St. Barnabas Episcopal Church Celebrates 50 Years in Borrego Springs

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’.

Since Pentecost, we live in the age of the Spirit. Christian spirituality is a journey with God—a hand-in-hand walk, not a checklist of beliefs carved on a tablet. What does that look like? Not dogma. Not gatekeeping. Not spiritual scorekeeping. I sometimes joke that I’m a contemplative or a mystic—maybe even “so spiritual I’m no earthly good.” But the truth is, throughout my ministry I’ve sensed a calling to help people grow in their awareness of knowing God and being known by God. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—the Three in One—drawing us into relationship. How many of you remember learning to drive? White-knuckled hands on the wheel, checking the mirrors every two seconds, praying you wouldn’t take out the trash cans on the way out of the driveway. And how many of you made a few mistakes? A curb jumped out at you. The mailbox leaned in a little too close. Maybe a parent in the passenger seat rediscovered their prayer life. But once you learn to drive, you don’t quit because of a rough day on the road. You get back in the car. Our spiritual life is like that. We drift. We overcorrect. We miss a turn. And the Spirit keeps whispering, “You’re still on the journey. Keep going.” Sometimes we say, “Not right now, God. Let me get my life together first. Come back when I’m more spiritual.” But God meets us exactly as we are—not defined by our past, not disqualified by our mistakes, not waiting for us to become perfect. The message you’ve heard from me before, and will hear again, is this: God loves you right now . Not the cleaned-up version of you. Not the future version of you. You, as you are. That’s what transformation means—being changed from the inside out as we come to know God more fully and allow God to know us. Our world and God’s world begin to weave together. Wow! This message is golden! Enjoy the summer months. We might even have some sun in our Borrego forecast. Blessings, Fr. Dave+

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)

This Memorial Day meets us in a world trembling with conflict. Since February 28th, many of us have carried deep frustration and grief as the war in Iran unfolds, alongside the ongoing suffering in Ukraine, Palestine, Israel, and across the Middle East. These upheavals trouble us not only as citizens, but as people of faith who long for justice, mercy, and compassion in a world that feels unmoored. We could scatter a few Scriptures across these crises, but our identity as Christians is not measured by how many verses we quote. The Bible is not the fourth person of the Godhead. We seek wisdom in Holy Scripture, yes — but we also seek guidance from the living God who calls us to respond with courage, humility, and moral clarity. As Christians, we take our place among our fellow citizens in this nation and in the wider world. In the battle of ideas, we must ask: Where is our faith? Where do we stand? How should we then live? These questions matter deeply as we face the painful stories of a nation — and a world — in trouble. My first commitment is to meet the anger and fear around us with daily prayer. I pray for those in authority; for the men and women serving in our military; for police, firefighters, and first responders; and for leaders at every level of government. My responsibility as a pastor is shaped by how I respond — prayerfully, consistently, and with a spirit grounded in mercy and justice. I also feel the weight of my dual role — as a leader in the church and as a member of this community. I pray for you, my brothers and sisters, that we may be people of faith who seek the will of God in all things. I pray that the teachings of Jesus Christ will shape how we live, how we speak, how we serve, and how we love — with compassion at the center. On this Memorial Day, may we honor those who gave their lives by committing ourselves to the work of peace —especially within the household of faith. May we be steady in prayer, courageous in compassion, and faithful in our calling to live as followers of Christ in a world aching for hope. Peace to you all, Father Dave+

Margaret Liggett March 1939 – February 2026 Margaret Liggett died in February 2026. She was born on March 18, 1939, in Colorado and was recognized as gifted from an early age. After high school, Margaret entered the Community of St. Mary, the oldest Episcopal order of sisters. Following university, she taught at the women’s preparatory school run by the order and later served as School Head, as well as both a local and regional superior. After leaving religious life, Margaret’s administrative and technical talents led her to work at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory and later in information technology at Digital Wizards in San Diego. For many years, Margaret was a devoted member of the community at St. Barnabas. She served as senior warden and office administrator, and much of parish life passed through her hands. She edited the Carillon, managed stewardship campaigns, maintained membership and email lists, organized continuing education, and helped keep parish life running smoothly. Margaret was present at potlucks, parish meetings, celebrations, and the quiet, ongoing work that holds a church together. At her memorial, those who spoke made clear just how deeply her life was woven into St. Barnabas. It was said that she loved worship, loved Sunday services, and that it was fitting to remember her there, in the church that had become so much a part of her life. She was also honored for the many ways she served God and the church over the years. Among those present was the Reverend Canon Gwen Lynch, Canon to the Ordinary in the Episcopal Diocese of San Diego, who shared Bishop Susan’s prayers of thanksgiving for Margaret’s life and faithful service.  Clergy and parish leaders including the Rev. Dave Madsen (Rector), the Rev. Michael Plekon, Louise Jee, and Jan Naragon were part of the service, along with multiple friends and family members who joined by Zoom. Margaret lived for a number of years with her companion, Mary Pickering, in Mission Bay and was active in litigation with the City of San Diego over eminent domain actions affecting their mobile home park. Later she moved to Borrego Springs intending a quieter life of reading, contemplation, and prayer. Instead, she quickly became deeply involved in parish life and soon became closely identified with the St. Barnabas community. Those who knew Margaret remember not only her intellect and faith, but also her wit and humor. At her service, one speaker described her as “a giant figure in a frail body,” while another recalled her as a person with “an incredible sense of lightness about everything, including God.” She was remembered as stoic on the outside, but with a deeply humorous heart. Others shared memories that widened the picture of her life. One recalled Margaret’s childhood on a farm outside Rifle, Colorado, where she and her sister rode horses into the hills after finishing their chores. Another remembered hearing, before ever arriving in Borrego Springs, that Margaret was the finest tutor someone at St. Mark’s had ever known. Speakers also noted her scientific accomplishments, including published work and dedicated service with the Paleo Society, where she was praised for her vigor, intelligence, loyalty, and care for others. One story shared at the service captured Margaret especially well. In a local comedy performance, she made her way across the stage with perfect comic timing, declaring herself “as swift as a gazelle,” then adding, “an old one,” “with arthritis,” and “run over by a Land Rover/” "A week ago" It was a moment people still remembered, and it reflected the good sport and sharp humor that stayed with her through difficult years. In the last couple of years, her health declined, and she moved to a care facility in San Marcos. Even as her body grew weaker, those around her continued to speak of her strength, loyalty, intelligence, and faithful presence. Margaret’s life was marked by faithful service, friendship, intelligence, and humor. She was a true servant of Jesus and a steadfast friend to many. She is survived by many family members, friends, and parishioners whose lives she touched.

