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To My Beloveds: Letters on Faith, Race, Loss, and Radical Hope
How do we heal today's grief and loss to become the leaders the world needs now? Activist Jen Bailey offers heartfelt letters of encouragement, comfort, revelation, and hope for young activists and emerging faith leaders aspiring to build a better world amidst its violence, trauma, and loss - and who may wonder if they're up to the task or unsure if they'll ever see the change they seek. Considering three central questions - what is dying, what wants to emerge, and what is already blooming beautifully - Bailey's poignant letters inspire us to imagine how our grief and despair can be composted into new life filled with courage, hope, and purpose for our shared future.
128 pages, Hardcover
Published October 12, 2021
6 people are currently reading
87 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
December 27, 2021
Thought provoking, grounding, and truly motivating. This book has been a highlight of my 2021 reading list.
September 26, 2024
Much wisdom in these short essays, which felt very much from the heart.
I especially enjoyed these passages:
From “At the Table”:
I have a friend who is fond of saying it’s hard to build a bridge in the middle of a flood. So, when people ask me how to begin this constructive work of building bridges, I invite them to answer these three questions:
What are you bridging towards? Being clear about your commitments and intentions is fundamental and developing trust. When we are clear about what we are seeking to accomplish together, we can manage our expectations accordingly
What are you bridging over? The history of the United States is messy, complicated, and violent. Bridging work requires that we do not avert our eyes from the truth of stories, but rather that we honor that which is before us.
What is your bridge made of? I don’t know about you, but if I am going to work across differences to confront the horrors of white supremacy, and a legacy of systemic inequality, I want to build a bridge of steel, not sticks. It requires that each of us does our work to understand where our pain points are and how we need to sharpen our skills to listen with empathy and grace to the person sitting across from us.
The movement between building bridges and braves spaces not static fluid. Some of us will move some will invest in one. None of us can do it all, which is why we need each other. Let us call one another into a space of moral courage and hold each other well Nation will not be solved by electoral politics: can only be solved by strengthening our relationships to one another. The ancestors are watching and waiting for our response.
From “Hold Each Other Tight and Pull Back the Veil”:
As hopeless as these times may seem, the Christian tradition teaches me that out of death, there is the possibility of new life. Cynicism is the easy option. To be snarky and fatalistic about the conditions before us is not cool. It’s lazy. Radical hope – the type that actually requires us to take an active role in shaping the better future we want to see – is far more difficult. It requires us to put some skin in the game.
I especially enjoyed these passages:
From “At the Table”:
I have a friend who is fond of saying it’s hard to build a bridge in the middle of a flood. So, when people ask me how to begin this constructive work of building bridges, I invite them to answer these three questions:
What are you bridging towards? Being clear about your commitments and intentions is fundamental and developing trust. When we are clear about what we are seeking to accomplish together, we can manage our expectations accordingly
What are you bridging over? The history of the United States is messy, complicated, and violent. Bridging work requires that we do not avert our eyes from the truth of stories, but rather that we honor that which is before us.
What is your bridge made of? I don’t know about you, but if I am going to work across differences to confront the horrors of white supremacy, and a legacy of systemic inequality, I want to build a bridge of steel, not sticks. It requires that each of us does our work to understand where our pain points are and how we need to sharpen our skills to listen with empathy and grace to the person sitting across from us.
The movement between building bridges and braves spaces not static fluid. Some of us will move some will invest in one. None of us can do it all, which is why we need each other. Let us call one another into a space of moral courage and hold each other well Nation will not be solved by electoral politics: can only be solved by strengthening our relationships to one another. The ancestors are watching and waiting for our response.
From “Hold Each Other Tight and Pull Back the Veil”:
As hopeless as these times may seem, the Christian tradition teaches me that out of death, there is the possibility of new life. Cynicism is the easy option. To be snarky and fatalistic about the conditions before us is not cool. It’s lazy. Radical hope – the type that actually requires us to take an active role in shaping the better future we want to see – is far more difficult. It requires us to put some skin in the game.
February 2, 2025
I picked up this book of letters/essays after listening to Jennifer Bailey on the "Need a Lift" podcast hosted by Tim Shriver (recommend pod!). The episode is titled "When Faith is a Verb".
This is a short and accessible book of essays, written as letters to Jennifer's community as she grapples with some heavy losses in her personal life. This is also one of the first books I've read which addresses the 2020 Pandemic and the aftermath. Suicide, cancer, loss, race, America. It's all in there. I've been thinking about it ever since I finished it.
This is a short and accessible book of essays, written as letters to Jennifer's community as she grapples with some heavy losses in her personal life. This is also one of the first books I've read which addresses the 2020 Pandemic and the aftermath. Suicide, cancer, loss, race, America. It's all in there. I've been thinking about it ever since I finished it.
September 17, 2022
I'm more and more drawn to books that expand the contours of a religious life. That call us to remake or what Jennifer calls "'composting" religion. To build something expansive enough to hold our social justice convictions and our needs for spiritual connection and community. I appreciated the format of letters to reflect on the role of religion in helping us move together in a time of every compounding crises with a hope grounded in practice.
January 22, 2022
This is a book where a paragraph grabs you and you have to sit with it until you are each done working on each other.
April 21, 2022
Not quite what I expected
January 3, 2023
A beautiful little book. Compassionate. Wise. Empathetic. Unflinching. In dealing with loss, suicide, race, and other tough issues, Jennifer Bailey offers us a hug of hope through these words.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews