Tuesday, February 10, 2026
Monday, February 9, 2026
HOMILY: "Hold On, Hold On"
Sunday, February 8, 2026
The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany
Matthew 5:1-12 (The Beatitudes)
1.
I mentioned last Sunday that I was recently introduced to a wonderful book by Rob Hopkins, a British pioneer in permaculture and sustainability. And it’s the book’s title that fluttered in my heart for days after: “How to Fall in Love with the Future.” “How to Fall in Love with the Future.”
I confess that I then had to look up permaculture—which (as you probably know) is a regenerative design system, based on observing natural ecosystems, to create sustainable, self-sufficient human habitats. A world made whole and holy. By care and partnership within watersheds and localities. And I was thrilled then to discover that, right here on the Seacoast, there is a thriving network of permaculture farmers, practitioners and visionaries—who are showing us how, right here in frosty New England, to make it happen. One of these is my friend Amy Antonucci with whom I was arrested at Congressman Pappas’ office in Dover two years ago. A brave, nonviolent and peace-loving perma-culturalist. Amy might even say that permaculture is something like her religion these days. And I wouldn’t talk her out of that.
But back to that title, to Rob Hopkins’ book: “How to Fall in Love with the Future.” The idea is that we’re living in an era of constant and deliberate dread. But human communities are capable, truly capable, of overcoming dread with imagination, and overwhelming anxiety with creativity and compassion. Why not fall in love with the future? See where that takes us? Step bravely into a world worthy of the two-year-olds among us?
Of course, authoritarian bosses sow fear and dread into the ground of our common life: fear of scarcity and financial ruin; fear of the colored immigrant coming for our jobs; fear of the religion we don’t understand; and dread around the waterfall of bad news that hits our screens, souls and spirits every morning. It’s this dread that fuels a fascist agenda of wealth consolidation, resource extraction and ecocide in the name of security and nationalism. From Ukraine to Minneapolis. From Gaza to the front pages of our papers. Dread drives the conversation. But it doesn’t have to be so, says Rob Hopkins. Within us, within all of us—is a river of wisdom wide enough and deep enough to reveal a future of shared prosperity, mutual blessing and wonder.
And Jesus loves a good river. But this morning he climbs a mountain, probably his favorite mountain, trails of childhood wonder, views of the lake where he learned to swim and then fish; and he climbs this dear and beloved mountain to meet this crippling dread head on and offer us a practice, a future we can love. A practice, a future we can embrace. A practice, a future we need not fear—but must nurture in daily choices and cultivate in backyard gardens and indeed claim as our dear and precious human birthright. To be clear: that practice is fully articulated in the whole of the Sermon on the Mount (which we find in the fifth, sixth and seventh chapters of Matthew). What we read this morning—these Beatitudes—is just the preface, just his introduction. But it’s a pretty fair place to start. The first steps on a trail that leads perhaps to a future we can love. And build together.
2.
For starters, we fall in love with the future when we are honest with our pain, our grief, our loss. And this runs against the cultural grain in a lot of ways, even mainstream spiritual memes that prioritize confidence and positivity. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus says. “Blessed are those who mourn,” he says. For theirs is the kin-dom; for they will be comforted. The biblical tradition here, the practice, is sometimes known as lamentation. Lamentation. And it’s absolutely critical to distinguish between lamentation and dread. Lamentation invites God into the heart of our heartbreak. Lamentation dares even to challenge or question God; but calls on God just the same. Dread—on the other hand—presupposes God’s indifference; and so often yields to despair.
It’s stunning, really, to watch what’s happening in Minneapolis these past several weeks: how the intensity of that community’s grief is now vocalized in community song circles and vibrant, colorful, loving protests. With so many neighbors seized from schools and playgrounds; and advocates killed in their streets—Minnesotans are leaning into lamentation, honest and raw lamentation; but not dread or anything like despair.
Which is not to say that their singing erases their pain, or that their efforts cancel so many excruciating losses—but a community of the brokenhearted sings a song of determination and love; a community of the angry organizes creatively, trains itself boldly, moves together toward a future they can taste now. Lamentation. Lamentation. God is in the midst of it all. Attentive to their pain, committed to their dream of freedom and justice for all. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus says. “Blessed are those who mourn,” he says. For theirs is the kin-dom; for they will be comforted.
Matthew 5:1-12 (The Beatitudes)
1.
