https://www.facebook.com/372563400214321/

Delaware Koinonia, 901 N. Dupont Street, Wilmington, DE (2026)

08/30/2026

22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time

So years ago, I read a book that has had a profound impact on the way I see the world.

It was titled Adam’s Return by Fr. Richard Rohr.

The book looks at how societies and cultures assist their boys into becoming young men.

And how there are several universal truths that a society communicates to its boys before they take on the mantle of adulthood.

You are not that important.

Life is not about you.

Life is hard.

You are not in control.

You are going to die.

Not exactly the most uplifting of messages, but essential ones. Essential for helping a child to leave behind their childhood and embrace the truth of what it means to be an adult.

But Fr. Rohr goes on to say that in the United States in our contemporary era, we fail to share these truths with our young people.

There are no rituals. No ceremonies. No quests that ensure we get these lessons.

And so we have a society that lives in perpetual denial of all five of these truths.

We have become an immensely self-centered people.

Fixated on our own futures. Our own achievements. Our own success.

Convinced that it is our rights that must take precedence. Regardless of the consequence of our decisions on the lives of others.

Ignorant of the suffering right outside our doors. Or worse, celebrating the pain experienced by another.

We have failed to see that we have a purpose, a responsibility to the community that surrounds us. That we belong to each other.

We assume that if life is hard we are doing something wrong. That our technological prowess should ensure a level of comfort and ease that we believe is our birthright.
We have been fed the lie that we are self-made women and men. That we and we alone are the determiners of our own destiny.

And worst of all, we are a society terrified of death. And so we deny it. Refuse to talk about. Demand that grief be hidden away. And become deeply uncomfortable in the presence of those whose pain is too close to the surface.

And yet, all of these lies we tell ourselves. All of these falsehoods that we cling to as a society. They all completely fall apart at the foot of the cross.

The cross that we are each asked to take up this day.

For Jesus knew that any life of true discipleship would inherently be a life defined by the crosses we choose to carry.

Jesus knew that life was hard. And that each of us is going to be nailed to plenty of crosses throughout our life.

And we can approach those crosses kicking and screaming. Like our dear prophet Jeremiah, railing against the God who has duped us.

Or we can choose to carry them.

To take them upon our shoulders.

Knowing that the promise of our faith is not one of false assurance. We are never told the lie that there is no cross.

What we are told is that Christ is carrying the other side beside us. Walking each painful step by our side.

My friends, this weekend is a challenging reminder that our society and our faith are not always aligned.

For we are a people defined by the cross.

The cross that our society tries so very hard to deny exists.

And so we are given a choice.

Do we take up the crosses that our lives have given us?

Do we shoulder the daily hardships that come with our chosen lives?

The small disappointments. The stressors and lack of sleep. The arguments and conflicts.

Do we hoist upon our shoulders the failures, the violence, the brokenness of which our world is capable?

Do we gaze upon the cross precariously perched on another’s back and lay it across our own?

As they languish in our prisons. As they swelter in our detention centers cut off from their children in the next cell. As they writhe in pain in a hospital bed from a disease that we once contained. As they skip another meal to pay the rent.

Or do we try to flee before the cross’s shadow? Refusing to accept the yoke?

The choice is ours, my friends. It is always ours.

May we choose in imitation of the one who shouldered a cross for the sake of us all.

May God be Praised.

08/17/2026

20th Sunday of Ordinary Time

Each year in my class, I do an exercise that never fails to generate some good conversation.

I have the guys make two tallies: same as me, different from me. Each time I mention a person, they simply identify if they share the same race as that person or not.

Parent.

Best friend.

Last friend they invited home.

Their coach. Teacher

Grade school principal. Travel team coach.

Mayor. Governor. Senator. President.

Last author they read. Music artist they listened to. Movie director they watched.

Then we add up the totals.

As you can imagine, the totals look quite different depending on the student. For the students of color, their tallies are often quite split. Their family, friends, and neighbors tend to share their same racial background. But the institutions they interact with, not so much.

For my white students, their tally is frequently lopsided. Almost everyone on their list is the same racial background as they are.

Students often begin discussing how this happens. How do we end up moving through such separate worlds? How do our circles become so limited?

And maybe more importantly, why are we never taught that this is a loss? That our small circles are missing the broadest spectrum of humanity and all it holds for each of us.

And then I read this Gospel and I am reminded, this is not a new phenomenon.

