Beloved of God,

Fall is a favorite season of mine. I love the colors, the crispness in the air, the golden light of late afternoon, the harvest moon.  And I am awed by the transformation that occurs as leaves let go of their homes in the sky and begin their new project of nourishing the soil.  In autumn the earth teaches us what it means to let go, to relinquish, to shed, to become empty and ready to be filled, a lesson we practice year after year, time and again.  As I watch the leaves turn and fall I’m reminded of a poem by Macrina Wiederkehr entitled, The Sacrament of Letting Go.[1]  Here are the opening lines:

Slowly she celebrated the sacrament of letting go.
First she surrendered her green,
then the orange, yellow, and red
finally she let go of her brown.
Shedding her last leaf…she began her vigil of trust.

We celebrate two sacraments in the Lutheran Christian tradition:  the sacraments of font and of table—Holy Baptism and Holy Communion.  But if we ever added a third, I would cast my vote for the Sacrament of Letting Go.  The earthly sign for this sacrament would be a red or golden leaf plucked up from the ground where it fell.  And the texts? There are many. We’ll be hearing two of them later this month, from Isaiah 53 and Mark 10. Isaiah 53 includes the fourth and final Servant Song from Isaiah’s corpus.  You’ll recognize the verses as coming from the section of Isaiah we hear particularly in Holy Week as we contemplate the passion of Jesus:

This Suffering Servant of whom Isaiah speaks knew the Sacrament of Letting Go.  The first Christians came to recognize in these verses the one they had come to call the Christ; the one of whom St. Paul spoke when he wrote: “Though he was in the form of God he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave…and being found in human form, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death.” (Phil. 2) 

In the 10^th chapter of Mark, after all the time they’ve spent with Jesus, all the teaching they’ve taken in, after all the miracles they’ve witnessed and experienced, we find James and John asking Jesus for special favors.  “Teacher,” they say as they sidle up to him, “we have something we want you to do for us. We’d like the places of highest honor beside you in glory—to sit on your right and on your left.”  While the gospels don’t contain stage directions, I readily imagine Jesus, after hearing their request, bowing his head, shaking it slowing, and sighing.  After all this time, they still didn’t get it!  So he tells all of them once more: 

Jesus asks them (us!) to learn the sacrament of letting go.  “You know how the world operates,” he tells them.  “But that’s not how we’re going to operate.”  Jesus takes the power-grabbing, top-down approach to authority and turns it on its head.  After 2000 years, the church still struggles mightily to embody the way of being that Jesus made so clear.

The hymn of Richard Gillard quoted above celebrates this call to servanthood which belongs to each one of us by virtue of our baptism.  The God who emptied himself to become one with us invites us to loosen our grip on our own agendas and yearning for power and to embrace the yoke of service each and every day of our lives. Like baptism, this letting go is a life-long sacrament.  We’re never done with it.  We are called to practice this sacrament as we send our children off into the world.  We are called to practice this sacrament as we begin a new job, or as we retire, or as we leave a home we’ve known for years and move to some place new.  We are called to practice this sacrament when, in various circumstances, for differing reasons, significant relationships in our lives can no longer be sustained.  We are called to practice this sacrament when death approaches, separating us from those we love.  No, we are never done with it, never done with letting go.  But neither are we alone.  For every step along the way, with every leaf that falls, every trembling fear, every ounce of pain and suffering, every gesture of relinquishment, we are companioned by the One who claims us in baptism, and whose promises are so secure death itself cannot put them asunder.

This month, as servants of the Servant, we’ll hit the pavement on the annual CROP Walk and write letters to congress advocating a Circle of Protection around the vulnerable poor.  We’ll hear from our youth how trips to the Yakima Reservation and other places have transformed their understanding of what it means to be a servant.  We’ll hear also how a congregation at the end of its life cycle dared to dream that by dying well it could become the seedbed for a transformed model of ministry—Luther’s Table.  (NOTE: Pastor/Developer Gretchen Mertes will be guest preacher here Oct. 21)

In autumn the trees teach us what it means to let go and become empty so we are ready to be filled.  And in doing so, perhaps they also teach us how we might embody servanthood in such a way that Jesus will smile instead of sigh.

