St. Barnabas Episcopal Church Celebrates 50 Years in Borrego Springs

Hello Members and Friends, We all hit potholes in life — the kind that drop us suddenly into emptiness with no clear way out. I went there, and I know many of you have too. In those moments, our plans can feel dead in the water. Rearranging the future seems as impossible as trying to tune in a television stuck on static. Everything feels suspended, uncertain, out of reach.  As a leader in the church and the community, I carry a responsibility to walk beside people in those hard places. Some struggles pass quickly, but others stay. Over the years I’ve walked with folks — mostly older, but some younger — through their final months, weeks, and days. In those seasons, worldviews shift. Plans dissolve. The future they imagined simply falls away. My role is to be present: to bring the love of family and friends when they’re near, and to be the friend when no one else is left. Some want to hear about hope beyond this life; some don’t. Either way, the ministry is the same — to walk besides, offering comfort, to stay. Many of you have faced life-changing potholes that weren’t life-ending but still left you shaken. In those moments, it’s easy to feel lost. But there is a way forward, even if it takes time. And I believe it’s our shared calling — mine as a pastor, yours as neighbors and friends — to show up for one another. Presence is often the greatest gift we can offer. Sometimes the only one. This isn’t a message of gloom. It’s a message of honesty — and hope. Hope for better days when they come and hope for courage and companionship when they don’t. When life leaves us water bound — or even shipwrecked — the way ahead can vanish. Plans fall apart, and we’re left holding whatever pieces still float. I invite you to hear Waterbound as a companion for those moments when you feel cut off or overwhelmed. Listen: Waterbound” – Dirk Powell & The Transatlantic Musicians (Transatlantic Sessions) Father Dave+

Following its meeting June 14-17 in San Juan, Puerto Rico, The Episcopal Church’s Executive Council shared the following letter to the church. Read prior council letters to the church here . The Executive Council met in San Juan, Puerto Rico, June 14-17, for a retreat and a business meeting. The Episcopal Diocese of Puerto Rico and its bishop, Rafael Morales, a member of Executive Council, were gracious and generous hosts. They gifted us not only with glorious music for our worship service but also gave us a tour of their diocesan center and a detailed overview of their many creative ministries, followed by a fiesta in the courtyard of the cathedral. Puerto Rico is the perfect place to talk about the place in our church and in our nation for those deemed by too many as not worthy of full and complete participation. Europeans “discovered” the island of Puerto Rico on Nov. 19, 1493, when Christopher Columbus landed there, the result being an enslaved and exploited population. After the Spanish-American War in 1898, Puerto Rico was ceded to the United States, where it became a commonwealth in 1952, granting its residents U.S. citizenship but limiting their political representation—which may be one reason way too many U.S. citizens still do not understand that Puerto Rico is a part of the United States. This limited political representation situation has not changed in 74 years, even though both statehood and independence are possible options. The racism and the legacy of white supremacy so deeply rooted in the U.S. ensure that this situation most likely won’t change any time soon. Presiding Bishop Sean Rowe’s sermon reminded those gathered that worship is not confined to a particular place, but it is anywhere we gather with the spirit of God in our midst. This meeting was part retreat and part business session, as members learned more about the state of the church, heard about strategic planning, asked questions, and offered feedback and, yes, some pushback. The tone of the meeting was at once serious and yet cordial, with pointed and challenging questions raised.  The council seems to have found its footing, with growing confidence in its role as a board of directors and a firmer grasp of what information members need and desire—and a willingness to ask for it. Monday’s focus was much about money and looking ahead 15 years. Couched in the declining numbers of Episcopalians churchwide and the concentration of most of our pledge-and-plate funding in the hands of those 60 and older, the opportunity to be addressed now by Executive Council and the church is how to plan thoughtfully for a changing financial picture. The financial realities and the plans for addressing them are folded into three overarching areas of focus: (1) Christianity Worth Proclaiming (2) A Church Built to Last (3) Capacity Where It’s Needed. After the presentation, members broke into small groups to listen to one another, pray, and discuss responses. Some of the most positive responses were related to the first area of focus—that our work is Christ-centered. There also was general enthusiasm about looking for ways in which The Episcopal Church Center can be a centralized resource for dioceses, including increased resources related to Title IV. At the end of the day there was the continued focus on mission enabled by thoughtful use of money—and a recognition that there is a role some churchwide missioners play in supporting ethnic communities. Leadership and staff clearly heard the ongoing concern among council members about the fate of ethnic ministries, fed in part by staff transitions, but also by the current political climate in our country, with ethnic populations being among those most frequently targeted by the current administration. Another vulnerable part of our population was talked about in the Pride worship service on Tuesday. In his sermon, the Rev. Cameron Partridge, chaplain, talked about the Two-Spirit, transgender, and nonbinary people whose very existence is being openly threatened. He praised a powerful retreat in March supported by the Gender Justice Office at the Church Center, particularly by Aaron Scott, who heads up that office. He said it was life-affirming, generating hope and strength for the more than 50 people attending, most of whom were young adults. The highlight of the business meeting on Wednesday was the report by Larry Hitt, chair of the Joint Standing Committee on Governance and Operations, on the status of the new location for The Archives of The Episcopal Church—ground has been broken, renovation and new construction has begun, and they are anticipating a ribbon-cutting in a few months. After years of changed plans and delays, this fulfillment of a long-deferred dream was met with enthusiastic, happy applause by council members. Underlying much of the conversation across the three days was, as always, those key baptismal covenant promises—to seek and serve Christ in all persons and to respect the dignity of every human being. Because that is what we are supposed to be as a church—life-affirming, generating hope and strength for us all, no exceptions.