From the very beginning, we have sought out those who we perceive as similar to us.

Our tribe. Those we are loyal to.

And if we are forced to deal with other tribes, we do so from a position of fear. Of resentment.

Cognizant of who has power. Of who has the ability to make our lives harder.

Trust. Friendship. Love.

These are reserved for the tribe. For those we know. For those who are like us.

And the truth is, this Gospel is steeped in these dynamics. Canaanites and Jews. Two very different tribes. Tribes that had been socialized for generations to distrust, fear, and despise the other.

Both under the heel of Roman authorities. Who held ultimate power.

And so both Canaanites and Jews fought for the scraps of power that fell from the proverbial table.

And there frequently was not enough to go around.

Jesus, as a fully human being, was not immune to the culture that shaped him. The perspectives given to him. The circle he grew up in. A circle that would have rarely intersected with Canaanites and their pagan practices. A circle that only engaged with Roman authority under duress.

But into these dynamics, steps a woman unafraid to crack the circle.

To extend trust towards the proverbial stranger in hope of the transformation that could occur.

And in doing so, a relationship is forged. Across tribes. Mutually enriching both Jesus and the Canaanite woman. Leaving them both permanently changed by the encounter.

Here we are my friends, in 2026, still living in our tribes.

Our circles that are still so deeply segregated. By race and class. By political ideology and education level. By religion and sexual orientation and immigration status.

Our worldviews that are still so deeply limited. Viewing power as a zero-sum game, where there are winners and losers. And we ultimately must end up at the top.

But that does not need to be the path we walk going forward.

For we have a guiding light in a Canaanite woman who saw possibility where others saw only danger and threat.

Who saw hope where others were caught in suspicion and derision.

Who saw healing where others were stuck in the status quo that nothing would ever change.

Who saw the potential of a relationship that would transform them both. A love that would enlarge her heart and her circle. Even when others only saw strangers. Rivals. Enemies.

Can we dare to do the same? To crack open our circles. To enter into relationships with those whose lives, beliefs, values, vision are so radically different from our own.

Trusting that they too are full of possibility and potential.

To transform us ever more into the imago dei. The divine image from which each of us was made.

May God be Praised.

07/20/2026

16th Sunday of Ordinary Time

So several weeks ago, I finally got the chance to take my parents to see Come From Away, after several failed attempts over the last few years.

That show is something else.

For those unfamiliar with the plot, it recounts the true story of how over 7,000 airline passengers were diverted to a small airport in Newfoundland when US airspace closed after 9/11

7,000 people arrived with no warning. No timeline of when they would be able to return.

And the people of Newfoundland figured it out.

Demonstrating a level of hospitality and generosity that still feels surreal. For 5 days they fed them, sheltered them, sat with them in their fears, their grief.

They figured out a way to communicate across dozens of different languages.

They waited with them as they sat by a phone for news of a loved one who was unaccounted for.

They even figured out how to entertain a plane full of children who were heading to Disney as part of a Make-a-wish opportunity.

The show ends 10 years after that moment. As thousands of the former passengers returned to Newfoundland to mark the anniversary.

And in the final song, there is a line that has stuck with me. . .

Tonight we honor what we lost but we also commemorate what we found.

It is the universal tension of the human experience is it not. The way in which grief and loss is intimately intertwined with joy and connection.

How out of the darkest moments that we endure we find light breaking through.

How in the moments when we feel utterly hollowed out something begins to fill us anew.

How the moments that break us also become the path by which we fashion ourselves into something new.

How in the moments when we feel so acutely alone we suddenly look around to witness that a community has encompassed us in their steadying embrace.
W**d and wheat. Growing up beside one another. Often indistinguishable in the moment.

And yes, who wouldn’t want a field, a life without the w**ds.

A life in which we could uproot every source of our pain

All the rejection and heartbreak

All of the violence and cruelty

All of the failures and defeats and losses.

All of the death.

And cast it into the fiery furnace.

But that is not the field in which our lives unfold.

For those w**ds are intimately part of the ecosystem that is how we become who each of us is called to be.

Those w**ds that steal our sunshine. That siphon off our energy. That restrict our ability to survive.

They also force us to grow. To stretch higher and break free of the w**d’s grasp. To seek the comfort of fellow wheat. To heal in the shelter of other stalks who too are bent but not broken.

