What are the opening hours?

Monday 10am - 1pm Tuesday 10am - 1pm Wednesday 10am - 1pm Thursday 10am - 1pm Friday 10am - 1pm Saturday 5pm - 6pm Sunday 11am - 12pm

Triune Lutheran Church

Home
United States
Broadview Heights, OH
Triune Lutheran Church

We Gather. We Grow. We Live Generously. Welcome to the home page of Triune Lutheran Church in Broadview Heights, Ohio.

We are an active Christian community that offers spiritual growth, fellowship and educational opportunities to nourish relationships with one another and with God. For more information, please visit our website: www.triunelutheran.com.

06/24/2026

Already There
Texts: Genesis 21:8-21 | Matthew 10:24-39

Take a slow breath.
Let your body settle.
Let yourself arrive here, just as you are.

You do not need to have it figured out.
You do not need to hold everything together.
Just be here. Just breathe.

· · ·
Somewhere in you there is something you are holding onto
— a strategy, a certainty, a familiar way of making sense of the world.

You have carried it for a long time.
It has served you.
But it may be blocking your view.

Gently ask yourself:
What am I gripping so tightly that I cannot see what is already here?

Do not judge what rises. Just notice it.

· · ·
Hagar ran out of everything she thought she needed.
And in that emptiness
— when she finally, completely lost her grip —
God opened her eyes.
The well was already there.
Gently ask yourself:
Where might God already be present in the place I most fear?

Do not judge what rises. Just notice it.

· · ·

God is not waiting for you to arrive somewhere more together,
more worthy, more certain.

God is already there
— in the wilderness, in the uncertainty,
in the place where your strategies ran out.

You were heard before you found the words.
You were seen before you knew where to look.

Gently ask yourself:
What might I see if I opened my hands and stopped holding on?

Do not judge what rises.
Just notice it.

· · ·
Now pray:
Holy One, you are El-roi — the God who sees.
You hear our cry before we can form the words.
You are already present in every place we most fear.
When I am holding on too tightly, open my hands.
When I cannot see through the fear, open my eyes.
When I am certain the well is not there, remind me to trust.
I am not alone in the wilderness.
I have never been alone.
Amen.

· · ·
Rest for a moment in this truth:
The well is already there.
God is already here.
You are never alone.

Take one slow breath as you return to your day.

06/22/2026

Already There
Texts: Genesis 21:8-21 | Matthew 10:24-39

What if the thing you thought would be your undoing was actually the moment your eyes were finally opened?

That's the story of Hagar. Expelled into the wilderness with her son and nothing left to hold onto, she runs out of water, runs out of hope, and collapses in despair. And in that emptiness — when she has finally, completely lost her grip — God opens her eyes. And she sees a well that was already there.

It was there all along. She just couldn't see it through the grief and the fear and the desperate scrambling of someone trying to hold everything together.

In Matthew's gospel, Jesus sends the disciples out to proclaim something genuinely disruptive: that the Dream of God has come near. Now. Here. Already. And it includes everyone.

But here's the challenge. Most of us absorbed our deepest values and assumptions long before we were old enough to question them. Our families gave them to us — who belongs and who doesn't, what God looks like, what success looks like, who is worthy, how the world should be ordered. Those inherited ideas feel like truth because we've carried them so long we've stopped noticing they're there.

Living into the Dream of God asks us to examine what we've been handed. Not all of it survives contact with a God who hears the cry of the expelled, who welcomes all the wrong people, who insists the last shall be first. And when we dare to reorganize our lives around that God instead of around the familiar and comfortable, it will often go against the grain of the status quo — even with the people we love most.

That friction, Jesus says, is not a sign something has gone wrong. It's a sign something real is happening. The sign of transformation.

Both Hagar and the disciples point to the same truth: empty hands are the beginning of open eyes. We are not sent into the unknown and left there. We are invited to open ourselves to God's presence in our midst.

