trying to control the information, in an attempt to manage the anxiety-inducing situations that arise. Uncertainty feels ominously uncomfortable to me. How I perceive the nature and texture of uncertainties—whether it’s internal or external—seems to control me, rather than me being guided by it.   I think being uncertain in my uncertainty and finding meaning in the chaos is the way forward.  

The spiritual practice I might need to learn is to "coddiwomple," to meander, to saunter along the trails.  To saunter, commonly meaning to stroll, to muse, to wonder.  Interestingly, the word "saunter" is thought to come from the phrase 'à la Sainte Terre,' meaning "to the Holy Land" in French—a la Sainte Terre is essentially, a pilgrimage.  A journey of sacred purpose. 

Mountaineer, John Muir speaks of the term in this way: 
"I don't like either the word hike or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains - not hike!
Do you know the origin of that word 'saunter?' It's a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, "A la sainte terre,' 'To the Holy Land.' And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not 'hike' through them."  -John Muir

John Muir truly lived into his own philosophy. He was often the last to arrive at a camp, never in a rush. He took his time, stopping to connect with the trees along his path, to marvel at nature's cathedral.  He would greet fellow travelers, encouraging them to kneel down and marvel at the delicate beauty of tiny, almost invisible flowers. By the time he reached camp, he would often have wildflowers tucked into his hat and a sprig of balsam fir in his buttonhole.

What is the purpose of a journey or pilgrimage? What was the purpose for the Magi?
I believe the journey of the Magi was likely a form of coddiwomple-ing.  A meandering, sauntering pilgrimage with a sacred purpose.  They didn’t look down; they looked up.  Although their journey may have felt uncertain, elusive, and even rebellious at times, it ultimately led them to a wonderful and profound discovery.  What that discovery was for the Magi, and what it may be for us, sometimes requires us to set aside rigid goals, engage our uncertainties as mysteries with active curiosity, and instead practice meaningful meandering until the destination reveals itself. 

How much more fulfilling it would be to "saunter" along the journey of life, measuring it by beauty, love, and compassion. How much richer it is to take the time to truly know and understand the people we meet, to pause and allow the sun's warmth to fill our soul, to listen to the whispers of the trees and the melodies of the birds, and to admire the delicate flowers that bloom along the path. 

The next time I set out on the trails, I will practice laying down the need to control the uncertainties, and simply let the trail and it's destination reveal herself.    A La Sainte Terre, to the Holy Land!

The Name Jar, by Yangsook Choi:
Story synopsis: 
Being the new kid in school is hard enough, but what about when nobody can pronounce your name? Having just moved from Korea, Unhei is anxious that American kids will like her. So instead of introducing herself on the first day of school, she tells the class that she will choose a name by the following week. Her new classmates are fascinated by this no-name girl and decide to help out by filling a glass jar with names for her to pick from. But while Unhei practices being a Suzy, Laura, or Amanda, one of her classmates comes to her neighborhood and discovers her real name and its special meaning. On the day of her name choosing, the name jar has mysteriously disappeared. Encouraged by her new friends, Unhei chooses her own Korean name and helps everyone learn to pronounce it.

I love a dining table set with place cards, written with your name and where to sit. One reason I love place cards at the dining table is that it feels fancy.  Place cards take away the confusion, allows one to sit without the awkwardness, and allows for your name to be known and claimed.  

Our names don't just do the job of signaling things about ourselves to other people; our names can also be a vital expression of your own individual identity, representing a connection to our family, our culture, your language, our community and our religious practice.    Some people claim a given birth names and some claim a chosen name. 

Chosen names are more common than ever in our society today and need to be recognized.  It is especially important to those within the gender expansive and transgender community.   Honoring someone's chosen name and pronouns is a practice.   The following are some definitions, intentional language, and a practice: 

Dead name: the birth name of a transgender person who has changed their name as part of their gender transition. 

Deadnaming: is the act of referring to a transgender or non-binary person by a name (including pronouns) that they used before transitioning, such as their given birth name. Done intentionally,  deadnaming is a way to invalidate or mock someone's gender identity and expression. Schools are just beginning to identify deadnaming as a form of harassment.   

Often though, deadnaming it’s unintentional.  Tip: when someone corrects you with their chosen name say,  ‘thank you’ not ‘I’m’ sorry', then try again using the chosen name.

Names are important. We all have a name.  Imagine if a dining table had place cards with just the labels that are given to people. A place card for immigrant, or outsider, or homeless, or youth or uncircumcised, or someone’s dead name.

Learning, knowing, understanding and calling someone by their name, including cultural names that are hard to pronounce (such as in Unhei's story,) and using chosen names not dead names, are what demolishes barriers between us and creates an expansive table to make room for diverse backgrounds, cultures, the sharing of meaningful foods, vulnerable stories, laughter, and ultimately intimate and trusting connections.    