I mentioned last Sunday that I was recently introduced to a wonderful book by Rob Hopkins, a British pioneer in permaculture and sustainability. And it’s the book’s title that fluttered in my heart for days after: “How to Fall in Love with the Future.” “How to Fall in Love with the Future.”
 |
| UNH Marchers with Church Friends |
I confess that I then had to look up permaculture—which (as you probably know) is a regenerative design system, based on observing natural ecosystems, to create sustainable, self-sufficient human habitats. A world made whole and holy. By care and partnership within watersheds and localities. And I was thrilled then to discover that, right here on the Seacoast, there is a thriving network of permaculture farmers, practitioners and visionaries—who are showing us how, right here in frosty New England, to make it happen. One of these is my friend Amy Antonucci with whom I was arrested at Congressman Pappas’ office in Dover two years ago. A brave, nonviolent and peace-loving perma-culturalist. Amy might even say that permaculture is something like her religion these days. And I wouldn’t talk her out of that.
But back to that title, to Rob Hopkins’ book: “How to Fall in Love with the Future.” The idea is that we’re living in an era of constant and deliberate dread. But human communities are capable, truly capable, of overcoming dread with imagination, and overwhelming anxiety with creativity and compassion. Why not fall in love with the future? See where that takes us? Step bravely into a world worthy of the two-year-olds among us?
Of course, authoritarian bosses sow fear and dread into the ground of our common life: fear of scarcity and financial ruin; fear of the colored immigrant coming for our jobs; fear of the religion we don’t understand; and dread around the waterfall of bad news that hits our screens, souls and spirits every morning. It’s this dread that fuels a fascist agenda of wealth consolidation, resource extraction and ecocide in the name of security and nationalism. From Ukraine to Minneapolis. From Gaza to the front pages of our papers. Dread drives the conversation. But it doesn’t have to be so, says Rob Hopkins. Within us, within all of us—is a river of wisdom wide enough and deep enough to reveal a future of shared prosperity, mutual blessing and wonder.
And Jesus loves a good river. But this morning he climbs a mountain, probably his favorite mountain, trails of childhood wonder, views of the lake where he learned to swim and then fish; and he climbs this dear and beloved mountain to meet this crippling dread head on and offer us a practice, a future we can love. A practice, a future we can embrace. A practice, a future we need not fear—but must nurture in daily choices and cultivate in backyard gardens and indeed claim as our dear and precious human birthright. To be clear: that practice is fully articulated in the whole of the Sermon on the Mount (which we find in the fifth, sixth and seventh chapters of Matthew). What we read this morning—these Beatitudes—is just the preface, just his introduction. But it’s a pretty fair place to start. The first steps on a trail that leads perhaps to a future we can love. And build together.
2.
For starters, we fall in love with the future when we are honest with our pain, our grief, our loss. And this runs against the cultural grain in a lot of ways, even mainstream spiritual memes that prioritize confidence and positivity. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus says. “Blessed are those who mourn,” he says. For theirs is the kin-dom; for they will be comforted. The biblical tradition here, the practice, is sometimes known as lamentation. Lamentation. And it’s absolutely critical to distinguish between lamentation and dread. Lamentation invites God into the heart of our heartbreak. Lamentation dares even to challenge or question God; but calls on God just the same. Dread—on the other hand—presupposes God’s indifference; and so often yields to despair.
It’s stunning, really, to watch what’s happening in Minneapolis these past several weeks: how the intensity of that community’s grief is now vocalized in community song circles and vibrant, colorful, loving protests. With so many neighbors seized from schools and playgrounds; and advocates killed in their streets—Minnesotans are leaning into lamentation, honest and raw lamentation; but not dread or anything like despair.
Which is not to say that their singing erases their pain, or that their efforts cancel so many excruciating losses—but a community of the brokenhearted sings a song of determination and love; a community of the angry organizes creatively, trains itself boldly, moves together toward a future they can taste now. Lamentation. Lamentation. God is in the midst of it all. Attentive to their pain, committed to their dream of freedom and justice for all. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus says. “Blessed are those who mourn,” he says. For theirs is the kin-dom; for they will be comforted.
Monday, February 2, 2026
Saturday, January 31, 2026
Friday, January 30, 2026
Thursday, January 29, 2026
PRESS CONFERENCE: "ICE Out of NH!"
NH Faith Leaders Press Conference
Granite State Organizing Project (GSOP)
Thursday, January 29 @ 2 pm
Granite State Organizing Project (GSOP)
Thursday, January 29 @ 2 pm
Manchester, NH
Today among these beloved leaders, in this beloved place, in this beloved city: we stand on the traditional ancestral homeland of Pennacook, Abenaki and Wabanaki Peoples of past and present. We acknowledge and honor with gratitude the aki (land), nibi (water), and alnobak (people) who have stewarded the N’dakinna (homeland) throughout the generations and continue to be a vital voice for the good among us.