With the celebration of the Trinity on the Sunday after Pentecost, the church year shifts into a long stretch until it ends and begins again on the first Sunday of Advent. This year that will not be until November 29, 2026. This longer period, all of June, July, August, September, October and most of November, more than half the year in all, plus a few weeks after the feast of Epiphany, in January and February goes by several different names. Many churches used to call it the Sundays after Trinity. Now it’s for most the Sundays after Pentecost. That’s what the lectionary or list of readings name it. But it also has the label of “Ordinary Time.” Does that seem boring and humdrum? Why “ordinary’? One explanation is that all these Sundays are numbered, remember “ordinals” from math? Another explanation is that it is the part of the year falling outside the great feasts and seasons of Christmas and Easter. (In the past these were the only days some went to church.) So the non-festal part of the church year. It’s helpful to recall than until the last century, many great feasts also were public holidays as well, with banks and businesses closed. “Ordinary” has a further meaning of the proper, correct, actual state of things. Thus the bishop of a diocese is called the “ordinary,” that is the authentic, right occupant of that position and responsibility. Likewise in the old Latin titles for university staff, a full professor was “ordinarius.” All this historical digging is fine, but is there any point for us today in the reality that MOST of the year in the church is “ordinary”? Yes, I very much think so. Consider that Sunday morning, the Eucharist/Sunday Service takes a little over an hour (depending on whether preacher makes it to the point.) And then coffee hour, called the “sacrament after the sacrament,” maybe another 30-40 minutes lingering. If I do the math, this slice of being church together takes up a little over two hours.  What about the rest of the week, when we are at home, at the store, with family and friends, working, walking, doing whatever? Is this being church at all, or are we Sunday Christians? (That is if we show up on Sundays? Big if these days.) The image I have here with these words is a drawing by Benedictine monk Br. Martin Erspamer. It’s the Last Supper, or better Jesus at table with his friends. It is my best image of “ordinary time.” You do see the bread and cup, what we receive in holy communion, Jesus present in food and drink we share. But notice Jesus’ face and all the other faces gathered round the table. This is “community as church, church as community.” Yes I wrote a book by that title, nevertheless it’s what keep me going in church. That’s because every meal we have at home or Kendall’s or Carlee’s or elsewhere is an extension of Jesus’ table. Every email or text or phone exchange, or better in person conversation, continues the table talk. The “ordinary time” is, along with the festal seasons, the time we’re given, the time we have left, the precious time we can do good things, make someone else at peace and joyful. I invite you to celebrate the ordinary time, with all the usual, everyday routines, troubles, aches and pains, smiles and tears, because Jesus is always there, as is the Spirit, opening a place at the Father’s table. We want, we need communion, community. It’s always here for us. (PS, Communion and Community is my forthcoming in 2026 book)

