“Between Memory and Hope”

"Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God."- 1 John 4:7

Beloved Church,

June invites us into a sacred tension—a time of celebration, reflection, and healing. Two significant moments converge this month: Pride and Father's Day. For some, these days are full of love and joy. For others, they stir deep emotions layered with memory, grief, complexity, and hope.

Why do I say some people observe these days? Because that word—some—carries the weight of exclusion and longing. There are those in the world who still believe that LGBTQ+ people do not belong and that our lives and loves are somehow outside the bounds of God's grace. But let us be clear: we are all created in the image of God, fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). Humanity is a kaleidoscope of beauty, diversity, and divine reflection. No part of who we are—race, gender, sexuality—separates us from the love of God.

And then there is Father's Day. For some, it is a sweet moment to honor a dad who has shown up in love and strength. For others, it's a day of grief, a reminder of absence, estrangement, or pain. Some of us are missing fathers we've lost. Some are carrying wounds from relationships that never felt safe. Some never had a father at all. And some—like my dad—stepped in as a father without having biological children of their own.

Growing up, my relationship with my dad was… complicated. Not terrible, not perfect. Just layered, like so many of our stories. As I approach the second anniversary of his passing, I find myself grateful—not because everything was ideal, but because we both tried, even in the places we fell short. And I learned. I learned how to show up differently with my own son. I know I won't get everything right—but I hope that, like me, my son will someday look back and see that love was there, even in the imperfect moments.

Fatherhood and sonship are not exact sciences. There is no foolproof guide. What matters is the willingness to try—to meet each other in the middle, listen with grace, and love even when it's hard. I wish every child and father figure this June a moment of honesty, a spark of healing, and a word of affirmation.

It took many years, but my dad said: "All your mom and I want is for you to be happy and feel loved." That moment was a gift—especially after the struggle to reconcile my identity with their expectations. And I know, sadly, not everyone gets that gift. Some are cast aside by those who should hold them dear simply for being who they are. That is not love. That is not God.

So, this month, I challenge you—affirm your love. To your children. To your parents. To your chosen family. To the ones walking roads, you do not yet understand. Speak the words you've held back. Offer the grace you wish someone had given you. You never know what it might heal.

In love, in grace, and with hope,

Rev. Gilbert