An excerpt from: STOP people pleasing and set your boundaries published by Simon and Shuster by Hailey Magee ![]() In the simplest sense, a boundary separates one thing from another. A fence is a boundary between two properties; our skin is the boundary between our organs and the outside world. A boundary is the line where one thing ends, and another begins. When we set a boundary with another person, we create some sort of separation between us. We might imagine our boundaries as shields that protect us from things that would threaten our well-being, such as others’ rudeness, others’ emotional dumping, unwanted touch, or commitments we don’t have the time and space for. Boundaries enable us to honor our limits—what works for us and what doesn’t—and design our lives and relationships around those limits. Ultimately, boundaries are a recognition that we can’t control what others say or do, but we can control how we respond and what we allow into our environment. That’s what boundaries are all about. Although boundaries create separation in the short term, they are actually necessary and healthy in all relationships. BOUNDARIES VS. REQUESTS When we make requests of others, we ask them to change their behavior. But when we set a boundary, we change our own behavior to protect ourselves, our needs, and our limits. As we discussed in the previous chapter, requests are, at their core, collaborative: a successful request requires another person to change their actions. Boundaries, on the other hand, don’t require others’ participation. When we set a boundary, we are assessing what doesn’t work for us and acting accordingly. These examples demonstrate the difference between requests and boundaries. As you can see in these examples, our boundaries aren’t about changing other people: they’re about setting clear limits for what we will and will not tolerate from other people. For this reason, boundaries aren’t tools to get more of something from someone. We can’t “boundary” a person into giving us more affection, attention, kindness, or collaboration. We can ask them for more—that’s what requests are all about—but ultimately, boundaries are about separating ourselves from situations that don’t meet our needs, or interactions that make us feel unsafe, unseen, or harmed in some way.
COMMUNICATING OUR BOUNDARIES How we communicate our boundaries depends on our situation. We might use: The Short and Sweet Approach The short and sweet approach tends to work best when others make requests of us that we can’t or don’t wish to fulfill. Perhaps our sister asks if she can borrow our car; perhaps our date asks if we’d like to go back to their apartment; perhaps a community member asks if we can volunteer at the neighborhood bake sale. In these cases, a clear, straightforward boundary will do: • “No.” • “No thank you.” • “I can’t.” • “I don’t have time.” • “Not today.” • “That’s not going to work for me.” “I don’t have time for that right now.” • “Now’s not a good time.” • “Maybe some other time.” The I-Statement Approach Like we discussed in the prior chapter, the I-statement is a four-part communication tool that helps us be direct about our feelings and needs: “I feel _________________ when you _________________ because_________________. I need _________________.” When setting boundaries, the I-statement looks like: “I feel overwhelmed when you try to talk things out moments after an argument because I haven’t had time to process on my own. I need to wait at least an hour to cool down before discussing it with you” or “I feel upset when you discuss my mental health issues with the family because it violates my privacy. I need privacy, so I will keep information about my mental health to myself from now on.” The Radical Transparency Approach We can also use the radical transparency approach to set boundaries. As a reminder, this approach works best with people you trust: people who care for your well-being and are unlikely to weaponize the vulnerability of this approach against you.