Unhei (Yoon-Hey)  Unhei learns the significance of her name from her mother and the friendly Korean grocer in her neighborhood. Her name, which means “graceful” in Korean, was chosen for her by a name master sought out by her mother and grandmother.   And 'Chingu'...in Korean means friend. 

The Name Jar, author and illustrator, Yangsook Choi, Dragonfly Books, 2003 

One of the most nerve-wracking and anxiety-inducing places is for sure, the Jr. High School cafeteria. Most of us remember what it was like in the school lunchroom. After you get your lunch you scan the room for a table where you will feel welcome and accepted.  Often the same table where your friends wave to you.  But when your besties aren't there, it becomes a room full of uncertainty.  When sitting alone somehow feels better than not fitting in.  Fitting in is a fear of not being accepted. 

Springtide Research Institute recently compiled a report about Gen Alpha and their faith:  Thirteen, A First Look at Gen Alpha.  What do 8th graders, 13-year-olds, Gen Alpha, know about the differences between fitting in and belonging?  Here are some answers from our youth at RBCC: 

• Belonging is about being somewhere you want to be, and they want you. 
• Fitting in is about being somewhere you want to be, and no one cares. 
• Belonging is being accepted for you. 
• Fitting in is being accepted for trying to be like everyone else. 
• If I get to be me, then I belong. 
• If I get to be like you, then I am only fitting in. 

Not belonging at school is heartbreakingly hard, but it is nothing compared to not feeling you belong in the place you call home.   To feel you don't belong in your own family.  What 8th graders say not belonging at home feels like: 

• Not living up to parents expectations for my life. 
• Not being as cool, or as popular, or as athletic or as smart as your parents want you to be. 
• Not being as good at the same things your parents were good at when they were young. 
• No being accepted for your true self and expression of self. 

The familiar story of the Prodigal Son, is a story of a family, and all is complications of acceptance and belonging.  I can imagine the prodigal son story taking place in a Jr. High school cafeteria.   To be willing to look up from our lunches and notice everyone entering the room.  Learning to recognize and understand differences, then accepting those differences, and then celebrating belonging together. 

Would you have been the one or are you going to be the one…to scooch over at the lunch table
(or regularly claimed and familiar church pew) for the stranger in the doorway, the outcast in the room, the unpopular one in the room, the one who has the unpopular opinions, the one you perceive as annoying or to blame?  Because based on the stories Jesus tells, he treats all those people like family!  All worthy of acceptance and celebration. 

 “His father said to him, ‘Look, dear son, you have always stayed by me, and everything I have is yours. We had to celebrate this happy day. For your brother was dead and has come back to life! He was lost, but now he is found!’”   Luke 15:32

​When Harry Potter is trying to find the platform for the train that will bring him to his new school, he faces a brick wall where Platform 9 3/4 should be. Mrs. Weasley, the mother of students who have made this trip before, gives him advice. She encourages him to run right toward the platform  promising that it will yield when he gets to it. 
Harry had to trust the message, that what was on the other side of that brick wall, was the promise of what he’d only been told was waiting for him.  
Running towards a brick wall required courage to leave behind the familiar.
Running towards a brick wall required hope for his own future.
Running towards a brick wall required imagination to try a new thing.
Running towards a brick wall required love shared with him.
Running towards a brick wall required trust that what was told to him was in fact true behind the wall. 
If it weren't for Mrs. Weasley's prophetic greeting and the assurance of hope, Harry may have never made it to Hogwarts.

Thresholds, physically, spiritually, and metaphorically, are places of crossing over, encounter and transition – between inside and outside, the known and unknown, here and there, and then and yet to come.   The front porch is the threshold that is at the edge of inside, the common ground of outsiders and insiders.  The front porch of a church serves as a prophetic greeting to the  community. 

Thresholds have moved further and further in our neighboring community.  No longer the sanctuary doors, not even the front doors of our church building...but to the sidewalk, the street, the top of the hill. But, the front doors of our church are most often the first threshold most people encounter.  The threshold of our own church home may feel comfortably familiar and surprisingly unfamiliar, recognizable and also unrecognizable to us upon return from the last time we spent time within.  The front doors of our church may also feel like a brick wall to someone courageously crossing our threshold for the first time. 

What can we do to make our threshold more permeable?  (bricks are technically porous after all)
What prophetic greeting are we proclaiming to our neighbors to give them a hopeful reason to step off the sidewalk?   What assurance of hope are we giving someone looking for the way into a safe, welcoming, and accepting space.   But even more importantly, does it match who we truly are beyond the threshold of our own church doors?  Are we are own worst brick wall or are we truly speaking a prophetic greeting to our neighbors that yields to their need for inclusion, acceptance, and support? 

