From the Rector…
The wind began to shift; the lights began to pitch—Sunday morning felt a little like The Wizard of Oz. We may not have been swept up by a tornado or spotted a witch flying by on her broomstick, but there was drama enough as the lights blinked on and off and the sound system failed. During communion, I was told we were under a severe thunderstorm warning until 12:15 p.m. When I looked out the Gospel side door—the side of the church where the Gospel book is placed—the rain was coming down so hard that all I could see was white.
On my way home, I began dodging fallen trees and power lines around Cloverdale Park. Agnew Street looked like a war zone, with several power poles snapped in half by the storm. At our house, we had one limb down but no damage, though the power was out. We lit candles, built a fire, and settled in. Needless to say, it was a three-dog night in the Frazer bed.
Alabama Power crews worked throughout the night to replace poles and restore service. I am grateful for the men and women who sacrificed a good night’s sleep in a warm bed so others could have light, heat, and safety. I am also grateful for our neighbors, who checked on one another and cleared limbs or cut trees to help each other out. When disaster strikes, people reach out and offer a helping hand. That instinct reveals something essential about who we are.
We live in a brittle world. Systems fail. Institutions falter. The things we think we can rely on are not always there when we need them. That reality can leave us anxious and uncertain. In the face of brittleness and anxiety, we are called to be adaptive and resilient.
Resilience, however, is not simply individual grit or stubborn perseverance. While those qualities can help us endure hardship, resilience is something deeper and more communal. It grows out of our ability to adapt together when familiar supports no longer hold. The more uncertainty we face, the more we must rely not only on our own strength, but on one another.
Disasters have a way of making that truth visible. They draw communities together in ways that everyday life often does not. When Birmingham was shut down by a snowstorm several years ago, Chick-fil-A began delivering free food to people stranded in their cars. When a tornado struck Selma in 2023, neighbors immediately began helping one another, and people from outside the city—including many of you—came with chainsaws and willing hands to clear roads and repair homes.
In moments like these, we see that resilience is not something we muster alone. It is sustained by relationships, generosity, and shared purpose. The strength of our resilience is closely tied to the strength of our community.
The apostle Paul understood this well. Again and again, as he faced threats, imprisonment, and attempts to silence him, Paul named the people who supported him. Some might say he was establishing his credibility. But I wonder if he was also reminding himself—as well as the church—that none of us stands alone. Resilience, like faith, is stronger in community.
When the world feels brittle and anxious, it is easy to lose hope or slip into despair. Yet we are called to remain resilient: rooted in God, sustained by one another, and trusting that the worst things are never the last things.
Light and Life,
Candice+