Radical transparency looks like: “Dad, I’m afraid of hurting you, but it’s important to me that we can be honest with each other. I want you to know that I can’t listen when you vent about Mom anymore. It puts me in the middle and I’m not comfortable playing that role” or “Gloria, I know that in the past I’ve joined you and your friends for the annual retreat, but I’m trying to save money this year, so I can’t make it.” The Speaking Up Approach Sometimes, we want to speak up as a means of making our own beliefs known. Especially if someone is expressing values or ideals we don’t agree with, speaking up can be a way to both honor our integrity and insert a mental boundary: separation between what they believe and what we believe. Speaking up can look like saying, “I disagree,” “I don’t share your opinion,” “I actually believe that _____,” or “I find what you’re saying to be sexist/racist/transphobic.” PUTTING BOUNDARIES INTO ACTION If we set a boundary that a certain behavior doesn’t work for us, we need to remove ourselves from that behavior when it arises. Otherwise, our boundary is a meaningless statement that offers us no protection. If you set a boundary that you can’t participate in gossip anymore, then enacting it looks like exiting the interaction when someone starts gossiping. If you tell your mom that you can’t take her calls during work hours anymore, enacting that boundary means letting the phone go to voicemail when she calls you during a meeting. If you set a boundary that you won’t continue a conversation when your spouse is yelling, enacting it looks like leaving the conversation when your spouse yells. Other people may not like our boundaries or may push back against them—we’ll discuss this soon—but ultimately, because our boundaries are about our own actions, enacting them is always within our control. DISENGAGING AS BOUNDARY-SETTING When we disengage, we exit an interaction that is harmful to us. By disengaging, we acknowledge that we can’t control others’ actions, but we can control the part we play in our dynamic. Instead of playing tug-of-war, we drop the rope. For the longest time, the idea of disengaging to set boundaries felt strange to me. After all, I was trying to get better at speaking up, and this felt like the opposite of speaking up. I worried that disengaging was the same as avoiding conflict: something I did in my people-pleasing days. However, I quickly learned that disengaging as a form of people-pleasing is very different from disengaging as a form of boundary-setting. For years, one of my family members had made judgmental comments about other people’s weight. It bothered me to no end. I’d spent years struggling with my weight, as had many of my loved ones, and I found these comments callous and dehumanizing. I tried so many times to convince them to stop, but it never worked. They thought I was being “too sensitive” and taking things “too seriously.” No matter how much I argued and cajoled, they wouldn’t change. These frequent debates took a toll on me. After every single one, I felt frustration and rage, and it took hours for me to feel calm again. Eventually, I realized that I was trying to change someone who wouldn’t change and harming myself in the process. So instead of continuing to speak up, I disengaged. When they made comments about people’s weight, I didn’t reply. I didn’t respond to the text; I ended the phone call; I left the room. I couldn’t control them, but I could control whether I dignified their comments with my participation and my presence. Disengaging from a place of people-pleasing is fear-based. When we disengage out of fear, we’re thinking: “I’m afraid to speak up because I want them to like me,” or “I don’t want to rock the boat, so I better stay quiet,” or “I don’t want them to know I have this need because I’m afraid they’ll judge me, so I won’t say anything.” Disengaging as a boundary is power-based. When we disengage as a boundary, we’re thinking: “I can’t control how they treat me, but I can control how much negative treatment I choose to endure,” or “I will not spend my valuable time and energy debating this once again,” or “I will not dignify this rude comment with a response.” Sometimes, a person’s behavior is so hurtful that our only option is to leave the relationship entirely. Other times, we find that we can maintain a relationship if we disengage from unpleasant interactions, or decrease our degree of intimacy over time. There are six boundary strategies—three short-term strategies and three big-picture strategies—that we can use to disengage in this manner. STOP People Pleasing and Find Your Power is now available as hardcover, ebook, and audiobook.
0 Comments
There was a period in my late thirties when I was nudged by the Holy Spirit to use vulgarity. Prior to that moment, I did not swear unless a hammer hit my thumb. Now, I pepper my speech with expletives as an act of perceived obedience to God. Am I crazy?