Until our lives have become a rich harvest. Of grace and mercy. Of love that we pour forth across the earth.

Friends, we each gather here tonight with lives marked by the w**ds that have grown up within us and around us. The grief of losing Colin 5 years ago.

But we also gather here as wheat. Wheat that is still growing. For the harvest is not yet here.

But wheat nonetheless.

Gift. Precious gift. Each of us. And this community we have forged.

And so tonight may we too honor what we’ve lost. Who we’ve lost.

Even as we also commemorate what we found. Who we found along the way.

May God be Praised.

07/12/2026

15th Sunday of Ordinary Time

This past weekend, I was in Toledo, Ohio to celebrate the final vows of one of our guys, Matt Trovato.

And the night before, we all gathered at Saint Francis de Sales High School to spend some time enjoying one another’s company.

As I was wandering around, making small talk with different Oblates and other guests, one of them goes. You really need to check out Joe’s garden.

Now, I have heard about this garden for years. And I had seen it in various stages. But nothing prepared me for what my classmate Joe had created.

It was absolutely huge. We are talking dozens of planters. Multiple landscaped patios. A gazebo with hanging fines. Vegetables. Herbs. And flowers of every type imaginable.

It was absolutely beautiful.

And I could not fathom how much work it had taken.

For this garden was not a one and done moment. He didn’t just cast some seeds and hope that it would all work out.

No, Joe had spent years cultivating this garden.

He had w**ded and watered. He had dealt with the plants cut down by an early frost or a brutal drought.

He had worked to fend off the animals scavenging for food and the bugs that infested a particular type of plant.

And even now, with a bountiful harvest, he knew that tomorrow he would still be out there caring for the garden if he wanted it to continue.

It seemed so fitting that I got to walk through this garden as I listened to this famous parable of the Sower and the seeds.

Because at one level, the parable makes it seem like the Sower has just one job.

Toss that seed and then sit back and watch what happens.

But it fails to capture the truth that the Sower is returning again and again to the fields. To see the progress of his seeds. To note the moments when he lost some. And to rejoice when others blossomed into their fullness.

This is not a one and done moment.

No, it is a lifetime commitment to sowing and reaping.

To tending and waiting.

To grieving and rejoicing.

My friends, I am convinced that each of us is both Sower and seed. And the process of bearing fruit is always going to be a lifelong process.

It is so easy to lose hope.

That the circumstances of our lives will ever change.

That we will ever reach the heights we envision for ourselves.

That our nation. That our world will actually reflect the values of the kingdom that we pray for each and every day.

It is so easy to get stuck.

It is so easy to settle.

But this Gospel is this poignant reminder to keep doing the work.

To spread the seeds and water the soil.

To w**d and till and nourish.

To prune and shelter and harvest.

In season and out of season. Through sun and clouds, rain and frost, wind and hail.

Never losing sight of the goal.

That harvest of a 100 fold.

When justice shall roll down upon the land like a mighty river and peace shall flourish in our time.

When every sword will be beat into a plowshare and there will be no harm or ruin anywhere on God’s holy mountain.

When each tyrant shall be unseated from their throne. And the least among us lifted up to their rightful place.

When each shall have their fill of their daily bread. When every weary traveller finds welcome. When each tear is wiped away and each wound healed.

Where the light of Christ within us shines forth, unobscured by any wicker basket.

Where our neighbors are loved as ourselves.

So go forth my friends. For our gardens await.

And heaven knows we’ve got work to do for that harvest.

May God be Praised.

07/05/2026

14th Sunday of Ordinary Time

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

250 years ago, our country’s founders signed their names to these words. Words contained within a document that would ultimately result in the creation of a new nation. A nation born from the scourge of war. A nation established on land that already belonged to peoples who predated each wave of European immigrants. A nation whose primary labor force was enslaved.

From the very beginning, our nation was a mess of contradictions. Lofty ideals and painful realities.

And over the centuries, our nation has continued to wrestle with this founding text and its implications for all of us.

As we have worked to expand who is a recipient of these rights.

As we have worked to define what a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness looks like each and every day.

We have continued to fight wars over these founding lines. We have battled in the courts, at the ballot box and in the realm of public opinion.

Who belongs. Who doesn’t. Whose country is this?

What does it mean to be an American?

250 years later and we are still here. Still trying to figure out who we are and who we are called to be.

And then we hear this Gospel.

