If yo u’ve ever stood in the Borrego desert at dawn, you know how the light arrives quietly, not demanding anything from you, simply offering itself. That is the kind of welcome we hope to offer at St. Barnabas. Here in this wide landscape, many people come to sort out their lives, to breathe again, or to listen to something deeper. If that’s where you find yourself as a new year begins, you are not alone. And you don’t need to have a map in hand to walk through our doors. You are welcome here — with your questions, your doubts, your hopes, and your story. The desert has always been a place where people wander, wonder, and discover unexpected acceptance. It’s a place where God has a way of meeting people not because they are certain, but because they are searching. We try to be a church shaped by that same way of being spacious, honest, and grounded in love. One of the gifts of the Episcopal tradition is that it doesn’t require everyone to think alike or believe alike. Like the desert, it makes room. Our common prayer holds us together even when our perspectives differ. You don’t have to fit a mold to belong. Archbishop Desmond Tutu once said, “God’s dream is that you and I and all of us will realize that we are family.” In the desert, family often looks like whoever shows up with you at an oasis, where crossroads meet. I say this as someone who has spent much of his life on the edges of religious communities — interfaith, curious, comfortable with mystery. And yet, in this church, I have found acceptance and a home. The edges, I’ve learned, can be holy ground. If you’re standing at the edge of mystery — or simply looking for a place where you don’t have to pretend, this is your invitation. Your presence matters here. So do your questions. As the new year unfolds, I hope you find renewal and belonging — and if you wander our way, a little desert church would be glad to welcome you in. Father Dave Madsen+
A Community Concert Marking 60 Years of a Holiday Classic
By Fr. Michael Plekon
If yo u’ve ever stood in the Borrego desert at dawn, you know how the light arrives quietly, not demanding anything from you, simply offering itself. That is the kind of welcome we hope to offer at St. Barnabas. Here in this wide landscape, many people come to sort out their lives, to breathe again, or to listen to something deeper. If that’s where you find yourself as a new year begins, you are not alone. And you don’t need to have a map in hand to walk through our doors. You are welcome here — with your questions, your doubts, your hopes, and your story. The desert has always been a place where people wander, wonder, and discover unexpected acceptance. It’s a place where God has a way of meeting people not because they are certain, but because they are searching. We try to be a church shaped by that same way of being spacious, honest, and grounded in love. One of the gifts of the Episcopal tradition is that it doesn’t require everyone to think alike or believe alike. Like the desert, it makes room. Our common prayer holds us together even when our perspectives differ. You don’t have to fit a mold to belong. Archbishop Desmond Tutu once said, “God’s dream is that you and I and all of us will realize that we are family.” In the desert, family often looks like whoever shows up with you at an oasis, where crossroads meet. I say this as someone who has spent much of his life on the edges of religious communities — interfaith, curious, comfortable with mystery. And yet, in this church, I have found acceptance and a home. The edges, I’ve learned, can be holy ground. If you’re standing at the edge of mystery — or simply looking for a place where you don’t have to pretend, this is your invitation. Your presence matters here. So do your questions. As the new year unfolds, I hope you find renewal and belonging — and if you wander our way, a little desert church would be glad to welcome you in. Father Dave Madsen+
A Community Concert Marking 60 Years of a Holiday Classic
By Fr. Michael Plekon