With you on the way,

Pastor Erik

 [1] Macrina Wiederkehr, Seasons of Your Heart.  (New York: HarperCollins, 1991).

Beloved of God,

Fall is in the air, and in this election year that means a good deal of attention on the air to campaigns for office at every level, as well as referendums and initiatives on the ballot. Of particular attention in our state is Referendum 74 on marriage. We’ll be hosting a congregational forum on this referendum September 9th after worship. I hope you’ll come. The gospel for that Sunday comes from Mark 7, the story of Jesus and the Syrophoenician woman. (Read quote above.)

Do you feel yourself cringing at this story the way I do? “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” OUCH! Even 20 centuries after the fact, his words still sting. Here is a view of a Jesus we hardly ever see, and it’s a bit disconcerting to say the least. He seems prepared to dismiss this woman and send her away with nothing. It’s easy to imagine the woman leaving that house humiliated and ashamed; kicking herself for thinking that Jesus would somehow be different than the others. But if this woman is caught off guard by Jesus’ rejoinder, she doesn’t show it! Without missing a beat she delivers the best comeback in the entire New Testament:

“Lord,” she says, “you may look upon us as dogs, but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

As silence envelops the room, Jesus takes in her words and is challenged to re-evaluate whom he has been called to serve, to revisit the boundaries between Jew and Gentile and to move beyond an ancient barrier.

In every other encounter recorded in the gospels, Jesus wins the debate. But here this mother bests him. His NO becomes a YES. “For saying that,” he tells her, “you may go. The demon has left your daughter.”

I once heard Presbyterian missionary Harold Kurtz speak powerfully of how the gospel serves as a catalyst of transformation in every culture it encounters. He shared an experience he’d had with the Maji, a people who sit at the bottom rung of the ladder, ethnically, culturally, and economically, in Ethiopia. The Maji are people of the land, who stay as far away from the modern world as they can and are treated like second-class citizens by their fellow Ethiopians. When they come in to market to buy something to drink, they are forbidden from drinking out of a glass like all other customers. Instead, they must bring a leaf and it is into that leaf that the market vendor pours their drink. Harold had an opportunity to go to a Maji settlement and speak with the people who had been learning the gospel story. In the midst of the meeting, one man from the community rose to speak.

LOOK AT ME, he told Harold. And pointing at himself, he asked: IS THIS A FACE OF A DOG? IS MY FACE LIKE THAT OF AN ANIMAL? IS NOT MY FACE A HUMAN FACE? ARE NOT MY EYES AND EARS AND NOSE THOSE OF A HUMAN? YET, he told Harold, WE ARE TREATED LIKE DOGS. BUT I AM LEARNING THAT THERE IS ONE WHO DOES NOT SEE ME AS A DOG, BUT AS HIS CHILD. I AM LEARNING THAT IN THE HEART OF GOD I AM WORTHY OF LOVE.

The story of the encounter between Jesus and the Syrophoenician woman could easily have been tossed out by early Christians as an unfavorable portrayal of the one they had come to know as their Lord and God. But it wasn’t. The story was remembered and passed on. There is something here that is fundamental to understanding the gospel. And if we, dear sisters and brothers, can witness Jesus himself growing in his understanding of how wide God’s mercy and justice extend, can we not imagine ourselves, too, being changed? It’s worth thinking about.

When it comes to politics, our choices on candidates and referendums will never be unanimous. But as citizens and as people called to be salt, light, and leaven, we ought to grapple with the questions nonetheless. And as we grapple, it will be our “duty and delight” to be generous with one another, practicing the arts of listening and loving as a witness to the world of the sure bond between those who follow Christ.

With you on the way,

Pastor Erik

Beloved of God,

The invitation to retreat to desert places for rest and renewal is as old as the scriptures. So, too, is the testimony that in places such as these one might expect to encounter the Sacred and discover one’s true vocation. While the invitation to deserted places may be daunting to the “extroverts” among us whose spirits are fed by interactions with other people, for those of us who are “introverts,” the lure of a quiet place apart has innate appeal. So when my in-laws spoke of an orthodox monastery in the desert east of Phoenix we ought to visit, I immediately was intrigued.