A Gospel that predates our country by thousands of years

And I realize that our founding document may be missing a crucial component contained in this Gospel text. That all of our debates around our individual identity as Americans may have been too narrow in their scope.

For they all fail to wrestle with the concept of a yoke. Something that binds us together.

It is such a foreign concept to us as Americans.

We are the rugged individualists.

We are the proverbial sons and daughters of cowboys and pioneers, who struck out into the wilderness on their own and carved out a life for themselves.

We are the proverbial children of immigrants who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and made it. The quintessential American story of success.

But Jesus never saw himself in this light.

He was always yoked to the various communities that defined his identity.

He was a child of the one true God.

A Jew living under occupation in the Promised Land.

A member of the House of David. A son of Mary. Claimed by Joseph and his kin.

And his work. His preaching. His healing. His life. His death.

It was all for those he willingly yoked himself to. His Chosen People. The poor. The Samaritans. The tax collectors and prostitutes. The blind, deaf and lame. The possessed and the outcast. The oppressors and the oppressed.

Jesus was not concerned about his own place in the world. His rights. His life, liberty, or pursuit of happiness.

He was concerned about His people. Their rights. Their lives. Their liberty. Their collective pursuit of happiness, both here and now and in the kingdom that was to come.

And in his life, we too are given a model to follow.

Are we able to see the yokes that we already possess by virtue of who we are?

How we are yoked to family and neighborhood, to our faith communities and our cultural heritage, to our nation with all its potential, its promises, and its failures.

How we are bound to them in ways that cannot be lightly ignored or severed.

Are we able to embrace the yokes that Christ offers to us? The yokes that bind us to communities that are united to us simply due to our shared identity as children of God.

The poor who remain constantly present to us. The undocumented. The unhoused. The incarcerated and the addicted.

The migrants and the shut-ins. The disabled and the dying. The partisans and the protesters. The indigenous and the refugee.

We hold these truths to be self-evident. That all are endowed with certain unalienable rights.

But maybe too, we are also endowed with certain yokes. Certain bonds that define our lives, our labor, our joys and our sorrows.

And maybe in embracing those we may discover the life, liberty and happiness that we seek.

May God be Praised.

06/28/2026

13th Sunday of Ordinary Time

I have been blessed with an amazing group of friends that I have gained over the decades.

Friends who are used to my somewhat nomadic approach to vacationing and my propensity for deciding to stop by their homes and often announcing that I plan to stay over.

From Hawaii to Maine to my own backyard here in Wilmington, I have been the recipient of their love and care again and again and again.

From going out to make sure there is an ample supply of ginger ale and gummy bears available.

To fixing up a spare bedroom or couch or inflatable mattress at a moment’s notice.

To staying up way too late catching up, even as they have work the next day.

But what I most often take for granted is the inherent vulnerability they show in receiving me.

For their homes are their sanctuary. The places in which they do not need to put on a mask. The places in which they can be their most authentic selves.

Which means they show me their mess. Rooms that they didn’t have the chance to clean up. Kids who are tired at the end of a day and express their displeasure at me disrupting their routines. Balancing acts between work and family that have left them ragged around the edges.

And in so doing, they are trusting that I will hold it all with tenderness. And not throw it all back in their face with judgment and scorn.

This experience of hospitality, extended again and again is probably why my heart got hooked by the one line from the Gospel.

Whoever receives you, receives me. And whoever receives me receives the one who sent me.

What an incredible declaration.

Every time we welcome another into our space. We are ushering in God to sit in our living room, dine at our table, laugh with us, cry beside us, and rest comfortable on our couch cushions.

Every time we extend hospitality to another on their journey. We are flinging open the door to our God. Knowing that we do not have it all put together. Knowing there is plenty of mess to go around. But trusting our God will gaze upon us and our dwellings with tenderness and declare. It is good.

My friends, I am deeply worried that we are losing this gift of hospitality. As a Church. As a nation. As a people.

I think of all those who have felt the Church has slammed the door in their face.

Our gay and trans neighbors who have been treated with disgust or disdain.

Our sisters still recovering from their abortions.

Our families grieving the loss of their loved one to su***de or an overdose who must face the whispers that follow them as they walk back into their sacred space for the 1st time.

I look at a nation who has once again chosen to become hostile to those who have come seeking refuge. Incarcerating thousands for the crime of simply existing in a space that is deemed not their own. Threatening to expel hundreds of thousands who we have deemed are no longer welcome. Barricading the gates and declaring, we do not want you here.

