Let us be the light of hope

October 19, 2025
Spill the light
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Changes mess with us. I wish it weren’t so. You know, messes with the tidy (manageable and predictable) script—for our day or our life—that we tote for mental security. You know, about the way life “should be.” But when the script is shredded, it messes with our head and our spirit. Even if that script is our travel plans.
My weekend was spent in airports in the US and Canada—after two flight cancellations—finally getting to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan at 1:30am.
And grateful for Tim Horton’s coffee on Saturday morning and the whole-hearted gathering of people connected with Holy Trinity Catholic School Division. Our theme, “Let us be the light of hope.”
And here’s the deal: we can embrace both—light and hope—even, and maybe especially, when the script for our day (or week, or the narrative for the world around us) has been displaced or even dislocated.
And I smiled big thinking of how my travel script has no comparison to the topsy-turvy worlds of so many today.
I do know this: When life goes off the rails, we tend to let our minds be overrun with “what ifs” and “if onlys”, and we miss the moments to pause, to notice the little things—the beauty, the wonder, the sacred that anchors us. The little, tiny gifts, of people and kindness and generosity, and spaces where sanctuary is real. Where the sacred is alive and well in the ordinary. So, let us begin there: What anchors us?

One of my favorite Garrison Keillor stories is about a young boy who wanted a Lionel Train Set for Christmas.
The father, of a family of seven, was in the hospital and unable to work. The mother, worried about money did her best to prepare the children. “I’m sorry, but we won’t be able to have much Christmas this year,” she tells them.
This news was not easy to swallow for the eldest boy, aged ten, who had been dropping hints since September about the Lionel train set, deluxe with the livestock loader. He even mentioned it frequently to God, reminding God that the train was on display in Lundgren’s store window. On Christmas morning, the boy opened his gifts; a pocketknife, wrapped homemade candies, and new pair of winter boots. There was no train. After Christmas dinner, the boy asked if he could go outside. He needed some place to nurse his sadness. As he tromped along in his new boots, he walked out on the iced-over lake, and let the tears flow.
After enough time passed, the boy turned to head back home. As he turned, with the sun nearly set, he saw the lights of the town shimmering before him. He squinted his eyes and could pick out his own house, on the left, not far from shore. It all looked, he realized, exactly like a town in a Lionel train layout, and if he squinted just right, the smoke rising from the chimney look like a steam engine.
Then he knew; the whole world is a Lionel Train Set. And he walked home with a lighter step, in his brand-new Christmas boots.
“In technology you have this horizontal progress, where you must start at one point and move to another and then another,” Thomas Merton once commented. “But that is not the way to build a life of prayer. In prayer we discover what we already have. You start where you are and you deepen what you already have, and you realize that you are already there. All we need is to experience what we already possess.”
That sure sounds good… until you don’t see the train set under the tree on Christmas morning.
Life is seldom what we wish for, and it’s easy to miss the Lionel Train Set, almost every time.
Here’s my favorite part of the story… after, the boy walked with a lighter step.
With awareness comes gratitude, fueled by gladness and joy.
With gratitude weights are lifted, and there is a sense of peace (down to our core).

When Kierkegaard wrote, “laughter is a type of prayer”, I think he meant that with laughter, we give up our need to control or manage or manipulate. We allow ourselves the permission to receive—this day, this moment, as a gift. You never know what you may see.
The Celtic church had a word for these moments of transformation. They called them thin places. “A thin place is anywhere our hearts are opened,” writes Marcus Borg. “They are places where the boundary between the two levels becomes very soft, porous, permeable. Thin places are places where the veil momentarily lifts and we behold (the “ahaah of The Divine”)… all around us and in us.”
One, this week, let us remember what anchors us. Let us listen to our heart.
Two, for yourself and for everyone you care about, make sure you hydrate your soul.
(Ahhh. Okay, yes, I will take care of Terry. I do need to practice what I preach, which—I admit—I’m not very good at.) This week, let us be gentle with ourselves. Let grace ground us.
Three, to your friends and family and the world you touch, let your light—and hope—spill.
Easy to do all this? No. Or, we think “This isn’t the day for it.” Which begs the question, “But is there a day for it?”
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” (Lord of the Rings)

Yes. We were made for this, one soul helping another—when scripts have been torn. And let us not forget, we are peacemakers, healers, restorers and lovers of every kind.
I was not in the US for the marches. And for all the friends who marched on Saturday, in person or in spirit, thank you. It’s curious how we mentally tend to associate protest with violence. But to shine your light in hope is itself a protest, let us not forget that. Where there is a bushel over the light of dignity and compassion and justice—where hope has been diminished or eliminated—we are called to protest against the darkness. Objecting to the treatment—hostility toward and domination of the least of these, Jesus protested, telling us to love our neighbor as ourselves.