Here are some of the Prophetic Greetings our NextGen group has brainstormed over time: 
Trans Youth Safe Here
They is a Beautiful Pronoun for God
Love is God’s Orientation
God is too Big for one Religion
Diversity Equity and Inclusion Practiced Here
​We Stand with our (Jewish, Muslim, AAPI, BIPOIC…) Siblings
People Exactly Like You are Welcome Here
We Welcome Your… (pronouns, expression of identity, doubts, opinions, perspectives, stories, etc.)
Church is a Practice, Unconditional Love and Justice is the point
​Kindness is a Verb

God who dwells with us, You command us to love out neighbors. We know You rejoice when we meet our neighbors where they are. We give thanks in advance for each and every stranger, neighbor, friend, and loved one, who has the courage to approach the threshold of our church home.  Remind us that all people, known and to be known, are made in Your image. Valued and Beloved. Guide us in being a reflection of Your extravagant welcome, inclusive acceptance, and radical love.  May we be, on the outside, who we believe ourselves to be on the inside.  Even in the midst of great change.  Amen. 

The late 80's released one of my favorite movies, Dirty Dancing.   I grew up dancing.  As a kiddo, I took dance lessons both ballet and tap, and also baton twirling lessons.  I love movement.  My teens years introduced me to sacred dance.  Adding movement to scripture to commuciate and interpret meaning.  So a movie about a young person's journey of self doubt and self discovery through dance was a story that resonated with me.  

If you know the movie, the lead character Baby, which is a telling nickname (her characters name is acutally Frances) had a bold confidence that also wasn’t without doubt. Likewise, the Camp Kellerman dance insturctor, Johnny Castle's bravado wasn’t without doubt. Without detialing the entire movie, most well known is the most qutoeable line..."Nobody puts baby in a corner” a case where someone deserves to shine and not hide who they are.  

All of this is to frame how, like the follwers of Jesus, who themselves were still disbelieving, wondering, and doubting Jesus' presence among them...that there can be joy within our doubt if we are willing to dance with it.  

Like any emotion, doubt wants to be felt. To be moved. To be attended to.  Doubt sashays through the room, challenging our confidence in things as they are. In the way we are. In the unknown things we don't yet understand about ourselves, the world, and it's systems.  Doubt isn't something we should put in the corner. We can’t ignore doubt or just tell it off.  Doubt taps it’s foot in the corner begging to be engaged. Doubt wants and demands a to be danced with! 

How can we make doubt a dancer partner?  First, we need a good teacher. 
Jesus knew his followers would have doubts, because good leaders draw doubts out into the middle of the dance floor.  The doubts are named, seen, heard, and acknowledged. Jesus asked his followers, 'why do doubts arise in your heart?'  But I don't think the word doubt isn’t the most important word in this question. The word ’why’ is. Engageing with doubt is the only way to understand it. 
​ 
So we need a good dance.
Perhaps a basic box step, to help us out. 
Step 1:  Acknowledge doubt.
                  Take the first brave step.  Recognize doubt's presence. 
Step 2: Name the doubt.  
                 What type of doubt is tapping it's foot in the corner.                          Self-doubt? Intellcetucal doubt?  Spiritual doubt? 
Step 3: Invite the doubt to dance.  
                  Discover 'why' the doubt exists.  Ask questions. 
                  Seek wisdom. Be curious. Seek help if needed. 
Step 4: Dance it out.  
                 Doubt can be unsetteling, even scary and imoblizing.  

Can you guess what the object in the picture is?
It's the backside of an embroidery hoop!  
Can you guess what the formed image is on the front of the embroidery hoop?   You'll have to use your imagination. 
And I suspect that there would be as many guesses as there are people and imaginations!   What you imagine isn't any less real than what someone else imagines. 
I love jumble of colors on the messy side, the jumble of unformed possibility.  The colorful chaos. 

The Creation story…
The Creation story in Judaism and Christianity (one of many creation narratives/myths floating around at that ancient time) is a tale of God creating something out of chaos and helps us to settle our minds about the creation of all things.  To put things in order.   Imagine God creating. Sewing. Pulling through threads out of the chaos and into realness.  Into something that can be seen and known.  Colorful, tangible, and wonderful. 

We humans have been called into being, into existence out of the chaos.   We are God's masterpiece, accomplishment. workmanship (Ephesians 2:10) with a purpose of being the colorful, tangible, wonderful image bearers of God.  The English words used in this letter to early Christians in Ephesus...masterpiece, accomplishment, workmanship...are translations of the original Greek word poiema.  Our English word poem comes from this same Greek word.  In all our diversity, we are collectively a living poem of God through which God is seen. 