Do not be afraid. The promise is not that life will be easy. The promise is that you will never be alone.

If you'd like to go deeper, I invite you to visit our Digital Sanctuary [https://www.triunelutheran.com/reflections-1] for this week's reflection and meditation: Already There. Both a PDF and audio file are available for download.

So what inherited assumption is the Dream of God asking you to examine? We'd love to hear from you. 👇

06/17/2026

Named for Laughter
Texts: Genesis 18:1-15 and Matthew 9:35-10:8

Take a slow breath.
Let your body settle.

Let yourself arrive here,
just as you are.

You do not need to have it all together.
You do not need to be further along than you are.
You do not need to hide what you came in with.

Just be here. Just breathe.

· · ·
Here is the first thing this text wants you to hear:

The table does not require perfection.
It requires presence.

Abraham ran toward strangers he did not yet recognize as holy.
He gave everything before he knew who they were.
The divine arrived not in a temple, not on a mountain
— but at a tent, in the heat of the day,
through the face of the stranger.

Gently ask yourself:
Where has God been arriving in your life
through people or moments you almost missed?
Do not judge what rises. Just notice it.

· · ·
Now hear what happened to Sarah.

She laughed —
involuntarily, inwardly —
the laugh of someone confronted with the genuinely impossible.
And when she was caught, she denied it.

The response was gentle and firm: No, but you did laugh.

Not a condemnation.
An invitation to tell the truth about where she actually was.

And the child was named Yitzhak — he laughs. God took the thing she tried to hide and named the promise after it.

Not in spite of her laughter. Through it.

God does not work around your wounds, your doubts, your evasions.
God works through them.
The thing you most want to conceal
may be precisely where the divine is already at work.

Gently ask yourself:
What are you trying to hide right now
— the doubt, the fear,
the involuntary response you're a little ashamed of?

Do not judge what rises.
Just notice it.

· · ·
Now hear what Jesus says to those he sends:

The ability is in you.

Not earned. Not inherited.
Given.

Exousia — not only the authority but the capacity.
You have been given what you need to do what love requires.

Gently ask yourself: What is yours to give —
what have you received freely
that is waiting to be given freely away?

Do not judge what rises.
Just notice it.

· · ·
Now pray:
Holy One,
you named a child after Sarah's laughter
and you know exactly who is sitting at your table.
When I try to hide what I came in with,
remind me: you work through it, not around it.
When I believe the ability belongs to someone more qualified,
remind me: it has already been given to me.
When I forget that the Dream has already come near,
open my eyes to where it is already unfolding.
Send me from this table —
not when I am ready,
not when I have it all together,
but now, as I am.
Amen.

· · ·
Rest for a moment in this truth:

You do not have to be different than you are.
The God who named a child laughter
already knows who is sitting at the table.

Take one slow breath as you return to your day.

06/15/2026

Named for Laughter
Texts: Genesis 18:1-15 and Matthew 9:35-10:8

A couple of weeks ago I told you about Rublev's icon — the empty seat at the table, the Spirit's hand pointing toward you.

What I didn't tell you then was the story behind the icon.

This week we step inside that story.

Three strangers arrive at Abraham's tent in the heat of the day. Abraham — a man of considerable age — runs to meet them. He doesn't know who they are. He doesn't calculate what he can afford to give. He just runs, bows, and lavishes them with everything he has.

And somewhere in the middle of the meal, the impossible is announced.

Sarah, listening at the tent entrance, laughs. She's past the age of bearing children. The arithmetic of the body says no. And when she's caught — when the divine gently refuses to let her denial stand — the child is named after the very thing she tried to hide.
Yitzhak. He laughs.

God does not wait for us to arrive without our doubts, our wounds, our evasions. God takes the thing we most wanted to hide and names the promise after it.

The table doesn't require perfection. It requires presence.