After another flight cancellation, I flew home from Vancouver today. Typically, I don’t cry on airport shuttles, but even so. They were good tears. A very dark chilly rainy day here in Vancouver, and scarfed sitting on the shuttle, I take a pause, immersed with memoires, so grateful for the small gifts and people who make this world a better place to live.
I am so sorry for the delivery issues we had last week with Sabbath Moment and Yahoo. We’ll keep working on the tech stuff. My favorite email was from Sister Margaret asking, “No Sabbath Moment, can you feel my pain?”
And yes, I’m hope in time to see game six between Seattle and Toronto. My Oh My.

Quote for our week… “My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together.” Desmond Tutu

BULLETIN BOARD

Today’s Photo Credit: “Thank you Terry for helping us look for the Helpers and to share the light. Even in faraway Kenya, on a safari, I couldn’t help but marvel at God’s glorious painting of the sky. Blessings,” Mary Duffy (Edmonds, WA)… Thank you Mary… Thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com

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Help make Sabbath Moment possible. I write SM because I want to live with a soft heart; to create a place for sanctuary, empathy, inclusion, compassion and kindness… a space where we are refueled to make a difference. SM remains free.
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Sabbath Moment Audio — The gift of a soft heart
Join us every Wednesday… Audio Sabbath Moment
Letters that do my heart good…
–Thank you for being transparent and being so loving! My heart hurts so deeply. We must be a voice for others. Leland
–Love the medicine pouch and the cup of life. You might enjoy Joyce Rupp’s book, the Cup of life. We did a very powerful women’s retreat on the book. Have a blessed weekend Terry. God’s love and mine, Cindy
–Your wonderful message today reminded me of Fr Richard Rohr’s advice “If we don’t find a way to manage our pains we will always transmit them”. Thanks, John
–Thank you, Terry. This is so dense with understanding and possibility for these very difficult and painful times. There is much for me to think about and try to put to practice here. Thank you for your outreach; take very gentle care yourself as well. Mickey
–Dear Terry, Thank you for your beautiful message this morning. Although it seems simple, being soft in a hard world can be challenging. I was reminded of a quote/poem I came across and have kept it in a special box of “Keepsakes”. You have likely come across it or him–It is by a poet and writer Iain Thomas.
“Be soft.
Do not let the world make you hard.
Do not let pain make you hate.
Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness.
Take pride that even though
much of the world may disagree,
you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”
Thank you, as always for all the important messages you share with us! Lori
–Wow! Thanks for the memory. I had forgotten how powerful the song “Imagine” is… particularly this version with all the participants worldwide. Del

POEMS AND PRAYERS

“Can I tell you something privately? I feel as unsettled in my spirit as you do. I know that we are both standing here, making our brave witness to peace and to justice, but I also know that every day seems to bring more reasons to be anxious that things will only get more chaotic. So, yes, I am as unsettled as you. But can I tell you something else? As long as you are here, I will be here. Your faith and your courage inspire me, and many more like me, to keep standing for what we believe. So, yes, we may both be a little afraid, but we will face that fear together, and sometimes that’s all we need.” The Rt. Rev. Steven Charleston

When holding your breath is safer than breathing
When letting go is braver than keeping
When innocent words turn to lies
And you can’t hide by closing your eyes
When the pain is all that they offer
Like the kiss from the lips of a monster
You know the famine so well, but never met the feast
When home is the belly of a beast
The ocean is wild and over your head
And the boat beneath you is sinking
Don’t need room for your bags, hope is all that you have
So say the Lord’s Prayer twice, hold your babies tight
Surely someone will reach out a hand
And show you a safe place to land
Oh, imagine yourself in a building
Up in flames, being told to stand still
The window’s wide open, this is leap is on faith
You don’t know who will catch you, but maybe somebody will
The ocean is wild and over your head
And the boat beneath you is sinking
Don’t need room for your bags, hope is all that you have
So say the Lord’s Prayer twice, hold your babies tight
Surely someone will reach out a hand
And show you a safe place to land
Be the hand of a hopeful stranger
Little scared, but you’re strong enough
Be the light in the dark of this danger
‘Til the sun comes up
Be the hand of a hopeful stranger
Little scared but you’re strong enough
Be the light in the dark of this danger
‘Til the sun comes up
Be the hand of a hopeful stranger
You’re scared but you’re strong enough
Be the light in the dark of this danger
‘Til the sun comes up
‘Til the sun comes up (Oh)
‘Til the sun comes up (‘Til the sun)
‘Til the sun comes up (Ooh)
‘Til the sun (‘Til the sun)
Comes up
Songwriters: Lori Mckenna / Sara Bareilles