Honoring Our Legacy, Embracing Our Future Dear friends of St. Barnabas, These past few months have been a tender and difficult season for our parish family. We have said goodbye to five beloved members—people whose leadership, kindness, and steady presence helped shape the very soul of this congregation. Their absence is felt deeply. Their legacy is woven into everything we are. And yet, even in the midst of this grief, I invite you to notice what God is doing among us. While we mourn those who have gone before us, we have also welcomed many new faces this past year. Our community is growing with fresh energy, new perspectives, and a renewed hunger for faith and connection. This beautiful blend of longtime members and newcomers is exactly how a parish family heals, adapts, and moves forward. Grieving and welcoming are not opposites. They are two parts of the same holy rhythm. We honor the legacy of those we’ve lost by becoming the open-hearted, vibrant community they helped build and loved so dearly. As your rector and pastor, I encourage you to keep looking forward with hope. The saints we lost would want nothing more than to see St. Barnabas continue to thrive. Let us open our hearts to those joining our journey, and keep stepping forward together in faith, hope, and love.  Blessings, Father David Madsen St. Barnabas Episcopal Church

Pentecost is often called the birthday of the Church, and that’s true enough. But birthdays are about beginnings, not endings—and Pentecost was never meant to stay trapped in the first century like a candle on an old cake. Pentecost is not a memory. It’s the season we live in now. The Season of the Spirit. The long stretch of ordinary days made extraordinary because God refuses to leave us to our own devices.  So what does it mean to live in the Season of the Spirit? In the Gospel of John, Jesus gives his friends a promise that is both tender and disruptive: “I will send the Holy Spirit to you.” Not a ghostly idea, not a theological footnote, but a presence. A Comforter. An Advocate. Someone who has your back when the world leans hard against you. Jesus tells them the Spirit will open their eyes and ears, not by giving them a whole new set of teachings, but by deepening the ones they already have. The Spirit doesn’t replace Jesus—he reveals him. Jesus is essentially saying: You’re not ready yet, but you will be. You don’t understand yet, but you will. And you won’t get there alone. The Spirit will walk with you. The Spirit will open your mind. The Spirit will make the words of Jesus come alive—not as information, but as transformation. And then John adds the part we often skip over: this way of life won’t be easy. Following Jesus into a world that resists justice, mercy, and truth never is. You will meet resistance when you stand against injustice. You will feel pressure when you speak up for the vulnerable. You will be stretched, pressed, and sometimes misunderstood. But you will not be alone. Pentecost is the reminder—and the ongoing reality—that God’s presence is not behind us in a story, but beside us in the struggle. The Spirit is not a one-day miracle. The Spirit is the daily breath of a God who refuses to give up on us. So yes, the Spirit is in the churches, right? We all know that. But is the Holy Spirit limited to churches? Let me address that in a larger context. Is the Holy Spirit limited to four walls? God is in the church, not the four walls. That is important, and where we have Sunday services, we do funerals, weddings and special events, and so much more, so I do not want to downplay the message of the buildings and grounds of our churches. You all know my message here. The Spirit is in the world. The Spirit is waiting for us in the halls of justice. The Spirit is waiting for us in the public places, food distribution, hospitals and prisons. And wherever God’s children are hurting, and we want to bring healing love to all God’s people. The world is in tatters. All you have to do is read the papers, listen to the news in the mornings, and realize God has work for us to do. But do not tell me it’s not exciting. However the challenge, God’s work is never dull. The Spirit shares this message from John. Jesus said: You have heard my words, you have observed my teaching, and now I am sending a Comforter and mentor to prepare you for this anointing that has been called Pentecost. Open your heart. Open your mind. Open your ears. There’s something happening here, right here where you live and work and minister. Listen to the voice. Listen for directions. As Buffalo Springfield observed the need to stand up for justice: “Something’s happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear… Stop, children, what’s that sound? Everybody look what’s goin’ ’round.” And in the evening, we can take out Psalm 127 and send a prayer, with this Psalmist’s promise at the end of our day: Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain to build it. Unless the Lord keeps the city, the watchman stays awake in vain. It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of sorrow; for He gives His beloved sleep. And here is where it all comes together: If Pentecost is now— if the Spirit is loose in the world— if God is already ahead of us in the places where justice is needed and mercy is scarce— then our work is simply to follow the Spirit into the world by day and entrust the world back to God by night. So may our prayer contain words like: Spirit, lead me. And now let me sleep, for the work is in your hands. For so You give Your beloved sleep.