And I watch as we as individuals are losing this sacred gift. How we are more and more fearful of the other. Allowing ourselves to be warped by algorithms and social media platforms that feed us a steady diet of anger, ugliness and anxiety that harden us to the stranger at our door.

How we are being told to keep our circles small. Don’t trust. Seek out the threats and protect your household at all costs.

How we are pressured daily to maintain the image of control and perfection. Keep your messes out of sight. Don’t let people in. It is too much work. It is too much risk.

But against this all, our God declares. Hospitality is how you will encounter me.

Every door opened is a door opened to me.

Every hand extended is a hand extended to me.

Every meal shared is a meal shared with me.

Every moment spent is a moment spent with me.

And so let us go forth from this space to our own. Ready to welcome the God we worship in the guise of our neighbor. The neighbor. The stranger. The friend. The sibling. The colleague. The other. That we can receive this day.

May God be Praised.

06/21/2026

12th Sunday of Ordinary Time

I am convinced that most of us have at least one thing that we have kept hidden.

That one secret, that one truth that dwells within us. Slowly eroding us from the inside out.

For some of us. It is something we did. A choice we made or felt we had to make that still haunts us.

For others of us. It is something that was done to us. That shattered something within us. Our trust. Our belief in the power of love. Our belief that the world is good. That we are good.

And for still others, it is a label that we are not yet ready to share with the world. Our sexual orientation. Our documentation status. Our diagnosis.

And I must admit, I hear Jesus’s promise that there is nothing that is concealed that will not be revealed, nothing that is secret that will not be known and I think, but that is exactly what so many of us fear.

That this thing will become known.

That the world will know this about us and it will forever change the way they see us.

That we will become defined by this thing we have kept hidden.

And yet, over the years, as I have listened to thousands of people reveal what they have kept hidden.

In confessionals. In therapy sessions. On retreats.

I think I understand the wisdom of this Gospel.

For when our truth is met with compassion, with grace, with love.

Everything changes.

The weight we have carried for so long no longer sits on our chest, constricting our breathing.

Tears run freely. Because we no longer need to hold them in.

The mask shatters. The facade falls to the ground.

And we are seen.
Each of us is seen.

As the source of Christ’s light shining into the world.

Even when that light is filtered through a million cracks

Is this not the gift at the heart of our faith?

That nothing needs to remain hidden.

Not our worst decisions.

Not the unspeakable crimes that happened to us.

Not the moments that still wrap us in shame.

Not the things we have forced into the closet for our own protection.

Because there is nothing that can separate us from the love of our God. And there should be nothing that separates us from the love of God’s people.

Now, I know we are not there yet.

That as Christians we far too often fail to love as our God loves.

That we allow so many things to block our ability to see another’s light.

That we judge another for what they have done.

That we condemn another for who they are because it does not fit our agenda of who belongs and who does not.

That someone shares their truth and we react in a way that convinces them they should have kept it hidden after all.

But we can keep striving.

Striving to become like Christ. So that no one need keep hidden their truth from us. So that all may find in us the divine compassion, mercy, and love that they seek.

Striving to build a world where all are seen. All are cherished. All are gently loved back into the wholeness that is their birthright.

So speak your truth my friends.

Listen to the truth spoken all around you.

And do not be afraid. You are worth more than you can possibly imagine.

May God be Praised.

05/31/2026

Holy Trinity

I still remember in my early years in the Oblates, one of my mentors explaining the vows to me.

He said Brian, the vows are about not holding onto anything too tightly. Whether it is a relationship. An item. Our own safety. Our desire for control.

Everything is gift. And you should always be ready to give gifts away.

Now, I didn’t quite understand him at the time.

I looked around at my possessions and thought, who would want any of these things? I’m not going to need to worry about holding on too tightly if no one else wants them. I mean seriously, I still have sweatpants from high school I am still wearing.

But this past weekend, I was reminded of the wisdom he gave me all those years ago.

It was about 30 minutes before graduation when I get a text.

What shoe size are you?

Umm 10.

Awesome. Can we have your shoes. One of the grads shoes just fell apart.

Then about 10 minutes later. Brian, we’ve got a guy without socks. Do you have a black pair?

Now thankfully, everyone else managed to maintain their wardrobe intact for the ceremony so that I didn’t lose any additional pieces of my own.

