The Courage to Stay Tender
Dear CHLC,
Lately, I have been wondering if one of the greatest spiritual struggles of our time is not simply whether people believe in God - but whether we can remain tender in a world constantly trying to harden us. Every day we are discipled by outrage, guilt, fear, comparison, and exhaustion. We scroll past wars and suffering between grocery lists, pick-up lines, and weather updates. We are encouraged to protect ourselves with cynicism, act as though we have everything figured out, and treat vulnerability as weakness instead of courage.
And yet, in the middle of all of that noise, the Gospel of John keeps offering us a very different image of Jesus - one who remains deeply present, compassionate, honest, and open-hearted even as the world around him grows more hostile.
And honestly, I think that kind of tenderness can feel increasingly difficult right now. It is often easier to become cynical than hopeful, guarded instead of vulnerable, numb instead of compassionate. But throughout John’s Gospel, Jesus keeps moving toward people in love - washing feet, comforting frightened disciples, weeping at Lazarus’ tomb, defending the vulnerable, and reminding people they are not abandoned.
Even on the edge of betrayal and death, Jesus continues moving toward people in love.
And perhaps that is part of the courage of resurrection too. Because resurrection is not simply about life after death. Resurrection is also about refusing to let fear, violence, cruelty, or despair have the final word in us now. It is about the Spirit continuing to form people and communities capable of mercy, compassion, courage, and love - even when the world rewards hardness instead.
You know, the world will always be forming us into something.
Perhaps the question the church must keep asking then, is not simply “What do we believe?” but “Who are we becoming together?”
Truthfully, I think that is one of the most important questions the church can ask right now.
At CHLC, I see the Spirit forming tenderness into courage all the time. I see it in people who continue showing up for neighbors experiencing homelessness or food insecurity. I see it in volunteers who sort clothing with dignity and care because they believe every person deserves beauty and respect. I see it in accompaniment teams, in hospital visits, in prayers whispered at bedsides, in meals delivered quietly, in tears shared honestly. I see it in our children learning that faith is not about superiority, but about belonging and compassion.
I see it in our congregation’s public witness too. In a moment when many churches are stepping back from visible welcome, CHLC continues striving to embody Christ’s love publicly and concretely - through Pride, through accompaniment, through advocacy, through our signs and statements, through the way we keep insisting that every human being bears the image of God and deserves dignity.
And that kind of tenderness is not weakness. It takes courage to remain open-hearted in a world trying to teach you numbness. It takes courage to keep loving when fear feels easier. It takes courage to keep showing up for one another.
But…maybe that is exactly how the Spirit works.
Not through dramatic mountaintop moments or perfect people, but through ordinary communities who keep choosing love anyway. Through people who continue gathering around tables, praying together, serving neighbors, raising children, singing hymns, grieving honestly, celebrating joy, and refusing to abandon one another.
Perhaps resurrection looks exactly like that: people continuing to show up for one another in the name of Jesus Christ. Could that be one of the holiest callings we have right now? Not to become louder or harder or more performative than the world around us, but to become more deeply rooted in the love of God revealed to us in Jesus Christ.
A love that remains tender enough to heal what the world has hardened.
Courageous enough to tell the truth even when truth is costly.
And resilient enough to keep showing up - again and again - for one another.
In Christ,
Rev. Minna Bothwell