Every year on June 11, Christians across the world — Anglican, Episcopal, Catholic, Orthodox, and Lutheran — celebrate St. Barnabas, the “Son of Encouragement.” In the Episcopal Church, his feast is a moveable celebration , and here in Borrego Springs we keep it on the Sunday closest to that date. It is more than a remembrance. It is a mirror. His story looks remarkably like ours. A Saint Who Loved the Church — And Reached Beyond It St. Barnabas was deeply rooted in the life of the early church. Scripture shows him as a man who loved the community of believers, supported its leaders, and strengthened its foundations. Yet he was never content to stay inside the walls. He traveled with Paul and later with Mark, planting and nurturing new Christian communities. He built bridges between Jewish Christians and those outside the Jewish world. He encouraged newcomers, defended the misunderstood, and carried the Gospel into places the church had not yet imagined going. Barnabas held two commitments at once: to care for the church he loved, and to carry that love outward into the world. A Church That Lives the Same Calling St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Borrego Springs shares that same spirit. We are committed to building up our local church family — praying together, caring for one another, and strengthening our life in Christ. But our mission does not end at our doors. Like our patron saint, we believe that the church is community, and the community is church. Our ministry stretches into Borrego Springs, into the desert neighborhoods, and outward toward the Salton Sea region. We form partnerships, build friendships, and show up where people are living their real lives. We encourage people on their journeys, whatever those journeys look like. And we remind them — gently, persistently — that God loves them right now, not because they have been “good” or “bad,” not because they have earned anything, but because love is God’s nature. A Message Worth Carrying Our mission echoes the heart of St. Barnabas himself: Encouragement over judgment Welcome over boundaries Relationship over rules Love offered freely, today, as you are We tell our neighbors: God is already here. God is already with you. God is already loving you. And we invite them — as Barnabas once did — to let God walk with them on the road ahead. Why This Feast Matters to Us When we celebrate St. Barnabas each year, we are not only honoring a saint of the early church. We are recognizing the shape of our own calling. His life is a pattern for our life. His courage is an encouragement to our courage. His outward-facing love is the same love we are trying to live in Borrego Springs and beyond. St. Barnabas once helped the early church grow into the world. St. Barnabas Episcopal Church is doing the same — right here, right now.

