Written by Adele Dahm, Director of Marketing & Communications
Dear Hennepin family,
After eight extraordinary years on staff at Hennepin Avenue UMC, I’m writing to share that I will be stepping down from my role as Director of Marketing & Communications on Friday of this week. This decision comes after deep reflection—and with even deeper emotion. This work, and this community, have shaped me in more ways than I can count.
I first joined the Hennepin staff as a Receptionist and Administrative Assistant, just as the Communications Team was beginning to form. I often joke that I didn’t so much arrive fully equipped as I did show up with curiosity and learn on the job—and some of you may have been the brave souls who experienced those early growing pains firsthand. But truly, much of what I know professionally, I learned here—while doing the work, side by side with all of you.
What has kept me so engaged is that no two years have ever looked the same. I’ve moved through a number of roles—running slides from the sound booth on Sunday mornings, supporting livestreams, designing graphics, managing our website and email communications, building partnerships with outside organizations, editing countless videos, producing online content during the pandemic, and amplifying the voices of our community through storytelling and visual media. One of the greatest gifts has been photography and videography—capturing so many of the people who will read this. Over time, I came to understand that showing up with a camera wasn’t just about documenting events. When done with care, it can help people feel truly seen. It can quietly say, you matter, and your presence here matters. That realization reshaped the way I approached early Sunday mornings and late event nights—not as tasks, but as opportunities to reflect people’s belonging back to them. It means a lot to me to make others feel seen and appreciated in that way.
It’s been a gift to grow alongside the ever-changing life of the church. And all of this has been possible because I grew up in a place like this.
I am a child of this church. This congregation has held me in prayer, in presence, in support, and in friendship—especially during seasons of my life that were incredibly dark. I’ve laughed here, I’ve sung here, I’ve screamed and run around the building playing sardines. You sent me off with love and blessing when I graduated high school, not knowing I’d soon be back—this time as a member of the staff.
While I was a student at Hamline University, I began working part-time on staff here. It felt like a natural extension of the place that had already been shaping me for so long. During that time, I experienced the deaths of several beloved people in my life and ultimately made the difficult decision to step away from school to focus on healing. I don’t think many people were aware of how much I was carrying then, but being able to step more fully into the work here helped me regain a sense of purpose and direction. I grew into full-time roles, built new skills, and eventually found my way back to finish my degree. The support and structure of this community played a big role in that journey.
I know so fully and intimately what it means for a church to see and accept you for who you are. I believe deeply in the messages of inclusion and justice that Hennepin proclaims—because those same messages helped form my core beliefs as a young person, and have continued to hold me as an adult. To now be someone who gets to help share your stories, to help someone else feel seen on their journey of faith—that has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.
In my role, I’ve tried to shape the public voice of this organization around compassion, reciprocity, truth-telling, and authentic storytelling—and, when appropriate, a sense of humor. It’s been my personal mission for our communications to reflect the actual community that exists here—not just a polished version, but a living, breathing, evolving one. One that is always asking, always seeking, and always trying to make a meaningful difference in the world. I’ve tried to bring warmth and levity where I could, knowing that joy and laughter are part of what make a spiritual community feel alive. I have done everything I can to leave with openness and curiosity about what’s next—because I believe the church is in a time of deep transition, and I stand behind the momentum I see forming.
I want to say thank you to the many staff members I’ve worked closely with over the years. Each of you has brought something different—not just to the work, but to my life. When you spend 40+ hours a week with anyone, you’ve got to take a minute to recognize how much of your life that truly is. Sometimes we trivialize the role our jobs play in our personal story—but this hasn’t just been a job. This has been a major part of my formation—personally, professionally, and spiritually. It has mattered deeply. And so have you.
I have also had the immense joy of working alongside the Fine Arts Team, and I continue to believe in the sacred capacity of art to connect us. Supporting the Carlson Hall gallery and helping uplift both internal and local artists has been incredibly meaningful to me. I’ll carry the artist interviews, the exhibits, the stories, and the sense of creative ministry with me always.
To all of you who have trusted me with your stories—thank you. And to anyone wondering if your story matters: it does. If something in this place has touched your spirit, made you think, made you feel, helped you heal—that’s worth sharing. I hope you know that you have the power to welcome someone else in, to help them feel seen and known and loved. There’s no such thing as a story too small.
I’ve also had the honor of being the receiver of good news and bold witness many times in this community. And I want to say clearly: the public witness we offer as a congregation—particularly around LGBTQIA2S+ inclusion—matters. It’s a message of hope to so many people who may never even walk through our doors. It’s rare, and it’s real.
I also believe young people need to know that there are churches where it’s safe to question your faith. Where you don’t have to perform belief to belong. You can doubt, and grieve, and be angry, and still be part of the story. That message—that invitation—is something the world needs more of, and Hennepin is offering it.
I hope that in some way, my work here has helped uphold the call to stand for what is good and just in the world. The teachings of Jesus have always been clear—he stood with the disempowered, the outcast, the overlooked. The meek, the poor in spirit, the peacemakers. That’s not just a moral stance—it’s a way of seeing. A way of believing that every single person carries something sacred. And when we move toward one another with humility and openness, we all have something to gain. I believe that telling one another’s stories is a step toward that kind of community—one shaped not by fear or power, but by compassion, mutuality, and hope.
As for what’s next—I don’t know exactly yet. After finishing my degree in Environmental Studies and gaining experience across so many different areas during my time on staff, I find myself with multiple paths forward. Because of the incredible support and encouragement of my partner, I’ll be taking some intentional time to discover how I might best use my gifts to be of service in my community—and, hopefully, get paid for it. In the meantime, I’ll be doing some freelance work and raising funds to build out my own camera kit so I can explore whether creative freelance work is a sustainable and life-giving direction. I’ve always loved trying new things, as you’ve probably gathered by now, and this next chapter is my chance to reignite that spirit in new ways. If you’d like to stay in touch, I can be reached at my personal email: [email protected].
And finally—if you’re reading this and wondering if you’ve touched my life, the answer is yes. There are far too many people to name, but please hear this: I am full of gratitude. Your presence, your encouragement, your friendship—they’ve all shaped me.
If I could leave you with one more encouragement, it would be this: keep doing good work. It doesn’t need to be flashy. You don’t need to be the best or the brightest—you just need to be meaningful collaborators. We have so much here. We are rich in stories, in creativity, in compassion. We have the opportunity to live out of abundance—not fear. The future of this congregation will be shaped by how boldly we share what we have and how tenderly we see one another.
Though I know this is the right decision for me at this time, it is not an easy one. The separation between me and this work is painful. I have toiled over it and sat with it for a long time. But I have been met again and again with grace, understanding, and affirmation that this is a journey I need to take. I carry with me the love I’ve received from this place and the experiences we’ve shared. And I hold onto the hope that the best stories are still being written.
With all my heart,
Adele Dahm