And from that table — the one Rublev painted, the one we gather around each Sunday — we are not meant to stay. The table is not the landing pad. It is the launch pad.

You received without payment. Give without payment.

That is the work of Ordinary Time. Show up as you are. Give what you've been given. Trust that the kingdom has already come near.

🌿 If you'd like to pull up a chair, I invite you to visit the Digital Sanctuary [https://www.triunelutheran.com/reflections-1] for this week's reflection and meditation: Named for Laughter. Both a PDF and audio file are available for download.

06/10/2026

All the Wrong People
Texts: Genesis 12:1–9 | Matthew 9:9–13, 18–26

Take a slow breath.
Let your body settle.
Let yourself arrive here, just as you are.

You do not need to have it all figured out.
You do not need to be further along than you are.
You do not need to be different than you are right now.

Just be here. Just breathe.

· · ·

Here is an honest question to sit with: What is the box you have put God in?

We all have one.
We take the wild, uncontainable mystery of the divine and organize it into something manageable — doctrines, traditions, categories of who is in and who is out.

And the box feels like faithfulness.

But every now and then, we look up and discover that God has walked right out of it.

· · ·

Hear what God says to Abram:
Go from your country, your kindred, your father's house — to the land I will show you.

Not the land I will describe in advance.

The land I will show you — when you get there.

Notice what God is asking Abram to leave.

Not just his geography.
But his tribe. His belonging. His identity.
Everything that tells him who he is.

Gently ask yourself:
What is your settled world?
What is your father's house
— the comfortable certainty, the familiar tribe, the understanding of God that keeps you safe and leaves you unchanged?

Do not judge what rises. Just notice it.

· · ·

Now hear what Jesus does.
He walks past a tax collector's booth and says two words: follow me.

No probationary period.
No cleaning yourself up first.
Just: follow me.

And before the chapter ends,
he stops for a nameless, invisible woman and calls her daughter.
He takes the hand of a girl who has died and raises her to life.

Three people the world had written off.
Three people Jesus refuses to walk past.

Gently ask yourself:
Who am I walking past?
Whose name do I not know?
Whose hand am I not taking?

Do not judge what rises. Just notice it.

· · ·

Now pray:
Holy One,
you keep walking out of the boxes we build for you.
Forgive us for trying to contain you.
When my certainty has become a wall,
open a door in it.
When I am sitting at the wrong table,
call me to yours.
When I walk past the ones you are already moving toward,
stop me.
Give me the courage to leave the settled world
— to follow you into the unfamiliar,
toward the people I have been avoiding,
into the land you will show me when I get there.
Amen.

· · ·

Rest for a moment in this truth: The invitation is not to have it all figured out. It is simply to follow.

Take one slow breath as you return to your day.

06/08/2026

All the Wrong People
Texts: Genesis 12:1–9 | Matthew 9:9–13, 18–26

Most of us who show up for worship on Sunday morning aren't the tax collectors in the story.

We're the Pharisees.

Good, observant people. People who take faith seriously. People who have built a comfortable, coherent understanding of God — and placed that understanding safely in a box.

The problem? God keeps walking right out of it.

This week we're sitting with two texts that ask the same uncomfortable question: What is your settled world? What is your father's house — the familiar framework, the tribal identity, the understanding of God that keeps your life unchallenged?

Because the call of Abram and the call of Matthew are the same call, across the centuries:
Follow me.

Not when you're ready. Not after you've figured out the destination. Just — follow me, out of the settled world, toward the people you've been avoiding, into the land I will show you when you get there.

That's the work of Ordinary Time. And it starts this the week.

If you’d like to go deeper, I invite you to visit the Digital Sanctuary [https://www.triunelutheran.com/reflections-1] for this week's reflection and meditation: All the Wrong People. Both a PDF and audio file are available for download.

06/03/2026

A Seat at the Table
Texts: Genesis 1:1 — 2:4a and Matthew 28:16-20

Find a comfortable position and let your body settle.
Take a slow breath in… and a slow breath out.
Again. In… and out.
Let this moment be enough.

