Lent 2026 · Day 6: We Are the Hands and Feet and Heart of God
- 18 hours ago
- 3 min read
People are often surprised by how much I love Jesus.
Not the way most Christians talk about Jesus. Not the weaponized version. Not the one used to threaten queer people or enforce belonging. The Jesus I love lived in the margins. The one who walked toward suffering, not away from it.
I’ve always wrestled with faith.
When I was 13, I saw images of children starving during a famine in Africa. I remember asking myself, if God exists, why aren’t they being saved? Why aren’t prayers enough?
That question never left me.
What I eventually understood is this... faith was never meant to replace action. We are the hands and feet. We are the ones who show up. Prayer was never the endpoint. It was the invitation.
Faith is not certainty. It is participation.
It is showing up even when your tank feels empty.
Our culture talks endlessly about self-care, about protecting your energy. And that matters. But faith also asks something harder. It asks you to trust that when you give what you can, something will refill you. That what you offer is not lost. That care circulates.
That’s mutual aid.
We give what we can.
We ask for what we need.
We trust that community knows how to care for itself.
I feel my faith the same way I feel the sun on my face and the breeze on my skin on a warm summer day on the golf course. You can’t see it. You can’t measure it. But it’s there. It moves through you. It reminds you that you are alive and connected to something larger than yourself.
Being queer taught me something about God that institutional religion never could.
God is not threatened by who I am.
God is present in how I love.
God is present when we witness each other.
God is present when we refuse to let each other disappear.
It takes energy to show up. It takes something out of you. But it also fills you.
Because every time we care for one another, every time we refuse indifference, every time we stand beside someone who would otherwise stand alone, we participate in something sacred.
Not because we are special.
Because we said yes.
💛💛💛
Lenten Reflection · Parable of the Man in the Flood
A man’s town begins to flood. The water rises to his porch, and a neighbor in a truck stops and says,
“Get in. I’ll take you to safety.”
The man replies,
“No, thank you. I have faith. God will save me.”
The water rises higher. He retreats to the second floor. A rescue team in a boat comes by and shouts,
“Climb in! We’ll get you out.”
The man says,
“No, thank you. God will save me.”
The water rises again. He climbs onto the roof. A helicopter hovers overhead and lowers a ladder.
“Grab on! This is your last chance!”
The man refuses.
“I have faith. God will save me.”
The water keeps rising. The man drowns.
When he arrives in heaven, he asks God,
“I had faith. Why didn’t you save me?”
God replies,
“I sent you a truck, a boat, and a helicopter. What more did you want?”
Faith isn’t passive waiting. It’s recognizing that God shows up through people. Through action. Through community.
Through us.
Right now, my friend Sonja is raising money for We The Gente, an organization dedicated to empowering Latino individuals and families through education, career guidance, mental health support, and basic needs.
This is what faith looks like in practice. Not abstract belief. Concrete care.
If you’re able, consider helping her reach her birthday fundraising goal: https://www.facebook.com/donate/903744395895869/903744422562533/
Because sometimes the truck is a donation.
Sometimes the boat is mutual aid.
Sometimes the helicopter is simply showing up for one another.
And sometimes, we are the ones sent to help.
Take care of yourself. Take care of each other.
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