Our first attempt to locate the turnoff for St. Anthony’s Greek Orthodox Monastery southeast of Florence, Arizona, was thwarted by conflicting directions. But after a quick stop at a Pinal County Sheriff’s substation we found our way there and spent the better part of the day strolling through the grounds and marveling at the resplendent chapels, the old world icons, and the resolve of the monks who, in seventeen short years, had transformed this desert wilderness into an oasis and a destination for Orthodox pilgrims from around the world.

The six monks who arrived in the Sonora desert from Greece in 1995 on a mission from Elder Ephraim to establish a new monastery surely must have wondered how, exactly, they would accomplish such a feat in an environment where summer temperatures routinely exceed 110º F. But experiencing the harsh realities of desert life while laboring to build a sustainable and sustaining common life was nothing new for the members of this ancient order. They carried with them both a deep faith in the abiding presence of Christ and the sacred heritage of the Holy Mount Athos, in Greece, whose monastic spiritual foundation was in turn traceable to third century desert Father St. Anthony. This deep tradition would see them through; and indeed, as we observed, it has. Today, the monastery has seven distinct chapels, each with a different architectural style, each populated with icons from Greece and imbued with the aroma of incense and the aura of chanted Word. To enter them was to enter another world; which is precisely the point.

There are many ways we can live as Christians in the world. The community we visited that April morning is one of them. I have nothing but profound respect for the discipline and commitment such a life requires. But my call is different than theirs: to be part of a community that finds its primary vocation not in withdrawal from the world but in engagement in the world in the name of Christ and for the sake of the neighbor. Still, deserted places and wildernesses play an important role in sustaining me for ministry. One such place where some of us will be heading soon is Holden Village, a place apart where a rich and complex experience of community and individual solitude are both possible.

When the “sent ones” (apostles) returned to Jesus after their first mission, Jesus recognized the excitement in their voices as they shared their stories. He also recognized how important renewal would be for them if their efforts were to be sustainable over the long haul. So he issued them an invitation: “come away by yourselves and rest.” We all need to heed that invitation.

For a good number of us, summertime is when that refreshment happens and often it is accompanied by sojourns to new and/or familiar places that allow us the space and silence to hear our own heart beat and enter into a rhythm of renewal. Where will you find your rest this summer; your oasis? Whatever forms your quest for renewal takes; wherever these weeks find you, know that you do not travel alone. Christ goes with you. And calls you, and calls me, to come back to the places and patterns that will refresh us and revitalize us; giving us life.

With you on the way,

Pastor Erik

Beloved of God,

Music shapes us, and shapes us profoundly.  It’s the universal language that captures and conveys so many of our experiences and emotions, our desires and aspirations as human beings.  Who among us could not cite a telling moment from our personal history which is inseparably linked with a particular song?  On our trek to school each day, Kai and I have a variety of recordings from which we choose.  One of these, a compilation CD, has a smattering 70’s music—including Earth, Wind, and Fire’s Sing a Song (!)—that never fail to get me moving.  A couple beats in and it’s the fall of 1975 and I’m back at Hong Hall on the PLU campus for the first college dorm dance.  On the other hand, the slightest hint of a Ralph Vaughn Williams’ choral work transports me to churches and concert halls around the country where I lived and breathed music while on tour with PLU’s Choir of the West.

Whether you’re a person who falls captive first to the melody of a song or first to its lyric, the marriage of the two has the power to transform.  Brother Martin (Luther, that is) knew this well when he wrote:

“I wish to see all arts, principally music, in the service of Him who gave and created them. Music is a fair and glorious gift of God. I would not for the world forego my humble share of music. Singers are never sorrowful, but are merry, and smile through their troubles in song. Music makes people kinder, gentler, more staid and reasonable. I am strongly persuaded that after theology there is no art than can be placed on a level with music; for besides theology, music is the only art capable of affording peace and joy of the heart…the devil flees before the sound of music almost as much as before the Word of God.”  