You do not need to understand everything about God to be loved by God.
You do not need to have it all figured out.
You do not need to earn your place at the table.

Imagine a table. Three figures gathered around it — luminous, in deep communion with one another. There is an open space at the front of the table. An empty seat. The Spirit's hand rests gently on the table, gesturing outward.
Toward you.

What would it mean to pull up the chair?

Consider the God who made you. Not a distant, solitary sovereign, but a community of love — giving, receiving, flowing. A God who empties out completely and is always refilled. A God who lives not from scarcity but from infinite abundance.

You were made in that image.

Where in your life are you living from scarcity — clinging, protecting, calculating what you can afford to give?

What might it feel like to trust that the center holds? That infinite love is the ground of everything — including you?

The risen Christ says to his disciples — some of them still uncertain, still full of doubt: I am with you always.

Not: I was with you.
Not: I will be with you someday.
Always. Now. Here.

Where do you most need to feel that presence today?

Now pray:
Living God,
you who pour yourself out in love and are always filled again:
remind us that we belong at your table.
Draw us into your abundance.
Teach us to let go and trust the center that holds.
And send us out into the world knowing you are with us
— even to the end of the age.
Amen.

Rest for a moment in this truth:
There is a seat at the table with your name on it.
There has always been.

If you'd like to pull up a chair, I invite you to visit the Digital Sanctuary [https://www.triunelutheran.com/reflections-1] for this week's reflection and meditation: A Seat at the Table. Both a PDF and audio file are available for download.

06/02/2026

The vestments turn green. The summer calendar fills up. And without quite noticing it, we've entered the longest season of the church year: Ordinary Time.
But ordinary doesn't mean unremarkable. This month's reflection — The Long Green Season — explores what this season is really asking of us: to pay attention to the sacred woven into the fabric of our everyday lives.

06/01/2026

A Seat at the Table
Texts: Genesis 1:1–2:4a | Matthew 28:16–20

Trinity Sunday has a reputation. It's the one Sunday of the year when preachers either try to explain something most people find baffling — or quietly hope no one notices what Sunday it is.

I'm not going to explain the Trinity.

I'm going to invite you into it.

Here's what I've come to believe: the Trinity is not a doctrine to defend. It's a description of the deepest reality there is. The God revealed in Scripture is not a solitary monarch issuing commands from a safe distance. God is a community of love — giving, receiving, flowing — and the world is what happens when that love overflows.

There's a 14th-century icon by the Russian monk Andrei Rublev — three luminous figures gathered around a table. What draws the eye, once you know to look, is not the three figures. It's the empty space at the front of the table. An open seat. And art historians have suggested there may once have been a mirror glued there — so that whoever stood before the icon would see themselves already seated. Already included.

The church spent centuries explaining the doctrine of the Trinity and forgot to tell people they were invited to sit down.

The seat is still there. The Spirit's hand is still pointing toward you. Take your place at the table.

If you'd like to pull up a chair, I invite you to visit the Digital Sanctuary [https://www.triunelutheran.com/reflections-1] for this week's reflection and meditation: A Seat at the Table. Both a PDF and audio file are available for download.

Address

4810 W Mill Road
Broadview Heights, OH
44147

Opening Hours

Monday	10am - 1pm
Tuesday	10am - 1pm
Wednesday	10am - 1pm
Thursday	10am - 1pm
Friday	10am - 1pm
Saturday	5pm - 6pm
Sunday	11am - 12pm

Website

http://www.triunelutheran.com/

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Triune Lutheran Church posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Contact The Place Of Worship

Send a message to Triune Lutheran Church:

Shortcuts

Address
Opening Hours
Alerts
Contact The Place Of Worship
Claim ownership or report listing

Want your place of worship to be the top-listed Place Of Worship in Broadview Heights?