How can I succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees?
Faith Matters resources to accompany your Come Follow Me study: July 21-27

“Thou wilt do the greatest good unto thy fellow beings.” The Lord wants me to help people in need.
Sharon Brous: The Amen Effect
We are honored to share with you a conversation with Rabbi Sharon Brous, author of the The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend Our Broken Hearts and World. From the moment we started reading Sharon’s book, we knew that she had a special message, and that she would be an incredible guest. Sharon’s book is a beautiful blend of ancient Jewish wisdom, contemporary science, and deep personal experience that shows how humans throughout history have taken up the responsibility to sit with each other as sacred witnesses to life’s most vulnerable and most joyous moments.
Sharon makes the case that when we sit with each other in “celebration, sorrow, and solidarity,” we are connecting in ways that not only forge deep and lasting relationships, but contribute to a larger healing in our communities and in the world. One of the things we loved about Sharon’s book and the conversation with her was that she shared experience from her own life in which she’s succeeded here as well as where she’s failed. None of us do this perfectly, and so often we feel like we don’t even know how to—Sharon was wise and generous in giving herself and all of us grace for now always showing up for people the way we could have, but also practical advice that help us see how we can do this better.
This episode cuts straight to the heart of what it feels like to be human; it was impossible for it not to get personal, since we all know grief, joy, and connection intimately. We absolutely loved talking with Sharon and consider this a special episode. We hope that you enjoy it as much as we did!
Mike Petrow: The Path of Descent
In this episode we’re joined by Mike Petrow, who serves as the Director of Formation, Faculty Relations, and Theological Foundations at the Center for Action and Contemplation.
This conversation is a sample of just how deeply insightful Mike is. He invited us to see curiosity as something “implanted in our hearts by God”—not as a threat to faith, but as an invitation to let the divine meet us in unexpected ways. He challenged the idea that “community is formed around uniformity of belief” and instead argued that real connection happens when we learn to be with each other, even in our differences — that everyone belongs, even, or perhaps especially, when they fall somehow outside the norm. And he brought so much depth to the idea of the wounded healer —“if you deeply commit to your own healing,” Mike told us, “at a certain point you realize it’s not just for you.”
In one of the most powerful moments of this conversation, Mike describes a moment of profound loss—sitting at his mother’s bedside as she passed away—and then, just hours later, holding his newborn niece for the first time. These moments of symmetry revealed a truth that is at the heart of this entire conversation: that loss, and grief, and pain carve out a space in our hearts that can eventually be filled with love, joy and connection.
We hope this conversation offers the same sense of healing, hope, and clarity that it did for us.
The Savior has given me much and requires much of me.
The courtyard offers itself as a canvas for connection and exchange. Residents donate toys to the courtyard and kids play with them freely. We learn that all this abundance belongs to everyone. I’ve stopped buying any new toys, knowing our children have dozens of toys just outside our back door, thousands if you count the blades of grass and sticks and gopher holes they also play with. My kids learn that the world is theirs, and that it is also everybody else’s. They take home a toy from the courtyard, and then we bring it back. For his birthday, my son asked for new batteries to replace the ones in the broken toys outside, and then we spent the day unscrewing the neighborhood toys and replacing their batteries.
—Lindsey Meservey, “All Things Common Among” the Courtyard