The Work of Returning

Following Jesus in a Season of Uncertainty

2026 has begun with quite a bang.

From global U.S. imperialism rearing its ugly head to the tenderness of an emerging youth group among us, this year already feels marked by stark contrasts—of horror and beauty, grief and hope, fragility and fierce life.

I begin here because January is always a season of reflection for the church. It is a time when we look back over the life of the congregation this past year while also turning our attention toward what is coming next. Teams and leaders are writing reports for the Annual Meeting. The Shepherding Team is preparing to offer a vision for how we can embody our commitment to being a Resurrecting Church.

I live daily with the awareness of our elders, whose lives grow more fragile as their energy wanes, and with our young people, who are searching for connection and meaning as their energy waxes. This is the ebb and flow of life—time and tide lived out before us, even as we cannot see the deeper forces pulling us this way or that.

Beauty and Horror, Held Together

I am reminded of the poet Andrea Gibson, who in their own waning wrote of the beauty and the horror of this world—something they felt in their very bones as cancer carried them toward death.

They wrote in their book Love Letter from the Afterlife, 

“Dying is the opposite of leaving… I am more here than I ever was before.”¹

We do not know all that this year will bring, or what the years beyond it will unveil. But we do know this: the divine thread between us—the warp and weft of the world, and the worlds upon worlds within this universe we inhabit—is strong.

Our attempts to understand, to make sense, to find certainty in mystery, to escape into thinking so that the intensity of our hearts might be dampened—this, too, is part of that divine warp and weft.

In a different register, the documentary Living in the Time of Dying names a similar tension—not at the scale of a single life, but at the scale of our shared world. The film asks what it means to live fully and ethically in a time marked by ecological collapse, unraveling systems, and collective grief. Rather than offering solutions, it lingers with questions of meaning, relationship, and responsibility, inviting viewers to consider how we stay present, tender, and human when the future itself feels uncertain.²

A Quiet but Real Return

Against this backdrop of personal and collective uncertainty, recent data from the Pew Research Center and Barna Group points to something quietly significant. While traditional measures of religious participation remain mixed, both organizations are documenting a renewed openness to spiritual questions, practices, and communities—especially among younger generations.

Pew’s most recent findings suggest that many people who remain connected to religion do so not out of habit or obligation, but because faith continues to help them make meaning of life. Barna Group’s 2024–2025 research similarly points to a rise in personal spiritual commitment, particularly among Millennials and Gen Z. What is emerging is not a return to certainty, but a return to curiosity, relationship, and depth.

In other words, people are not so much coming back for answers (head) as they are coming back to encounter (heart).

When the Prodigals Return

For those of us who never left, this moment is complicated.

We are like the elder child in the parable—the one who stayed with the parent, did what was expected, kept the place running. We plowed and cleaned and managed and cared. And now, the prodigals are returning.

So, the question before us is not whether people are coming back, but how we respond.

Do we assume they know the cues and practices? 

Do we expect them to pick up where we imagine they left off? 

Do we resent the experiences, ideas, questions, and needs they bring with them? 

Do we unconsciously expect them to “know their place”?

Or are we like the parent—overwhelmed with joy that the one who was lost has returned, no matter the time or distance traveled?

Radical Hospitality and Honest Humility

If we are honest, those of us who stayed can never fully understand the lives, experiences, and needs of those who are returning.

All we can offer is radical hospitality and genuine curiosity—open arms and open hearts—so that we, too, might return with fresh eyes and renewed wonder.

This is hard work.

It requires stepping away from cynicism, certainty, anger, and the quiet power of “knowing better.” It asks us to refrain from telling stories about “when we were their age” or “how things used to be.” It invites us to release nostalgia and control and allow the utter newness of this moment to be what it is.

It asks us, quite simply, to drop our proverbial nets and follow Jesus—so that we might encounter Living Water as if for the very first time.

The Question That Remains

2026 will surely bring stark contrasts: life and death, loss and gain, sorrow and joy.

The question before us remains:

Do we trust the One who showed us what life after death can be? 

And do we have what it takes to follow in that way?

Walking this way with you,

Pastor Robin

Footnotes

¹ Andrea Gibson (1975–2025) was an American poet, spoken-word artist, and queer activist whose work held together joy and grief, beauty and terror, embodiment and mortality. Diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 2021, Gibson continued to write and share poetry that explored what it means to be fully alive while facing death. In “Love Letter from the Afterlife,” they write, “Dying is the opposite of leaving… I am more here than I ever was before,” naming the paradox of deep presence in the midst of dying.

² Living in the Time of Dying (dir. Michael Shaw, 2020) is a documentary that explores how individuals and communities live meaningfully amid ecological crisis and systemic collapse. Through conversations with elders, activists, and spiritual teachers, the film focuses less on technical solutions and more on grief, moral courage, and the practice of staying present in a time shaped by loss.