Church of the Redeemer - OKC

05/25/2026

Regrouping & Rebuilding in love

04/04/2026

I love Easter because it refuses to give up on life.
It says that even after the worst things—failure, grief, death—God is still at work, still bringing something new, still calling us forward. It’s hope that doesn’t feel fake. It’s hope that’s been through the fire.
And tomorrow, we get to see that new life up close—we’re celebrating an infant baptism, and those are always a joy. A little holy chaos, a lot of grace.
Mass at 9:59.
Come as you are.
Bring whatever you’ve got.
We are all doing the best we can with what we’ve got.

03/19/2026

03/16/2026

2026 Holy Week Schedule | Church of the Redeemer

This will be the 124th Holy Week since the congregation was organized in 1902.

🗓️ Palm Sunday Mass | Sunday, March 29, 2026 | 9:59am

🗓️ Maundy Thursday | April 2, 2026 | 5:30pm

🗓️ Good Friday | April 3, 2026 | 12:00pm

🗓️ Easter Mass | Sunday, April 5, 2026 | 9:59am

03/07/2026

Don't miss church Sunday. Move your clocks forward and hour, who needs extra sleep!!!?

02/16/2026

💥Post event💥 We're back, did a soft return of our annual Mardi Gras fundraiser, last was Feb 2020, then the very next month the world went into Covid19 lock down...
A good time was had by all at the Mardi Gras Boots on the Ground theme on Valentine's day.🥰❤️🥳

02/15/2026

I like Ash Wednesday because it tells the truth without trying to sell me anything.
In a world obsessed with image management and spin, it looks me in the eye and says, “Remember that you are dust.” Not as an insult. Not as shame. Just reality. Dust breathed into by God. Dust that will one day return to the ground.
I like that there’s zero pretending.

No hype. Just ashes on the forehead and a quiet invitation to repentance—to turn around, to come home, to let go of whatever false self I’ve been dragging around.

Ash Wednesday steadies me. It reminds me I am not in control, that my life is fragile, and that grace is not earned but given.

It strips everything down to what matters. And it’s in that, I find hope.

01/22/2026

This church is supposed to be a life-giving community of reference, and sadly for so many it has become either life killing obligation or a place of wounds.

At its best thought it’s a place you can point to and say, this is where I learned how to live.

Not because it had all the answers, but because it taught us how to ask better questions. Because it gave us language for grief, courage for love, and practices sturdy enough to hold us when everything else felt thin.

A community of reference is not built on hype or personality. It’s built on trust, shared memory, and showing up over time. On meals eaten together. On children being known by name. On conflicts faced honestly and forgiveness practiced publicly. On work done quietly for the sake of neighbors who may never step inside the building.

If this church is faithful, it becomes a touchstone. A place people return to—sometimes physically, sometimes only in memory—when they need to remember what goodness looks like in real life.

That is life-giving.
That is worth giving ourselves to.

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01/20/2026

The duty of the Church is not to preserve itself, protect its reputation, or win arguments.

The duty of the Church is to bear witness—to the love of God made flesh in Jesus, and to that love at work in the world, especially among the poor, the forgotten, and the weary—and to help imagine another way that sings a song contrary to the Empire.

The Church exists to tell the truth about God and the truth about us.

To name sin without cruelty, to offer grace without cheapness, to invite others into an alternative community of practice, and to practice repentance as a way of life. We are called to feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, visit the imprisoned, and stand where suffering is most visible—not as saviors, but as neighbors.

The Church’s duty is to be in the field, planting and tending seeds of hope, not hanging out in the barn congratulating ourselves.

If our faith does not cost us something, change us, or send us out in love, then it isn’t faith at all.

So the question remains: how then shall we live?