When the emotional depth which music expression provides is combined with the keenest verbal expressions of our Christian faith, the combination carries us to places we just couldn’t arrive at by any other path.

For the past nearly 30 and 20 years, respectively, Sandy King and Jim Miersma have served faithfully and tirelessly as music ministers at Peace, sharing their musical gifts within our worship life and profoundly shaping the life we share as a community of faith.  They’ve weathered pastoral changes, choir director changes, hymnal changes, and myriad other changes that come with the territory of being a church musician, and they’ve done it with sincerity, collegiality, style and aplomb.   We owe them a great debt of gratitude!  When you have two organists who get along with each other so well and so long, and who are so easy to work with, you can get spoiled!   It’s truly been a joy to work with you both.  We can only hope that the person who succeeds you will be primed to carry on in the same vein as you a legacy musicianship, teamwork, and dedicated service to Christ’s church.

Thanks Jim and Sandy!  And Godspeed.  

Soli Deo Gloria

Pastor Erik

NOTE: A celebration of Music Ministry at Peace take place at Peace on Sunday, June 3rd beginning at 10:30 am worship.  Worship will be followed by a luncheon marking Sandy and Jim’s combined 50 years of music ministry at Peace.  All are welcome.

Beloved of God,

“Geocaching.” Ever heard the term? If the answer is NO, there’s a good chance you don’t own a smart phone or spend much time on the internet. It’s a word that was coined twelve years ago this month when, on May 2, 2000, at approximately midnight, Eastern Time, the great blue switch* controlling selective signal availability was flipped. Twenty four satellites orbiting the globe processed their new orders, and instantly the accuracy of global positioning system (GPS) technology improved tenfold, and tens of thousands of GPS receivers around the world had an instant upgrade. By locking on to any three orbiting satellites the GPS could now triangulate your position to an exact location almost anywhere on the globe.

“Geocaching,” first coined on May 30th of that year, is the joining of two familiar words: the prefix GEO, for Earth, and CACHING, from the word CACHE. “Cache” has two different meanings: (1) The French word invented in 1797 refers to a hiding place one would use to temporarily store items (think voyageurs and pirates). (2) The contemporary, technological term refers to computer storage capacity used to quickly retrieve frequently used information. Simply put, geocaching is a real-world outdoor treasure hunting game in which players try to locate hidden containers, called geocaches, using GPS-enabled devices and then share their experiences online. [Want to learn more? Go to: http://www.geocaching.com]

I got my first taste of geocaching the last Saturday of April when I headed to Vashon Island with Nicole K and five confirmands for a day-long “roving” retreat. There the seven of us (Ike, K2, Kyle, Noah, Stuart, Nicole, and me) found ourselves staring at the screen on Nicole’s iPhone, with one blinking dot telling us YOU ARE HERE, and another one pinpointing the location of the secret cache we were seeking. During the course of our five geocaches quests we posed with Cool Gary, avoided (barely) confrontations with NRA zealots (the sign with the revolver read: “Nothing I own is worth your life”), searched for clues left in rusted out boat hulls, and traipsed through old forests and thickets of nettles—all the while searching for the hidden treasure.

Sometimes the treasure cache was simply a small waterproof container with a log sheet we could sign indicating, “we were here.” Other times, in addition to a log, the cache contained tokens left by folks who’d been there before us. One cache contained a geo-token that we were invited to transport to another cache location, and then register the token’s key on a website, so that the originator could map his/her token’s cross country journey over time. The possibilities are endless…what a gas!

Throughout the Easter season the Sunday readings from Acts address the questions: What does the Spirit of the risen Christ do, unleashed into the world? Where does it go? What effect does it have? Whom does it touch? Each story in these opening chapters bears witness to Christ’s living presence and the Spirit’s transforming work in the fledging church. Each chapter invites and enlists us as witnesses—(as opposed to bystanders!)—who share in God’s mission of bringing gospel treasure into the neighborhoods and communities in which we live.