By “vulgarity” I mean only a subset of the huge community of naughty, ugly words that are floating around in the world. Some are terms hateful to religious communities. I do not mean those words. Words that offend my faith or another’s do not fall within the Spirit’s permission to speak. Using such words as “Jesus Christ“ as an emphatic response to someone cutting me off on the highway, or saying “G-dd*mn it,” for me, are too close to the sweet relationship I have with God. In the same way, speaking sarcastically about someone's “Higher Power” offends another's faith. I avoid using language that way. Slurs are another subset of the naughty word category. They are completely antithetical to the life of faith and love because they dehumanize others. I don’t use them and wish no one did. These categories of words do belong inside the practice of love. Ever. What I think we can defend is vulgar language. And it was likely found in the mouth of our Lord Jesus. I know that’s shocking; hang in there before you head down to the comment section to berate me. Here is why I think Jesus probably used vulgar language. “Vulgar” is a Latin word for “common.” The Vulgate, the Latin translation by Jerome from the late 300s (4th C), was the common Bible in Christendom for several hundred years. You hear the same root there. It means “common.” Common life before the 19th century (in other words from just after Eden until perhaps the last 100 years) was rough and tumble, steeped in blood and offal. People lived amongst smells and sights that we might consider horrific. Slaughtered animals, dead bodies, nakedness. Things we hope to never see, they saw every day. It was...vulgar. Those lucky enough to avoid the muck because of wealth and advantage, tended to consider themselves above it all. And upper classes didn’t use the language of the common. See where this is going? The majority of vulgar words are bad words associated with the stinky, foul, daily experiences of the body. These words were considered inappropriate for the upper levels of society who didn’t have to publicly engage with urine, poop, vomit or sex. For the common people, these things were a part of every day. Ever get scolded for using the word “fart”? Even sex often happened in a room or space with other people averting their eyes or pretending to sleep. These words became taboo because of class. Now, let me suggest something really controversial: Jesus was vulgar. God became not only human, but a peasant who lived among people who had sex, peed and poo-ed without much privacy. Common folk. Common savior. The upper class sneered at him. As a commoner, Jesus probably used the Aramaic word for piss or sh*t on a regular basis. Maybe even f*ck. These words weren’t evil, they were uncouth. They highlighted humor, emphasized personal conviction and stuck to the bottom of one’s foot. Why would Jesus not use them? Scientists have shown that vulgarity is correlated with pain management, honesty, and other psychological benefits. Using swear words appropriately helps us emphasize outrage, pain, and personal conviction. But we use them sparingly. If Jesus used them (and I’ve already explained why I think he did) he used them appropriately: in the shock of pain, in the agony of disappointment, in gut-busting laughter. Probably, if vulgarity had found its way into the oral record of Jesus’ sayings, the words were cut from the writing. But there is sh*t in the New Testament. In fact, the only vulgar word in the New Testament comes from the Apostle Paul in the letter to the church in Philippi, where he recounts all his accomplishments in life, and says that he counts them “as [shit], in order that I may gain Christ” (Philippians 3:8). Of course translators recoil from such common language - hence why the words rubbish, trash, dung, garbage, refuse, etc. get used instead. But sh*it’s there and there’s no way around it besides pretending and euphemizing. Which is the last thing I want to say about vulgarity. Jesus wasn’t a pretender. He was born smack-dab in the shit and he never claimed otherwise. His particularity is part of his power. My being a Jesus follower includes vulgarity because it keeps me publicly honest about my imperfection and social location. If someone else uses it more than me, I don’t judge them. We are all vulgar in the sight of God. We are all standing in the p*ss and sh*t of this world–even if it’s metaphorical. Decide for yourself what is okay, but remember that Jesus chose to live among the uncouth. He loves and welcomes us common-folk, and never describes us with slurs or stereotypes. Instead Jesus models the way of love using us as examples. Even our physicality, our boogers, farts, and failings fall within the grace and kindness of Jesus’ love. As followers, our words and deeds should imitate him. Whether that imitation includes vulgarity from time to time is up to you. From my sense of the story, it’s likely Jesus doesn’t give two sh*ts about it. -- Pastor Rebecca Ragland Explore More: Discover Magazine Article One December, I worked as a seasonal Bell-Ringer for the Salvation Army in New York City. Around 5 AM every morning, I’d be dropped -off in front of Grand Central Station, and I’d ring my bell for 12 hours, inviting people to drop money in the steel kettle hanging from the tripod I was standing by. One morning, instead of my usual downtown spot, the boss dropped me on a sidewalk on the Upper East Side. Even I, rural girl that I was, knew that the Upper East Side was where the famous people hung out. I had my eye out for movie stars! Lo and behold, in the middle of the day, I noticed a couple come out of the deli across the sidewalk from me. A beautiful woman (just a little older than me but so much more sophisticated) heard the sound of my bell, and saw the Salvation Army kettle. She stopped and dug into her bag. A handsome man stood over her speaking right into her ear. Then he turned a looked my way. It was James Spader.
