Today, a special word of thanks to those of you who have supported the Dial Hope Foundation with a financial donation. Your gifts make this ministry possible. Thank you!

There is an ancient Jewish commentary on the book of Genesis — a midrash — that has stayed with me.

It tells the story of Adam and Eve's expulsion from Eden, but adds a detail not found in the original text. As the condemned couple left the garden, God gave them one final gift.

The gift of tears.

So that, the midrash says, when grief overtakes you, and your heart aches beyond enduring, and great anguish grips your soul — then there will fall from your eyes this tiny tear. And your burden will grow lighter.

And then the midrash goes further. When Adam and Eve's first tears fell to the ground outside Eden, the first garden beyond paradise sprang forth. The tears of anguish and abandonment became, quite literally, the seeds of new life.

Pastor Leonard Sweet called tears liquid prayers.

I think he's right.

There is something that happens when we weep — really weep — that goes beyond emotion. Something releases. Something that had been locked tight in the chest finds a way out. Grief that has been carried in silence begins, somehow, to lighten.

The Psalms are full of this. David weeps. He rages. He cries out from the depths. And again and again, something shifts. Not because the circumstances change — but because the anguish has been brought into the presence of God rather than held alone in the dark.

Tears are not a sign of weakness. They are not something to be managed or apologized for. They are, in their own way, a form of prayer. An honest, wordless opening of the soul toward God.

Maybe you are carrying something today that has not yet found its way to tears. Maybe you have been holding it together for a long time — for yourself, for others — and the grief has gone quiet but not gone away.

Or maybe you have wept recently, and wondered whether it meant anything at all.

It does.

When you weep over your own anguish, or over the suffering of the world, or when you sit with someone else in their pain and let it move you — those tears are not wasted. They are, in the oldest and truest sense, a prayer.

And if the midrash is right, they may also be the beginning of something new.

Prayer: Loving God, we thank you for the gift of tears — for the ability to feel what is true, to grieve what is lost, to be moved by the pain of others. We bring you today what we have been carrying. We do not always have words. But you know what lies beneath. Receive our tears as prayers. And in your mercy, let them become — in your time — the seeds of something new. Amen.

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Today’s message was written by my friend, Rev. Roger Kunkel, founder of Dial Hope.

I thank God for my Scottish grandmother who urged me to preach my first sermon on the story of the ten lepers found in Luke 17:11-19. Ten lepers were healed but only one returned to say, “Thank you.”

Thanks may be the most valuable word in any language. It is said when Mark Twain was at the peak of his career, his writing was valued at $5 per word. Some prankster wrote Twain a letter saying, “Dear Mr. Twain: enclosed is $5. Please send me your best word.” Shortly a reply came. It simply said, “Thanks!”

Thanks is an important word of affirmation and appreciation. Thank you, are healing and kind words. Most of us know how good it feels to receive gratitude. This week take a few moments and write two or three short notes of gratitude to a few unthanked contributors to your spiritual pilgrimage… to those who have left footprints on your heart.

Let us pray. O God of all precious things, who hears our pain even when tears block our words, create in us a heart of laughter and hope and gratitude. Help us to face each day with joy, O God, for each day comes as a fresh page. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.  

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The book of Nehemiah tells the story of a people returning home after years of exile. Everything they had known had been taken from them — their city, their temple, their way of life. And now, slowly, painstakingly, they were rebuilding.

When the wall around Jerusalem was finally complete, they didn't quietly move on to the next task. They stopped. They gathered. They celebrated with everything they had.

The scripture says: The joy of Jerusalem was heard far away.

I love that image. A joy so full, so uncontained, that it carried beyond the city walls. A people who had been through the wilderness — who knew what it was to lose everything — and who now could not help but overflow.

There is something in that story that I think we need right now.

Not manufactured cheerfulness. Not the pretense that everything is fine. But the kind of joy that comes from stopping long enough to actually notice what we have been given. The kind that requires us to look back before we can look forward.

I want to offer you a simple exercise that I came across recently in my own morning devotions. It comes from the Spiritual Formation Bible, built around this very passage from Nehemiah.

Grab a pen and paper. Set a timer for two minutes.

And write down every way that God has given you joy.

Don't edit. Don't rate. Just write — small things and large things, recent things and distant ones. Family, friends, faith, creation, work, memory. The cup of coffee that was exactly right. The phone call that came at the perfect moment. The person who has loved you longer than you deserved. The morning you woke up and, just for a moment, everything felt okay.

When the timer goes off, read back what you wrote.