Here in Acts, with heart and mind locked on the Spirit, we find ourselves traveling to the heart of Jerusalem as a multilingual crowd suddenly hears good news in language they can understand; we see the disciple community practicing care for each other in such a way that no one has need; we peer into the once-useful begging bowl of a once-crippled man whose life and future have been given a new lease in Jesus’ name; we witness the bold courage of Peter and John refusing to be cowed by the institutional powers-that-be; we ride with an Ethiopian emissary as Philip comes alongside him, becoming his tutor and baptizer. On and on the Spirit goes, gaining momentum through ever widening circles, crossing boundaries once considered unassailable, and carrying us along in her wake. No stone is left unturned (or unrolled), no stump unsearched, no place is too remote. The gospel’s trajectory is unstoppable!

All these stories testify to the existence of true treasure and, like geocaching, give us routes to follow. But there’s one big difference. When you’re geocaching, the treasure, the goal, is beyond you and it’s up to you to read the clues and follow the signal until you find it. But when it comes to this journey of faith, the treasure, it turns out, comes to us! The One Triune God—triangulating via the divine global positioning system—locks on to each and every one of us and tirelessly seeks us out, emptying heaven to make contact. From all indications, God isn’t done playing yet. In fact, I have it on good authority that God won’t stop until every last one of us blinking dots has been linked back to the Source of love and has found its way home.  What an adventure we share! Thanks be to God!

Pastor Erik

Beloved of God,

How are you at entering a completely novel situation?  Are you a “go with the flow” kind of person? Or do you avoid new situations like the plague? Do you enter a new context spontaneously or do you try to prepare yourself as much as you can? Me, I like to get information in advance so I’ll feel more confident when I cross the threshold into a new place. We all have different ways of meeting up with something or someone new.  But sometimes, information is not available.  Sometimes, the context is so radically new that nothing can prepare us for what we face.

In each of the gospels, the disciples’ first reaction to the resurrection is one of fear. That’s not surprising, really.  Because in the face of things we don’t understand or can’t comprehend, in the face of questions that challenge our understanding of reality, fear and anxiety are almost always the first emotions to exert themselves.  That’s why nearly every time in the Scriptures that divine messengers and human beings meet the first words spoken are:  BE NOT AFRAID.  God knows how paralyzing fear can be.  God knows how fear diminishes our capacity to trust.

So it is no surprise that when Jesus speaks to his community as their risen Lord, he begins his greeting with the words, PEACE BE WITH YOU.   He begins with PEACE, and slowly, ever so slowly, fear unwinds and anxiety lessens, and then, new possibilities begin to emerge.  In back to back stories at the end of Luke’s gospel we can see how fear is finally overcome by faith and anxiety and despair are replaced by trust and confidence.  But this transformation doesn’t happen instantly!  It’s not a slam dunk!  When it comes to hearing the resurrection story and allowing the implications of that news to begin to register, once is not enough.  The first disciples needed it—and we need it—again and again.

During the 50 days of Easter we learn what it means to be Easter people.  We learn what it means to encounter the Risen Christ and to be sent by him into new territory as witnesses and servants of the Risen One.  But one Sunday, one worship experience, one trip to the Table, one Bible study, one conversation isn’t enough.  We need to be reminded of God’s grace and God’s call again and again.  We are Easter people, marked with the cross of Christ forever, and called to live our life in community in the context of a deep trust in our risen Savior.  Easter people who are learning to look at the world and their own experience through the lens of Christ’s resurrection. 

It took the disciples 50 days before they were ready to be witnesses, to bear good news in a form the world could recognize; to incarnate it; enflesh it; live it.  But whether it takes us 50 days or 50 years to grasp the transforming power that God makes available to us, we’ll keep on coming back here to this community, to this Word, to this Font and Table because this is where Christ promises he will meet us, and will calm our anxieties and banish our fears.