by Fr. Michael Plekon The Lord’s Prayer starts off “Our Father, who art in heaven…” And when making the sign of the cross, Christians do it “in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.” God is father, Son and Holy Spirit, the Holy Trinity. And this is invoked both at the start and end of the Eucharist or Sunday Service of scripture, prayer and communion. Long before Jesus arrived on the scene here in our world, his Judaism called God Father. Almost twenty references to God as Father can be found in the Hebrew scriptures. In psalms 68, 89 and 103 God is a compassionate loving father. The very word in Hebrew for this compassion is rachamim , derived from the word from womb, where all our lives began ( rehem ). Is it not telling that as our Father, God should be so close, so intimately entwined with our lives. In the prophets, Isaiah and Jeremiah in particular, God is a Father, a friend to us from our very birth. The Father is the potter, we are the clay. Jesus would have used the Aramaic word Abba for Father. In Hebrew it is Av . The Greek is Patēr. In the New Testament there are over 250 times where God is referred to as Father, over 170 in the gospel of John alone. There Jesus is in continuous conversation with his Father. Jesus says that if we hear and see him, we see the Father. The letter of James called God the father of lights from whom all good things come. Paul in his letters uses the Aramaic Abba, probably closer to “Daddy” or “Pop.” God is not so much the remote king. God is like as father who takes us up in his arms. In the Hebrew scriptures, God as Father is not just the parent who helps create life but even more the parent who nurtures, who feeds and protects, in short, who cares for his child. The Father is a model of honesty and integrity. The Father is also a mentor, the one who communicates what is good, true and beautiful. And who lives what he teaches! Contrary to common misperception, God in the Hebrew scriptures is not a vengeful, aggressive tyrant. God is a loving spouse, a peacemaker, a healer. God is the Father who wants only good for his children. In the writings that followers of Jesus also listen to, the texts of the New Testament, God is all of the above. After all when the first Christians mention the scriptures it is the Hebrew scriptures to which they are referring, their own letters and gospels not even having been put into written form yet. Jesus cries out to his Father in great distress as in the garden of Gethsemane. In Luke’s gospel we have the beautiful parable of the prodigal son, just as accurately titled as the parable of the loving, forgiving Father. The younger son wastes his share of the family fortune, completely messes up his life. But when he turns to go home, his father comes out to meet and embrace him. This Father’s crazy love has him throw a party to celebrate his return, much to the displeasure of his other son. From this we learn God is the father who always forgives and takes us back. God as father is so much more generous than we are. The husband of Mary, Jesus’ mother, indeed his earthly father, Joseph, mirrors what the scriptures say God, and all other fathers should be. Joseph cares for his wife and new child, makes sure they are safe by fleeing to Egypt. We can imagine Joseph teaching Jesus the skills of a carpenter. In the long talk Jesus gives at the last supper, and after his being raised, Jesus repeatedly calls on the Father to be with his friends, to send them the Spirit, to guide and protect them always. In the scriptures there are fathers who are weak, who are selfish and who damage their families. We know this from our own experience. Fathers are far from perfect. As they age and pass from us, we can be forgiving for their shortcomings and mistakes. Yet there are also fathers who act with courage and do what is needed for the family’s wellbeing, no matter how difficult this may be. In both cases, love is stronger than the weaknesses. On Fathers’ Day, we show love for our fathers, grandfathers and others who were like fathers to us. And the message rings out clearly from all of the scriptures. God is the loving Father. So should we also be, as fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers. The good we try to do for others is God loving and acting through us..

A pastoral reflection by your rector  There’s a moment in the Gospels when Jesus sits in the temple and watches people pray. A wealthy Pharisee enters with polished words and perfect posture. But in the corner, a poor man trembles, beside himself, whispering the only prayer he can manage: “Jesus, help me. I need your help.” And Jesus turns to his disciples and says, this is the prayer I listen to. For twenty-five years, I’ve heard that same prayer in many voices. On the streets. In shelters. In VA hospital rooms in New York City, sitting beside veterans in their last days. I heard it in the park churches we started in Manhattan and East Harlem—both still gathering every Sunday. I heard it in Philadelphia, in Springfield, in El Cajon. And now, here in Borrego Springs, my eyes still turn toward those who feel forgotten, those who whisper the same ancient plea: I’m helpless. I’m alone. Can you help me? Those words echo the song by Amos Lee— Jesus, Can You Help Me —performed with the Transatlantic Orchestra and the great Jerry Douglas on steel guitar. A simple, aching prayer. A prayer for the poor man in the corner. A prayer for the veteran in the hospital bed. A prayer for anyone who has run out of words. (Amos Lee-Jesus-Transatlantic Sessions, You Tube) And maybe a prayer for us too.

St. Barnabas Episcopal Church expands its ongoing collaboration with Rostros y Corazón For the first time, Fr. David Madsen and Jan Naragon of St. Barnabas (Borrego Springs) are leading a regular Eucharist service at Rostros y Corazón in Salton City. The gathering will take place the first and third Wednesday of every month, creating a new opportunity for worship, fellowship, and community connection. The service builds on an existing relationship between the two organizations and reflects the many connections already shared between Borrego Springs and Salton City. Many West Shores residents work in Borrego Springs, attend school here, shop here, receive services here, or have family and friends in the Borrego Valley. The two communities are neighbors in many ways. The new service reflects St. Barnabas's commitment to extending ministry beyond its church walls while continuing to support relationships throughout the desert region. By gathering regularly at Rostros y Corazón, organizers hope to create a welcoming space for prayer, conversation, encouragement, and connection. Rostros y Corazón , led by Graciela Mendivil Ramos, is a nonprofit community center serving Salton City and the surrounding West Shores area. The organization is known for supporting families and connecting residents with needed resources. For upcoming service dates or questions, contact Graciela Mendivil Ramos at gracielamramos@gmail.com .