But I couldn’t help returning to that wisdom. How the vows are designed to keep us from holding on anything too tightly.

Because ultimately the vows are simply ways we are invited to approach the world. And each of those vows is modeled off the ultimate vow we hear in this Gospel.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son.

Is this not the ultimate act of not holding on too tightly?

Gifting us the Son.

A Son who will be misunderstood and criticized and threatened.

A Son who will be arrested, scourged and crucified.

Refusing to hold Him so tight that he cannot walk the path that He had chosen.

Refusing to shield him from the world and its cruelties because that would mean shielding Him from its beauties and goodness at the same time.

Loving Him enough to let Him be free. Free to live in the Spirit. Free to send forth the Spirit.

And in his example. We are given the same model of what love looks like.

It is loving without holding on too tightly.

It is loving without trying to control.

It is loving without trying to manipulate or use who or what we love for our own ends.

It is loving that allow us to let go. To send forth. With our blessing.

It is loving that allows us to give away what we hold as gift.

It is loving without trying to anticipate the outcome. Without having certainty about where it will all go.

It is loving the world as our God has loved the world. It is loving as our God has loved us.

Freely walking beside one another into the future we are creating together.

May God be Praised.

05/25/2026

Pentecost Sunday

Let’s be real. Yesterday’s weather was unpleasant.

Cold. Rainy. Overcast.

I remember looking outside and going. Nope. I am not leaving the confines of my bedroom.

I had Senior Prom on Friday and got to bed around 2 AM.

And my lungs are still being temperamental.

But then I remembered, I had already promised several grads that we would have lunch.

I had fleeting thoughts of cancelling. Making up an excuse why I couldn’t make it.

But I couldn’t do it.

And so I found myself leaving the comfort and safety of my room for the chaos that is IHOP.

All because I love these guys.

And in our breakfast, I was reminded of one of the key truths of this feast that we celebrate.

Which is that it is love that is always going to get us out from behind our locked doors and into the world.

It is love that is going to push us into the crowds, proclaiming the truth that will set one another free.

For do we not believe that the Spirit is just that? The love incarnate of our God. Entrusted to each of us.

A love that is never meant to be hidden away. Hoarded or controlled.

But a love that shatters all the locked doors we cower behind. All the walls and gates we assemble. To keep certain people in and other people out.

My friends, this feast really is that simple.

We, the Church, are to be a people driven by one thing . . . love.

We, the Church, are to be a people whose language is the language of love.

We, the Church, are to be a people who are known by the way we love.
Now,I know that our collective Christian witness in this present moment is not living up to this call.

There are far too many Christian voices who have forgotten the language of love.

Who speak words of violence and retribution.

Who speak words of superiority and condemnation and division.

Whose words are lies, poisoning our discourse. Fracturing the unity into which are all called.

Whose actions are seeking to create a world in which a chosen few stay barricaded off in an upper room, while the rest are left to fend for themselves. A chosen few who happen to look the same, think the same, vote the same, and experience the world in a similar way.

But this is not the Christianity that we are gifted with this day.

We are given the gift of a love that transforms each of us into the Church.

So that the words we speak are words that give life.

That build up. That strengthen. That encourage. That comfort.

That defend the most vulnerable.

That speak for those whose voices are silenced.

That take a stand for what is right, even when we are called naive. Foolish. Traitors.

So that the actions we take are taken in love.

Welcoming the stranger. Embracing the prodigal children in our midst.

Reconciling with those who have wounded us. Forging bridges to those on the proverbial other side.

Doing the work . . . feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, forming our youth, visiting our imprisoned, cultivating peace, sheltering the homeless.

Extending our hand and grasping our neighbor’s hand. Whether that hand is Black or white. Calloused from decades of undocumented migrant labor or sweaty from the anxiety that is their daily struggle. A child’s hand or a hand wrinkled with the years. Hands pockmarked by needles or scarred from the consequences of war. Until every hand is linked together in the mystery of the Church we now celebrate.

Today is the day my friends. Pentecost. Where our story begins.

May we go forth to love with the love that has been given us.

May God be Praised.

Delaware Koinonia

08/30/2026

08/17/2026

07/20/2026

07/12/2026

07/05/2026

06/28/2026

06/21/2026

05/31/2026

05/25/2026

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Place Of Worship

Shortcuts

Share

Category

Listing takedown request