Not that fear and anxiety don’t try to creep back in.  But when we feel fear slinking into our thoughts and anxiety trying to take hold of our minds, we need to recall the words of Jesus:  PEACE BE WITH YOU.  And as his peace takes hold of us, fear is once more set aside and faith rises up to take its place, declaring: 

Ever with hope,

Pastor Erik

Beloved of God,

The griping happened without fail whenever we loaded the car for the hour-plus drive to our grandparents’ homes in Northfield: How long before we get there? So-and-so’s bothering me! I’m hungry!  I have to go to the bathroom! No sooner did we pull out of the driveway than the same old litany would begin. In response to this, a family rule was instituted in my family of origin: NO TALKING UNTIL WE REACH OWATONNA. Since Owatonna was 35 miles up the road, this rule guaranteed a half hour of relative quiet. No small feat in a station wagon with 10 people!

Of course, there were those times when an unresolved issue escalated to the point where traveling rules were violated, and it was at times like those we’d here Dad’s voice cut through the din: DO I NEED TO STOP THIS CAR?! Truth be told, I can’t remember Dad ever actually stopping the car; the mere threat of it was enough to make offenders repent—and quickly. The truth was, we didn’t know what would happen if Dad ever stopped the car, but we knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

So I can identify with the whole situation that unfolded for God’s people as they wandered in the wilderness year after year, losing heart and losing faith. How did they cope? They griped. WHY DID YOU BRING US OUT OF EGYPT IN THE FIRST PLACE? WE’RE GOING TO DIE HERE! THERE’S NO FOOD, NO WATER; THIS TRIP IS ALL ONE BIG MISERABLE MESS! (Deut 12:4f)

Of course, this was a case of selective amnesia. They had conveniently forgotten their experience as slaves in Egypt, and the fact that the food they loathed was the miraculous manna their lives had been sustained with.  Their lack of trust found them, once again, heading down a dead-end street. It was then that God stopped the car. Sure enough, the scene wasn’t a pretty one. Out came the snakes, and people start dying left and right.

Snakes are symbolic creatures whose presence suggests double meanings. On the one hand, they are stealthy and have a bite that kills. On the other hand, they are symbols of healing and transformation. By the end of this story, the snakes’ death-dealing nature has been transformed by God into a life-giving nature; a source of healing for the people of Israel.

The gospel during these weeks of Lent is all about God’s core values. Jesus expresses them so powerfully and clearly:

“Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Lent is about returning to core values…God’s. By God’s mercy, the serpent was transformed from a symbol of death into an instrument of healing. By God’s grace, Jesus, who suffered death for our sake, became the Way to eternal, resurrected life.

On this Lenten wilderness journey we gather beneath the cross of Jesus because we believe that there is something here for us and for our broken world that nothing and no one else can provide. Beneath this cross of Jesus we meet a God rich in mercy whose core values teach us that there is no obstacle too great for God to overcome. Oh! What good news!

God’s core values are clear. God transforms dead-ends into new beginnings, closed books into open subjects, contentious conflicts into opportunities for growth, cruel death into joyful resurrection. Our vocation as God’s people is to show and to share these core values with neighbors, family, friends, coworkers, and a world in desperate need of them.  This, my friends, is our privileged calling.

With you, on the Way,

Pastor Erik

Beloved of God,

The life of our congregation is like a dance.  On Sundays that dance gathers us around God’s Word and Sacraments, and then sends us out to be Christ’s body in the world…doing God’s work, with our hands (and feet!).  Within this larger whole, each small group/task force/committee and ministry team has its own series of steps, and moves to the beat of its own rhythm.  Fitting the choreography of each smaller group’s ministry into the larger whole in such a way that the rhythms and actions compliment each other instead of detracting from each other (or step on one another’s toes!), is an ongoing task.

At times we need to get off the dance floor and up to the balcony for a more comprehensive view of what’s happening in the life of our congregation.  That, in part, is what our annual meetings are about—the Bulletin of Reports provides an overarching view of our mission over the past year.  But if we flip to the green pages (financial summary) or pink pages (proposed budget) without reading the yellow pages (vision/mission plan), or white ones (small group/task force/committee reports) we’ll be missing something crucial.