If you don’t know who that is, he is shown above in the John Hughes movie, Pretty in Pink. In that film, he plays an arrogant jerk (to put it nicely). I had thought he was acting. But I don’t think he had to try very hard. When I wide-eyed, star-stricken, looked into his eyes, he sneered at me. Yes, one side of that gorgeous upper lip rose perceptively as he stared coldly into my sweet, innocent, awestruck face. I’ll admit, it didn’t stop me from staring back with my jaw on my chest, still ringing my little bell 500 miles an hour. Later, when I told my friend that I had seen him, she was so jealous! She wanted to see him too! If only she had been able to ring bells for the Salvation Army on the Upper East Side! It just wasn’t fair! No matter that he behaved like an arrogant jerk, he was James Spader! This Sunday, we’ll remember poor Thomas. All the other disciples saw Jesus after the Resurrection, except him. Jesus appeared in the upper room, not the Upper East Side, but Thomas missed it. It’s hard to miss out. But putting these stories together reminds us that sometimes what we think we’ve missed out on is just stinky fish. And in the love and kindness of God, whenever we long for, seek and desire to see Jesus, he shows up for us. So, don’t worry if you missed somebody else’s amazing Easter. Look for your own. Jesus is risen and ready to meet with you just around the corner. Open your eyes and ears and welcome the blessing. -- Pastor Rebecca Share your star sightings below... Have you ever thought about your story and Jesus sightings? Some people love marathons, others don’t. Holy Week in the Episcopal Tradition (and some others) is a spiritual marathon; a week that stretches through time and space enabling us to go the distance alongside Jesus. The services of Holy Week begin with Jesus’ triumphal entrance into Jerusalem, take us to his final night (Maundy Thursday), his arrest, betrayal, trial, torture, and death (Good Friday), and into the miraculous power of his resurrection (Easter).
You are invited to run this spiritual marathon. The challenge will exhaust you, inspire you and deepen your solidarity with the one who ran the race for you. Here, you’ll see the services offered through St. Paul’s. Start to finish, there are four. However, if you want to challenge yourself further, attend a Seven Last Words service on Good Friday. Other Episcopal Churches offer a Holy Saturday Easter Vigil. Here are some reasons why running the Holy Week Marathon will strengthen you:
-- Pastor Rebecca When Jesus was brought to the temple as an infant, a devout old man named Simeon took him in his arms and essentially pronounced, My eyes have seen the Messiah! (Luke 2:25-32). But what if Simeon said that about every baby brought to the temple? There’s no reason to think he didn’t, except that we know the whole story. We think of Jesus as Messiah in a distinctive way, and that’s appropriate. But Jesus wants us to be like him. That's messianic.
In his book, The Diary of Jesus Christ, Bill Cain, SJ, has Simeon pray the same Messianic prayer over every child presented in the temple. When Jesus is twelve, Cain imagines Jesus returning to the temple to find Simeon. Jesus asks Simeon many questions, including this: “In the scripture God speaks of Israel as if it were one single person. If that’s true, is it possible—is it possible when the scripture speaks of the Messiah as one person – that he might be many people? Is it possible? Is it possible? (p. 210) Thinking about this question was a lightbulb moment for me. We are called to be like Jesus and if Jesus is our deliverer, our means of being whole, healed, saved (all one word in the New Testament), then we are to do the same for each other. To embody God’s power and love as much as possible so that others can see God through us! (Matthew 5:48). It sounds impossible, but in fact, it’s not. It’s essential. It’s as simple as leaning in on who we truly are, not who we’ve become in our selfishness. Here are a few simple steps to practice your partnership in Messiah:
Don’t miss out on this fabulous opportunity to be Messiah. It’s possible. Every day, all of us together, walking in love, makes it possible. -- Pastor Rebecca If you’ve watched professional sports, it’s likely that you’ve seen a sign flash across the screen as the camera pans the cheering crowds. John 3:16. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.
This verse has been helpful and harmful – possibly since it was penned. The verses before and after (John 3:15 and 17), in fact, the whole context of when and why Jesus spoke this, is often ignored. And I am about to do the same thing! Yup. I want to drill down on just one word in the verse. Kosmon: the Greek word means several things in Greek. It means universe (cosmos), wholeness, the ordered creation, the ordered society (cosmopolitan). And God loves it all. God loves ordered, harmonious humans, and God loves the wholeness of the whole. So much does God love these things, that God goes to every and any length to restore them. Even becoming broken, destroyed, poor, marginalized, and falling through the black hole of evil in order to tie the frayed knot, to fill the vast vacancy, to restore the lost sheep, coin, and human. God does it not by violating the order, but through the order, through becoming Emmanuel – God with us. In flesh, in bread, in wine, incarnate, present. God loving the cosmos does not mean humans are at the center of God’s concern, it means that love, wholeness, interconnection is the center. Our brokenness is God’s concern only because wholeness requires our healing, not because we are distinctive or special within the order. Out there across the vast expanse of interstellar space, it’s likely that there are other creatures who have also fallen into separation. Creatures who willfully chose to move away from wholeness. Perhaps it was pride, greed, lust, or competitiveness. God knows. And the longing at the heart of God has sent God’s love into that world just as much as ours. Flipping John 3:16 open to imagine God’s immense, eternal, expansive love for the whole kosmon invites us to break open our narrow worlds and widen our love so that we too can be a part of the whole. Because, if God so loves the WHOLE, it suggests, if one of us isn’t healed, none of us are. -- Pastor Rebecca As a kid, I absolutely loved this Sunday's gospel reading: Jesus “cleansing” the temple (John 2:13-22). I loved the image of tame Jesus (mostly shown cuddling rabbits and children in my Bible), getting ticked off and flipping tables. Go Jesus! It made him seem more human, more real. He was angry. We get angry. In anger, he acted in ways that seemed destructive. We do too.
