Give me your tired, your poor

your huddled masses yearning to breathe free;

the wretched refuse of your teeming shore;

send these—the homeless, tempest-tossed to me;

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

– The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus

On the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor

Beloved of God,

Many of us can remember a time in elementary school when we were assigned the task of committing a song or poem to memory.  The “50 Nifty States Song” I learned as a 4th grader at Hawthorne Elementary in Albert Lea, Minne­sota, was one of these.  I can still recall the school assembly when all of us fourth graders sang out the name of each state—in alphabetical order no less.  The song had a catchy tune, and even now as I write that tune plays in my head some 50 years later!  Things put to memory when we’re young tend to stick.  Which is another argument for committing Bible verses and hymns to memory—they’ll be accessible to us when we need them.  But that’s another topic.

Along with the “50 Nifty States Song” there is a poem I committed to memory as a youngster that has stayed with me all these years.  It’s a poem by Emma Lazarus (above).  She donated the poem in 1883 to the campaign to raise funds for the Statue of Liberty’s pedestal. It came to prominence only after her death when it was placed on the completed pedestal in 1903.  I saw it in person when our family visited Liberty Island at the end of my sabbatical in 2014.  Ms. Laza­rus entitled her poem THE NEW COLOSSUS. Having seen the place in Rome where Nero’s original COLOSSUS once stood, I had another layer of meaning to add to the content of what she wrote.

As our boat prepared to land on Liberty Island that brilliant summer day, the words which I’d put to memory in my elementary school choir came to the surface once more.  The poem, which never fails to move me, took on even greater meaning when we docked at Ellis Island.  There we stood in the very room where my grandparents Ingvald and Anna Kindem had stood with their three young children, Olaf, Halvor and Andi, on June 5, 1923, as immigrants from Norway.  In the computerized files, we were able to find their names on their ship’s manifest and even glimpse a photo of the ship itself—The Stavangerfjord—which bore them safely across the ocean to this new land.

Emma Lazarus’ poem and my own family’s immigration story have been much on my mind in the aftermath of the recent Executive Order banning the admittance of immigrants and refugees from certain countries.  Had Ingvald and Anna been turned away at Ellis Island, what would our family story have been?  We talked about that around the dinner table last night.  Our kids figured that if this had happened, they’d have been born in Norway.  “Not so fast,” Chris countered.  “If Great grandpa Ingvald and Great grandma Anna had been turned away, Grandpa Roald and Grandma Shirley would never have met; Dad (Erik) would not have been born, he and I would not have married, and therefore you two would never have been born.”  A point worth contemplating.

The President’s Executive Order is already having a direct impact on the Lutheran Church’s work with refugees, as David Duea, President and CEO of Lutheran Community Services Northwest pointed out in an email this week:

“Our Unaccompanied Refugee Minor program (URM) in Spokane was ready to welcome a 17-year-old young man, scheduled to arrive early this week. He is from Afghanistan, where his parents and sister were killed by a landmine. The boy fled Afghanistan to Indonesia, where he has been living in a shelter. He was scheduled to fly from Jakarta to Los Angeles Monday. Unaccompanied refugee minors usually fly with an escort.  We have not heard from the escort… We have no idea what to expect. This is one example of how a story being felt around the world is impacting real, individual lives.”

Another stark example concerns a 24-year-old man from Sudan who has been registered and waiting to come to the U.S. since 2010.  Mary Flynn, Refugee Program Director at Lutheran Social Services of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, is worried the Sudanese refugee is in danger. His case was being expedited because he was a victim of violence and torture.  Now after 7 years of waiting, the possibility of resettlement itself seems in danger.

It has been heartening to see the many expressions of concern and solidarity, and offers of legal aid for those whose lives have been flung into turmoil as a result of the Order.   As followers of Jesus—who was himself a refugee from violence (Mt. 2:13-18)—you and I are called to stand with the vulnerable, whom Jesus called “the least of these who are members of my family.” (Mt. 25: 40)

Some of you remember the chaos that swept through Japanese immigrant communities 72 years ago this month as a result of Executive Order 9066.  The displacement and internment of people of Japanese ancestry—including many who were citizens of the United States—was driven by prejudice and fear.  It remains a dark chapter in our nation’s history.