I tried this myself. And what surprised me was not the length of the list — though it was longer than I expected. What surprised me was what happened in my chest as I read it back. Something that had been tight began to loosen. Something that had gone quiet began to stir.

Perspective, I think, is the word. The noise of everything pressing and urgent and worrying receded, just slightly. And what was left was something closer to gratitude. Something closer to joy.

The people of Jerusalem had been through exile. They knew darkness and loss and the long road home. And yet — when they stopped to recognize what God had done, the joy was heard far away.

Maybe yours can be too.

Prayer: God of hope, you have filled our lives with more blessing than we often stop to name. Today we name them. For the small graces and the large ones, for the people who have loved us and the moments that have held us — we give you thanks. Lift our eyes today to all that is good and true and worth celebrating. May our joy, like Jerusalem's, overflow. Amen.

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There is a moment early in Jesus' ministry that has always intrigued me.

Before he heals anyone, before he teaches, before any of it — the Spirit leads him into the wilderness. Forty days. Alone. Fasting. And then the temptations come.

I've never quite understood why it had to start that way. But the more I sit with it, the more I think it speaks to something true about life. From time to time, we all find ourselves in the wilderness. A diagnosis. A loss. A season when the ground shifts beneath us and nothing feels certain. Times when what we thought we knew — about ourselves, about the future, about God — gets tested.

The wilderness is real. And the forces that meet us there are real too.

The word devil comes from the Greek diablien — to split, to divide. In biblical thinking, the devil is not a cartoon figure. It is that force — personal or otherwise — that tries to split us away from God, away from each other, away from our own deepest selves.

And however you understand that theologically, the reality it points to is undeniable. A spirit of greed can settle over a corporation like a culture. Hatred can take over a person, or a whole community, in ways that seem impossible to explain. Addiction, cynicism, indifference — these forces are real. They are powerful. And they rarely announce themselves.

What I notice is this: they tend to come when we are most vulnerable. When we are tired, depleted, afraid. When the wilderness has gone on longer than we expected.

But here is what I also notice about Jesus in the wilderness.

He doesn't fight his way through it on his own strength. He fasts. He prays. He leans on what he knows to be true about God. When the temptations come, he reaches — not for a quick fix, not for the stones that promise to become bread — but for something deeper. Something that holds.

Even at the very end of his life, in the garden the night before he died, we find him in the same posture. On his knees. In prayer. Dependent.

That's not weakness. That's wisdom.

So if you find yourself in the wilderness today — and some of you are — this is my prayer for you.

May you lean on what you know to be true about God, even when you can't feel it. May you reach for the deeper source, even when everything else is promising faster relief. And may you find, as others have found before you, that there is a courage and a strength and a hope available in those moments that does not come from within you.

It comes from beyond you. And it is enough.

Prayer: God of grace, meet us in our wilderness today. Where we are tired, renew us. Where we are afraid, steady us. Where we are tempted to reach for the wrong things, redirect us. Draw us closer to you — and may we find, in you, everything we need. Amen.

Today’s message was written by my friend Rev. Roger Kunkel, founder of Dial Hope.

In the Broadway musical, "STOP THE WORLD, I WANT TO GET OFF," actor Anthony Newley sang a powerful song: "Once in a Lifetime." It contains these poignant words: "This is my moment... I’m gonna do great things." 

Sadly, we must confess that we know the empty feeling of "missing our moment," letting the moment pass. All of us, because of fear or timidity, or insecurity, have let special opportunities, special moments slip by us. Psychologists tell us that if we do not act every time we have this kind of feeling, we are less likely to act later when other such moments present themselves. Each time we fail to act, we become more hardened, more desensitized, more emotionally paralyzed. We trick ourselves by substituting emotion for action, by thinking that just because we felt it, it has been cared for. 

How many letters never have been written? 

How many phone calls have never been made? 

How many compliments have been left unsaid? 

How many "I'm sorrys" remain unspoken? 

How many "Thank yous" have never been said? 

How many "I love yous" are still unexpressed? 

How many commitments are still not made? 

because we missed our moment! 

If there is an emptiness, a void, a vacuum, a hunger in your life, remember: Jesus offers you life. Don't miss this moment! If there's any kindness or love you can show, show it now. Seize the moment! Live today fully and make it a masterpiece! 

Prayer: God of love, we know you are always with us and you love us. How patiently you tutor us! Straighten the backbone of our beliefs, strengthen our resolve, move us to action, so that the roots of faith will reach the center of our hearts. Grant us peace that comes from your love...that whether we walk through fields of flowers or stumble along streets of sadness, we will walk beside you. Be close today to those who are experiencing grief or loneliness. In Jesus' name. Amen.