Most of my Sunday School teachers explained the story as how wrong it was to do commerce in church. Hence, no rummage sales on Sunday. But, there’s a lot more to the story. Jesus taught, “Be angry, but do not sin" (Ephesians 4:26-27). And in this story, Jesus models how. Anger that increases your heart rate, makes your palms sweat and your face turn red. It makes your jaw tight and your mind race. Psychologists call this “flooding.” And when it happens, we are really likely to sin; to break relationships. Jesus, feeling all of that, expressed his anger effectively. So effectively that the resonance of his actions still echoes in the reading. Mahatma Ghandi’s grandson, Arun, wrote a children’s book about things his grandad taught him. One of them was the power of anger. Ghandi-gi told him that anger is like electricity. It can strike like lightning, or it can be controlled to produce light. That's the lesson of Jesus' behavior in the temple. When Jesus tipped the tables and flipped the money onto the floor, it may have looked like lightening striking. But really, it was controlled enlightenment. Through his actions, he sent a message that rippled through the community, taught a lesson, and enabled the salvation story to go into turbo charge. His death became inevitable and by his death, his power to redeem and resurrect was revealed. Like you, I long to let my anger be a light, not lightening. Learning how to manage our anger effectively is a part of discipleship. May our consideration of Jesus’ actions bring us wisdom on how to be angry, and still turn the tables on our complicity with injustice and sin. -- Pastor Rebecca I love the word, transformation. I preach on it all the time. I’ve found the power of love and the experience of walking with Jesus to be so transformational that I’ve dedicated my life to trumpeting that good news! For me, transformation is positive, holy, and attractive. I hope that’s how you see it too.
But, there is another side. Transformation inherently requires change. And change means loss. Caterpillars may not welcome becoming butterflies. Why would they? Cocoons, physiological morphing, the struggle to break out of the chrysalis, UGH! Who wants all that? Rather that we stay on the leaf munching away in the sunshine. It’s the same with us. Collectively, as the Church, we followers of Jesus in North America are going through a profound transformation. Many of us have stopped attending church every Sunday. At St. Paul’s, only a third of us are in the building on average on any given Sunday. Many of us have stopped attending all together. The drop is precipitous across the nation – for all denominations. This is not a welcome change. It’s a loss that sometimes takes my breath away and makes me cry. You can see why: I deeply believe in the work that we do together as church. But transformation is here. I have to let myself grieve. And so do you. The loss is real. And we don’t know what the future holds. Darian and I have a vision for our transformation. We have hope that our worshipping community will thrive for generations to come. But not without change. Not without transformation. Stop and reflect on how that makes you feel. As we walk through the days ahead and discern next steps, we will make space to mourn, to honor our past, and to comfort each other. Change is tough. But we are tougher. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, our caterpillar community will fly. -- Pastor Rebecca The history of the Episcopal church and the capital “C” Church is long and varied. From the Episcopal Church’s history of being the Anglican church and containing many of the wealthy and elite members of society, to the same thing being replicated in the new world of the time, to now, where Church members represent a cross section of many classes, races and gender categories. The Episcopal Church has seen a ton of history made in its own halls in the evolution and Revolutions that bring us the churches we have today.