Today among these beloved leaders, in this beloved place, in this beloved city: we stand on the traditional ancestral homeland of Pennacook, Abenaki and Wabanaki Peoples of past and present. We acknowledge and honor with gratitude the aki (land), nibi (water), and alnobak (people) who have stewarded the N’dakinna (homeland) throughout the generations and continue to be a vital voice for the good among us.
Opening/Framing:
Good afternoon. I am the Reverend Dave Grishaw-Jones and I am glad to stand today with clergy and leaders from many wonderful New Hampshire faith communities and the Granite State Organizing Project. I am myself the Pastor and Teacher of the Community Church of Durham, a Sanctuary Congregation of the United Church of Christ.
We stand together this afternoon just a stone’s throw from West High in Manchester to cry out for our children’s futures, for our families’ futures, for our teachers’ futures, and for our country’s soul. At its best, at our best, we Americans are as safe and as strong as a public high school. We are as confident as its students, and as dedicated as their parents and teachers. What makes America truly great are schools like West High where students from many cultures and nations study together and grow together and develop a sense of community and civic commitment together.
When ICE terrorizes our streets and schools, as they’ve done this year in Minneapolis and Manchester and a hundred other cities, ICE strikes violently at the heart of our American community and the spirit of our democracy. When students have to ask parents over dinner whether they’ll be ambushed next, or taken next, or even killed next, ICE has sown fear and panic in our children and their dreams.
We stand together—leaders, clergy, believers from many traditions—to speak to our elected officials and to our neighbors with one voice today. In our America, from Manchester to Minneapolis, there is a plumb line—straight and true—that falls clearly and unmistakably in our midst and holds us all to account. Who will we be? To terrorize our neighborhoods and deport neighbors and friends is to commit a kind of civil and moral blasphemy, a crime that diminishes our democracy and tears at the ties that bind us. Who will we be? To kill advocates for immigrants, champions of human rights, in our own city streets, is to pervert the cause of righteousness in plain sight. Who will we be? To sow fear and panic in our children is to abuse the power entrusted to our leaders by the will of the people. Who will we be?
Today we will bring our many traditions to bear on this American crisis. Today we will speak of ICE’s cruelty and crimes. Today we will insist on rigorous accountability for the madness our own government has set loose in our streets. Today we will insist on congressional oversight for everything ICE is doing and every dollar ICE is spending. Today we will call out the courage of communities resisting together, in solidarity, in Minneapolis, Manchester and across the country. And today we will speak with one voice of a plumb line—straight and true—that does not tolerate hatred, that does not accept state-sponsored violence and weaponized occupation, that does not in any way acquiesce to fascism and racism in this good land.
Because we love the children of New Hampshire, today we say “No more!” Because we love our cities, our neighborhoods and schools like West High in Manchester, today we say “No more!” Because we love this country and are committed to a better future, today we say “No more!”
And because we love one another, one people from many faiths and cultures and nations; because we love one another not only in word, but in deed, we say—with the Prophet Amos and the Prophet Martin and so many others throughout history—“Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”
We stand together this afternoon just a stone’s throw from West High in Manchester to cry out for our children’s futures, for our families’ futures, for our teachers’ futures, and for our country’s soul. At its best, at our best, we Americans are as safe and as strong as a public high school. We are as confident as its students, and as dedicated as their parents and teachers. What makes America truly great are schools like West High where students from many cultures and nations study together and grow together and develop a sense of community and civic commitment together.
When ICE terrorizes our streets and schools, as they’ve done this year in Minneapolis and Manchester and a hundred other cities, ICE strikes violently at the heart of our American community and the spirit of our democracy. When students have to ask parents over dinner whether they’ll be ambushed next, or taken next, or even killed next, ICE has sown fear and panic in our children and their dreams.
We stand together—leaders, clergy, believers from many traditions—to speak to our elected officials and to our neighbors with one voice today. In our America, from Manchester to Minneapolis, there is a plumb line—straight and true—that falls clearly and unmistakably in our midst and holds us all to account. Who will we be? To terrorize our neighborhoods and deport neighbors and friends is to commit a kind of civil and moral blasphemy, a crime that diminishes our democracy and tears at the ties that bind us. Who will we be? To kill advocates for immigrants, champions of human rights, in our own city streets, is to pervert the cause of righteousness in plain sight. Who will we be? To sow fear and panic in our children is to abuse the power entrusted to our leaders by the will of the people. Who will we be?
Because we love the children of New Hampshire, today we say “No more!” Because we love our cities, our neighborhoods and schools like West High in Manchester, today we say “No more!” Because we love this country and are committed to a better future, today we say “No more!”
And because we love one another, one people from many faiths and cultures and nations; because we love one another not only in word, but in deed, we say—with the Prophet Amos and the Prophet Martin and so many others throughout history—“Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”
Wednesday, January 28, 2026
Monday, January 26, 2026
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