It’s been on my mind lately to not only prepare my heart and mind for Sunday morning worship but io carry that early morning tranquility into the preservice atmosphere of St. Barnabas. Every Sunday begins the same way for me: morning prayers with Naomi, followed by one of the quiet videos that helps us get settled into the day. The one example I will share with you today is just one way of practicing this use of time and space. My problem lately is getting to church and allowing all sorts of church business and problems to destroy the atmosphere. The distracted mind affects everything, worship, liturgy, sermon, Lords Table and Coffee hour. Our morning atmosphere sets the tone for the entire day. By intentionally bringing a peaceful temperament into our early hours, we create a sanctuary of restfulness, not just for ourselves, but for everyone we encounter. Reclaiming this quiet time beautifully prepares our hearts for worship. And sometimes we need to just drop in and see what condition our condition is in. Time to tune our hearts to be in tune with the Spirit. “God is Spirit and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth” (John 4:24). I will include one example of how I prepare my mind and spirit for Sunday morning worship. This is just one suggestion. You may have others to include. If so, please let me know. Try anchoring your morning with Gregorian chant. allow Illumination by Dan Gibson’s Solitudes blending historic Latin chants with calming sounds of God’s creation. While these chants carry rich scholastic history, my takeaway is pastoral, quieting my mind and turning my focus toward the divine. Here’s one option: This Sunday early morning light a candle, maybe a stick of incense, and let sacred sounds fill your home as you prepare for church. Arrive at St. Barnabas already tuned into God’s peace by opening the peaceful Gregorian Chants album on YouTube. Father Dave+

This collect has been one of my favorites for as long as I can remember. Cranmer’s cadence—hear, read, mark, learn, inwardly digest—has a way of settling into the bones. Every time I pray it, something in me wants to reach for a Bible and sit with the words again, not to master them but to let them work on me. “Blessed Lord, you caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ.” What I love about this collect is that it refuses to treat Scripture as an object to defend or a puzzle to solve. It points toward a way of life. The written word is a conduit, not a destination. It leads us toward the Living Word, toward Christ himself. We study the text—its languages, its history, its context—but we also read it for strength, for healing, for encouragement, for the quiet work of being changed from the inside out. Cramnerer wrote this in a moment when Scripture was being rediscovered in a fresh way during the English Reformation. You can feel that energy in the collect: Scripture not as a burden, but as a gift. Not as a rulebook, but as a companion. Not something to wield, but something to absorb.  Kierkegaard once said that the real challenge of Scripture is not understanding it but obeying it—letting it shape the liturgy of our lives. You haven’t really “grasped” Scripture, he said, until it becomes part of your patterns, your habits, your way of being in the world. That rings true. Reading is good. Absorbing is different. Absorbing takes time, silence, repetition, and a willingness to be changed. And strangely enough, this is where the Mamas and the Papas wander into the picture. Every time I think about stepping into a church for the first time—the way the air shifts, the way something in you recognizes the Presence before you can name it—I hear that line from “California Dreamin’”: “Stopped into a church I passed along the way.” There’s something about that moment in the song, that unexpected pause, that feels like the moment Scripture becomes real. You step inside, and something in you says, “Stay. This is where you belong.” I’ve seen that happen in churches I’ve served, including here in Borrego Springs. Someone walks in, sits down, and something settles in them. They know. They may not have the words for it, but they know. That’s what it feels like when Scripture moves from the page into the heart. When it becomes part of you. When you inwardly digest it. That’s why this collect matters to me. It’s not about information. It’s about formation. It’s about the slow, steady work of letting Scripture become home—like stepping into a church on a winter’s day and realizing you’re going to stay. California Dreamin’.