While much progress has been made socially, the results and hangovers of the past still remain in place for the most part. Not only do I know this as an anecdotal tale that is told from person to person, I know it from my own personal research into the wealthy and elite members of the Episcopal Church that enslaved my own ancestors. Their names are Wigfall, Baker, Sinclair, Hines and Blow. Yes, Blow. The same Blow family that helped start this church, St. Paul’s Episcopal, also had relatives that enslaved both Dred Scott and my own ancestors; given the names August, Jenny, Phillis, Limbrick, Flora and Nanny. Now it is known that Henry T. Blow did not receive an inheritance of land and enslaved people. In fact, having grown up with Dred Scott, Henry and one of his brothers paid for the legal fees for Dred Scott to sue for his freedom. The fact is that Henry would not have had to do this, had his parents not enslaved Dred Scott and others in the first place. I believe that this church in particular follows Henry’s story: divorced from the slave trading past of our ancestors but still directly tied to the systems those ancestors created in the time of slave trading which started over 500 years ago. The Church is putting funds behind reversing these effects but even after a decade of that effort, it is still a drop in the bucket when we think of reversing over five hundred years of effectively following the same systems. Our church and the Episcopal Church will continue to do the work of God and support our brothers and sisters in Christ, however we have to realize the scale and magnitude of the work we intend to undertake. It will take generations and a lot of hard and smart work, but we have in no way reversed any of the effects our ancestors have had on us to this day. That day, when Dr. Martin Luther King’s dream is realized and no one is judged or has their life outcome determined by the color of their skin or any other ways we marginalize people are gone, we may never see for ourselves. To me, that makes exploring our history and seeking restorative justice in all of its manifestations that much more important, so that future generations are not stuck with the bill yet again. -- Darian Wigfall, Executive Director The Episcopal Church, since its inception has been rooted in the upper class. There are a number of reasons for this, but the primary one is that our denomination was the state religion of England which became the established church in the American colonies. In colonial America, social class often determined one's access to education and opportunities, and this influenced who became members of the church. The term, "cradle Episcopalian" may be a vestige of the birth privilege that has been with us for centuries.
When Scott and I lived in Connecticut, we visited several Episcopal Churches where pew rents (abolished as recently as the 1970s) determined seating. Wealthier members of the community rented the more expensive pews up front while those who couldn't afford such accommodation either stood in the back or sat in the balcony. During the colonial and early post-revolutionary periods, the Episcopal Church comprised members from the colonial elite, including wealthy landowners, merchants, and political leaders. Many of the drafters of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were Anglican/Episcopalian. As the United States expanded westward, the Episcopal Church established new congregations. Nevertheless, the liturgical and aesthetic expressions of our forebears were "classy". To be an Episcopalian entailed having a Prayer Book and being able to read. It signaled pew rents and Sunday morning apparel. These factors often affected who attended Episcopal Churches. When you visit towns in the mid west and west, note where you see Episcopal and Presbyterian Churches. They tend be found in affluent neighborhoods or as beautiful edifices downtown In the last hundred and fifty years or so, Episcopalians have begun to dismantle this class affiliation. But we have a long way to go. The wealth of our denomination is astonishing. One church, Trinity Episcopal Church, Wall Street, has an endowment of over 6 billion (yes, you read that right - 6 billion dollars). Many of our churches have significant endowments. But that hasn't always meant that our stewardship is generous or faithful. In New England, it's common to find Episcopal churches with a Rector and Associate Rector, and full staff and large building, but only thirty people present on a Sunday. Endowments enable congregations to hold onto the status quo. But what would Jesus say to us who store up treasure like that? Episcopalians want to welcome and include all people. But it's not easy. When we read so much in worship, it's hard for people who struggle to read, (or can't afford eye glasses) to feel included. Even our hymns are high-fallutin' and poetic. As we change, we must discern what in our worship is integral, and what could be abandoned as we widen our welcome. In future essays, I will explore what the Episcopal Church is doing to continue dismantling our upper class, predominantly white, way of being. Much more needs to be done but growth is happening. The Diocese of Missouri and St. Paul's are part of the vanguard moving toward the Jesus Movement that our Presiding Bishop has so faithfully called us to. Many in our denomination long to do better, to walk more faithfully, and together we are making changes for the better. In the comments section, please offer your reflection on Class in the Episcopal Church. Pastor Rebecca |
AuthorMost of the blog articles are written by our Rector, The Rev. Rebecca Ragland Archives
June 2024
Categories |