At St. Alban’s, our Friday sit-down lunch is more than a meal, it’s a space of welcome. People come not only for food, but for connection. We set the table with intention: to nourish bodies and spirits, to offer community in the midst of whatever someone may be carrying.

Today, that intention met a quiet moment of urgency.

A volunteer shared that one of our long-standing community members, someone I’ll call J, is facing a very difficult personal and family situation. J is not a member of our church, but he is very much a member of the community. And that matters deeply.

I learned J would be attending another community program tonight, so I arrived early, hoping for a quiet moment to speak with him. But even then, J was surrounded by others. The opportunity for private conversation didn’t come. Still, I felt it was important to show up.

I offered J two small prayer crosses, simple gifts for personal prayer in this heavy season. I told him my prayers are with him, and I invited him to reach out if a visit or any pastoral care might be helpful. And then, in my heart, I lifted him into God’s hands.

This is what community means to me: when someone is struggling, we don’t wait for the perfect moment. We show up. We offer comfort. We make space for the priest or pastor to be present, not to pry, but to accompany. We affirm the love and care of God, not just in words, but in gestures, in prayer, in presence.

Today reminded me that ministry often happens in the margins, before programs begin, in quiet exchanges, even when words are few. It reminded me that grace moves through small things: a cross, a prayer, a moment of listening.

May we continue to be a community that sees, that responds, that lifts one another up. And may we trust that even when privacy is limited and conversations are brief, God is near.