A couple of paragraphs on paper won’t begin to tell the whole story, of course.  Our ministry is about flesh and blood people and relationships—the slideshow at our meeting helps remind us of that.  But the reports and figures do tell part of the story of how we, collectively, have lived out our calling as God’s dancing people during the year past.

This month marks the 7^th anniversary of my Call to serve as your pastor.  These seven years have been a rich and growing time for me personally, as well as our congregation.  Each year has brought unique challenges, some anticipated and some unanticipated.  The dance continues now in 2012 with a new Vision for Mission Plan embraced by our congregation on January 29.   So…slip on your shoes— it’s time to head back to the dance floor!  (You can read about the specifics in the summary of actions from the meeting, below.)

Funding our collective mission in 2012 will require us to step up and out in new ways.  In 2011 we scaled back our goal for funding our mission and, for the first time in seven years, our aggregate level of giving fell to less than it was the year before.  This year you have endorsed a spending plan that looks forward more boldly.  There is no reason why we can’t turn things back around in 2012.  In addition to our regular spending plan (budget), a newly authorized Capital Campaign Working Group will be begin work soon to set forth a process for raising the capital necessary to achieve the facilities goals we’ve now established as part of our Vision for Mission Plan.  Coupled with our plans for bringing a new Music Director on board, all this points to 2012 being another year of transition for us at Peace.

As we begin incorporating these new dance steps to our repertoire, we’ll be utilizing our God-given gifts and talents for ministry.  And with the Lord of the Dance beside us, guiding our steps along the way, we are wonderfully poised to turn opportunities into tangible emblems of God’s presence and power.  I’m game for that…how about you?

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Erik

Beloved of God,

What will this new year, 2012, hold?  When the calendar turns I begin imagining and hoping what the year will bring;  the places I’d like to go, the people to see, the goals to reach, the crises to avoid, the habits (healthy ones!) to cultivate.  How about you?  How far will you allow your imagination to carry you this year?

There are some voices out there that have identified 2012 as the year in which humankind will see “the end of the world as we know it.”  Despite the many examples of false “end time” predictions through the centuries, some interpreters of the so-called “Mayan calendar” suggest the end of the world will take place on or near the winter solstice of 2012.  Hollywood is already cashing in on the theme.  This is not a new phenomenon but an old, familiar one.  Only time will tell.

In the meantime, we as a congregation have some work to do!  There are significant decisions ahead for us this month as we consider the shape our VISION and MISSION PLAN will take in the next 5-10 years, and as we decide what level of commitment we will bring to the table as we prioritize and fund our congregational ministries.  There’s a lot to be excited about, and I hope each of you will be full participants in the process.  These decisions belong to all of us acting together—not just a few.

In his gospel, Matthew packs a whole bunch of short, pithy parables of Jesus into the 13th chapter.  Jesus is at his best as a teacher here—using common images from everyday life as new metaphors for understanding what God is up to in the world:  “The kingdom of heaven is like… a mustard seed…yeast in a batch of dough…treasure hidden in a field… a merchant searching for fine pearls.” Who would ever have thought that the reign of God would be so accessible and at the same time so subtly hidden in ordinary things?  Jesus invites us inside each image and gives us permission to activate our own imaginations to consider how and where God is at work in our everyday lives turning sorrow to joy, dead ends to new beginnings, and small gestures to grand movements of grace.  When we can see God anew in ordinary places of our lives there’s no end to the myriad ways we can experience “God-with-us.”

This week I presided at a memorial service for a woman I never met, but who has touched the lives of students and colleagues over a period of decades.  Her name is Marcelyn Shadow, and she once was a member at Peace.  By all accounts, Marcy left a deep and powerful legacy of learning and caring in the lives of hundreds of her middle school students.  Her zeal for teaching and her unorthodox classroom style ignited a desire for learning that led a number of her former students into teaching careers of their own.  When it came to working with these kids, Marcy was “all in.” Teaching was her true vocation, the place where “the world’s deep hunger” and her “deep gladness” converged.^[1] Where is that place for you?  That’s a question worth asking as the rhythm of the new year begins.

Blessings on the Way,

Pastor Erik

[1] Frederick Buechner