This is the second post in our series connected to the newest season of Searching the Sacred. If you missed the first post, you can find it here.

At 40 Orchards, we sometimes talk about “pillow verses.” These are the verses people tell us to rest our heads on so we can feel better. But over time, these verses can start to feel heavy. Instead of support, they can bring pressure. Instead of comfort, they can feel like dismissal. Sometimes they land like expectations we’re supposed to meet, rather than meeting us where we actually are.

Romans 8:28. Jeremiah 29:11. Philippians 4:6. These passages that can sound warm and hopeful, and sometimes genuinely are. But life is complicated, and pain doesn’t always resolve neatly. When we’re in the middle of something real and difficult, those verses can suddenly feel less like a pillow and more like a weight we’re asked to carry.

One of the verses on our pillow verses list is Isaiah 40:31.

In our last season of Searching the Sacred, we centered everything around one question:

“He said to him, ‘What is written in the law? What do you read there?’” — Luke 10:26

We used that verse to explore how we hold, read, teach, and apply the Bible. To pair with that series, we’re beginning a new blog series around these verses:

“they shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation;
neither shall they learn war any more;
but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees,
and no one shall make them afraid.” — Micah 4:3–4

Because what do we do when the Bible itself has been weaponized? When Scripture has been used as a sword, its passages as spears?

We are entering into a season where we begin to get our compost ready and put it into the soil. Compost enriches the soil, preparing it for new life, whether that means fruits and vegetables, flowers and greenery, or simply strengthening the ground against erosion. Beyond its practical benefits, composting is also a reminder: even waste can be repurposed. Even what seems like decay can be the foundation for something new.

If I pull that metaphor into my own life, this season feels like it has a whole lot of sh** that needs to be composted. Scraps of bad theology that keep resurfacing, the relentless cycle of hate in the world, financial strains, loss of security, illness, and death—it’s a lot. Some days, the soil I’m planted in feels depleted, missing nutrients, even at risk of eroding altogether.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” - Matthew 11:28-30

Weary is a word I’ve heard from a lot of people in 2025. The news cycle is exhausting, the possible number of causes to engage with is overwhelming, and the collective distress and grief from all we have been surviving since 2020 is weighing heavy. I, for one, have felt overwhelmed  and lonely. (It likely doesn’t help that my family has been fighting a cold for weeks on end.)

Hello 40 Orchards community, 

In November, we had the joy of joining many community members for a truly special celebration. Moments like these remind us of the beauty and importance of connection. While we’d love to gather more often, we understand the challenges—busy schedules, work demands, obligations, and even exhaustion—that make it difficult. Looking ahead to 2025, we anticipate that life may grow even more complicated. 

That’s why a message from Holly (Cohort Zayin) deeply resonated with us. She reminded us of the transformative power of gathering face-to-face, embracing vulnerability, and fostering community. Her words reaffirmed why we  want to keep 40 Orchards alive and thriving: 

Of all the things that could have triggered me on a Facebook feed this week, I was surprised that it was a call for unity that got me. On the surface it seems like a good and reasonable ask. It can even sound spiritual and Christ-like. So what made it feel so wrong in my heart and body? As I reflected on it, I understood what was wrong.

The call for unity wasn’t paired the work of repair.

‘Why have we fasted,’ they say, ‘and You have not seen?
Why have we afflicted our souls, and You take no notice?’
In fact, in the day of your fast you find pleasure,
And exploit all your laborers.

Isaiah 58:3

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all.  ~ Emily Dickinson

Hope is not the thing with feathers
That comes home to roost
When you need it most.
Hope is an ugly thing
With teeth and claws and
Patchy fur that’s seen some shit. ~  Caitlin Seida

A recurring theme and wrestle in my life lately has been hope. 

One of my seminary professors wrote an essay about the following question: 

“‘If you were stuck on a desert island and you could only bring one book of the Bible, which would it be?” 

While this might be a good opening question for one of our Circles, this question revealed some interesting things to me. I initially scoffed at the question, but then I thought about Genesis. Genesis would give me some creation stories and some good narratives to act out with on my imaginary stage. 

Then I criticized myself for not thinking more deeply about what I might need to hang onto mentally and went with Luke, because it’s a Gospel with some excellent women in it. I do appreciate an inclusive lens.  But then I thought maybe the Psalms since there’s a lot there and since I don’t really like them, I could keep my brain occupied with questions and creating my own songs on the desert island. 

As I was thinking about all of the options, I realized that many years ago, I would not have given a second thought to this question.

“Build houses and dwell in them; plant gardens and eat their fruit.” - Jeremiah 29:5

As I imagine myself as an ancient Hebrew, who has found herself in exile in Babylon, I cycle through all the feels when I hear these words from Jeremiah.

• Grief: To build something here, and to cultivate and eat the fruit of a garden here, means we won’t be going back there. This change is real. It’s for the long haul.

• Confusion: If this change is for the long haul, then why are we building houses? Shouldn’t we be building a temple? Wouldn’t God want us to make finding a new place of worship a first priority? 

Sometimes we hide difficult questions in a closet, lock the door, and pretend they don’t exist. Other times we try to fix the questions with easy answers so they stop nagging at us. In still others, we look for people who think the same way about the questions so we can yell at those who would think differently, and placate our discomfort with a sense of justification.

At 40 Orchards, we want to move towards difficult questions, and respond to their invitation to wrestle.