We know that God is before all things, and in God, all things are held together.  But God doesn’t only show Themself in what we can see all around us and through us.  Yes, God can be known in what is visible and even tangible, but God also dwells within the invisible.  When we pay attention to the ah-has, the bright ideas, and epiphanies. When we are aware of our deepest thoughts, yearnings, and daydreams...this is where God dwells... in the sacred space of our imagination.

May the wisdom of our grown-up hearts sing well with our childlike curiosity so that we may not be so quick to dismiss what we cannot see with our eyes.  May we be willing to seek and see God in the tangibles and the intangibles.  As we wake up to our own sacred imagination, may it be shaped around the image of God.

A poem:  Divine Maker of Beautiful Things.

Divine Maker of beautiful things,
You are the sewer of beautiful landscapes, horizons, and vast expanses. 
Like the backside of an embroidery hoop, 
Untangle the jumble of threads that make up my heart and mind.
So that the vision we share together for the world,
can be pulled through into focus. 
Just like your finest handiwork in the world, 
May we sew together and manifest the vibrancy and beauty
of  Your colorful ways;
Stretching, sweeping, reaching the infinite edges of your Kin-dom.
Divine Maker of beautiful things, 
May it be sewn.  -Staci

"As he went, the crowds pressed in on him.  Now there was a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years, and though she had spent all she had on physicians, no one could cure her.  She came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, and immediately her flow of blood stopped. Then Jesus asked, “Who touched me?” When they all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the crowds are hemming you in and pressing against you.”  But Jesus said, “Someone touched me, for I noticed that power had gone out from me.”  When the woman realized that she could not remain hidden, she came trembling, and falling down before him, she declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched him and how she had been immediately healed. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.”   
Luke. Chapter 8, verses 42 through 48. ​

Take a deep breath.  Take time to be aware of everything you are in touch with right now, literally.
Your clothes and how they fit and feel on your body. Your shoes and the ground beneath you. The pew cushion you are sitting on and the hard pew underneath. The elbow brushing up next to you or maybe the hand you are holding. What is touching you or maybe you are touching it? 

In this photo of elephants, who is touching who? Can you even tell which instigated the loving touch? 

In the book, How to Train a Wild Elephant written by Jan Chozen Bays, this analogy is shared: 
The Buddha once compared the mind to a wild elephant. Like an elephant running rampant through the jungle, the untrained mind expends unnecessary energy when allowed to roam free.
Taming an elephant requires tethering it to a stake. This forces the elephant to remain still, to conserve its energy, and to reduce harm to its environment. Mindfulness exercises are the mind’s stakes. They offer a point of focus to quiet the mind.

In the book, How to Train a Wild Elephant, Bays offers 53 simple exercises for incorporating mindfulness into a daily routine.  Mindfulness means focusing intentionally on the present task or environment wile noticing sensory information.    Practice #11 is Loving Touch: use loving hands and loving touch even with inanimate objects.  

We don't think twice often about how we close a door, or crumple up a piece of paper and throw it away.  How we touch our utensils when eating.   The force in which we touch the keys of our computer when responding to an email.  Dragging chairs across the room.   As an example of loving touch, Jan Chozen Bays shares a story about Zen Master Maezumi Rosi and how he opens envelopes with a letter opener to assure a clean cut so that he can remove the contents with intentional love and care. 

Have you even seen a teen kick off their shoes, drop their hoodie on the floor, and throw their backpack in a corner.  How do you touch your clothes at the end of the day?  
Bays shares how another Buddhist Monk takes time to carefully fold his robes each night and put them under his mattress to 'press' them.  Treating each robe as if it is the robe of Buddha. 

What we touch, and how we mindfully touch, allows us the opportunity to experience the presence of the Divine.  By our mindfulness, our imaginations are sparked through our sense of touch.  Our sense of touch never turns off.  It is always at work, helping us to explore our world, to connect and make meaning of things.  Our spiritual sense of touch is a symbol for our closeness to the Divine, the feeling of being embraced and of belonging. 

We can experience the Divine from how a monk touches their robe as the robe of the Buddha.
We can experience the Divine in how we touch the earth as the body of God.
We can experience the Divine in how we reach to touch the hem of Jesus as the hem of God.
We can experience the Divine in how we reach to touch the living and even inanimate objects we encounter in our daily lives. 

How we reach out, touch, and seek the presence of God is a practice:
     Where do you find the hem of God’s garment?  
     What can you feel in your hands that reminds you of God? 
     What textures remind you of God’s presence?
      How can our body physically recognize God?

Everything we touch can be a mindful, prayerful, spiritual practice of connection.  Everything we lovingly touch can spark awareness of the Divine.   

How to Train a Wild Elephant & Other Adventures in Mindfulness: Simple Daily Mindfulness Practices For living life more fully and joyfully, by Jan Chozen Bays, Shambhala Publishing, 1991