Inhabit 2025 Common Session 4: Resolve
On Saturday night at Inhabit 2025, we didn’t wrap things up with answers. We closed with something deeper: resolve. The holy kind of resolve. The kind that keeps showing up when things get hard, when streets feel heavy, and when hope feels far. The determination to stay present.
This fourth and final Common Session became a sacred space to acknowledge the grief, name the weariness, and still choose to stay. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s holy.
Resolve doesn’t ignore pain. It walks with it. As Shannan Martin reminded us, “It is our spiritual duty to honestly assess the dangers and risks of this moment, resolving to do what we can for the peace and prosperity of a single person.”
Beauty + Grief Walk Together
We heard stories from West Central Spokane, Humboldt Park in Chicago, and Shoreline, WA—neighborhoods where resurrection is slow and embodied, often disguised in ordinary acts of care.
Jessica Ketola shared how twelve years ago, the idea of parish “blew up my life.” Since then, she’s been learning what it means to be faithfully present in Shoreline:
“Whether we live with a crowd or alone, whether we dream in Spanish, Arabic, Dinka, or English, we all dream of shalom.”
She described biweekly neighborhood dinners—where bread is broken, laughter shared, babies passed from arm to arm—and named the quiet miracle unfolding:
“We are being woven together around the candlelight. Into family when family is far away.”
These aren’t flashy stories. They’re slow, honest ones. Full of lament. Full of love.
Naming the Knots
With tenderness and truth, Chelsea Long helped us bring our pain to God, not just as individuals, but as a community.
Her liturgy gave us language for the ache so many of us carry. One by one, we named the tensions and systems that bind us—and prayed for God to help us loosen their hold.
When families in our city are separated by immigration policies…
God, untie the knots that upset our lives.
When we long for peace across lands like Israel and Palestine, and also our own divided cities…
God, untie the knots that upset our lives.
When the weight of economic injustice presses on families just down the street…
God, untie the knots that upset our lives.
When race still determines who feels safe walking these sidewalks…
God, untie the knots that upset our lives.
When the criminal justice system cages more of our neighbors than it sets free…
God, untie the knots that upset our lives.
When Christian nationalism distorts the gospel of love, even in churches down the block…
God, untie the knots that upset our lives.
Each line became a thread in our shared longing for healing, for justice, for a faith that roots us deeper in love and solidarity.
It was not a moment of escape, but of embodiment. A way to hold our grief and still say: we’re not giving up. We’re staying.
Fill the Other Bucket
Shannan Martin spoke with unflinching honesty about what it means to hold hope when the world feels heavy.
“You have to fill your other bucket so you can be upright, not underwater, and moving forward,” she said. “This isn’t about luxury. This is about looking at the sky. It’s about asking for help and watching the people around us swoop in and save us.”
She calls these counterweights—everyday ways to rebalance the weight we’re carrying. Not fixes. Just faithful presence.
A Liturgy of Resolve
Together, we offered woven prayer commitments, liturgies crafted by Grounded Faith participants at St. Luke’s in San Diego, and a collective benediction. Not because the work is done, but because we needed to mark the moment.
We needed to say: Yes, the pain is real. And yes, we’re still here.
As Jessica said, “Death and resurrection are always happening in the neighborhood.”
And so we sang. We prayed. We resolved to return.
Reflection Prompt
Where in your life or neighborhood are you being invited to resolve (determine to do something) because it’s easy, but because it’s sacred?
What pain or beauty are you learning to carry?
Take the Next Step
Choose one relationship, responsibility, or rhythm you’ve been tempted to walk away from, and instead, return to it with resolve.
Bring your full self. Show up again. Let that be your liturgy.