It seems to me that the words emblazoned on the Pritchard Park Memorial on Bainbridge Island—Nidoto Nai Yoni–“Let it not happen again”— also apply to the immigrant and refugee crisis that is developing before our eyes right now.  A clear process for vetting refugees has been in place for decades and often takes years to complete.  Less than ½ of 1% of the world’s refugees will ever have the opportunity to be resettled in the United States.  When it comes to refugees, there is no such thing as a “rush to our borders.”

We join our colleagues at Lutheran Community Services Northwest and at Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services in welcoming refugees no matter what their religious background or country of origin may be. We support refugees who are fleeing dangerous and violent conditions.  Not only is our compassion needed, it is com­manded by our Lord. Faith is more verb than noun—it has legs.  Let’s seize the day by putting our legs of faith to work for the sake of refugees and immigrants.  Let’s make certain Lady Liberty’s lamp continues to shine by the golden door.  In the process, we will ourselves become the “light of the world” Jesus has called us to be.

With you on the way,

Pastor Erik

 “The voice of the LORD is upon the waters;

the God of glory thunders;

the LORD is upon the mighty waters.”

– Psalm 29:3

Beloved of God,

Chilly weather companions our passage from 2016 to 2017.  Mini-snow people have spouted on our back lawn, and Kai and Naomi, inspired by the properties of snow and ice, have been on expeditions harvesting sheets of ice from neighborhood puddles and bearing them home, like treasure, on their sled.  Watching them brings me back to the days when I did same—with icicles—during long Montana and Minnesota winters.  The bigger, the better!

Watching the snow accumulate on the Olympics and Cascades evokes sighs of gratitude within me.  In this age of climate breakdown (climate “change” is too benign a term), heavy mountain snows recall the way it’s meant to be.  A heavy snowpack plays an essential role within the annual water cycle, and translates into promising prospects for everything and everyone who calls the Northwest bioregion home.  Yet, it hasn’t always been that way, as Cynthia Barnett documents in her book, RAIN: A Natural and Cultural History.[1]

“As even tempered as it grew up to be,” she writes, “Earth started off 4.6 billion years ago as a red-faced and hellish infant…For its first ½ billion years, Earth was a molten inferno some 8,000 degrees Celsius—hotter than today’s Sun.”  Scientists aptly name this violent period in Earth’s evolution “the Hadean eon,” from the Greek word Hades, or hell.

But the same process that made Earth a molten mass also set the stage for what it would some day be.  The flaming meteors that bombarded Earth had water locked inside of them, and as they crashed and split apart, they spewed out that water in the form of vapor.  “All that water,” Barnett writes, “would prove an invisible redeemer [when]… about a half a billion years after it started, the blitzkrieg began to wind down.  As the last of the flaming chunks fell to the surface or hurtled away, the planet finally had a chance to cool.  The water vapor could condense.  At long last, it began to rain.”

We’re not talking Seattle drizzle, Midwest gully washers, or even Florida hurricanes, folks—we’re talking cataclysmic torrents that fell and were taken up again and again and again in a seemingly endless cycle; storms that went on, literally, for millions and millions of years, eventually forming the primordial oceans, aquifers, lakes, and rivers from which life itself first emerged.  Rain: the wellspring of life.  Rain: the force which has shaped the story of life on this planet, and human culture in particular, from the beginning.  Rain: which seeded whole civilizations and led to their undoing.  Rain and its wondrous offspring—clouds and rainbows—which have inspired painters, writers, and poets for thousands of years.

Seeking language to describe the ideal king, the psalmist writes: “May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass, like showers that water the earth.” (Ps 72:6)  And David’s hymn of praise, Psalm 68, extols the God who “rides upon the clouds”; the “Father of orphans and protector of widows” who sends rain in abundance, restoring the heritage of his chosen ones; the “Rider in the ancient heavens” whose “power is in the skies.”

Sacred traditions with water at their centers can be found among peoples all over the world, including our own.  In the Western church, the first Sunday after the Epiphany is celebrated as The Baptism of Our Lord, and the appointed gospel takes us to the waters of the Jordan, where people have traveled in schools to receive John’s baptism of turning.  When Jesus comes to be baptized, John is taken aback at first and suggests their roles ought to be reversed.  But after receiving reassurance from Jesus, John immerses him in Jordan’s waters.  Then—the Spirit of God like a dove, and the Voice from on high: THIS IS MY SON, THE BELOVED, WITH WHOM I AM WELL PLEASED. (Matt. 3:13-17) Ever since this encounter, baptism has been the headwaters of the Christian story, a sacred sign that we our bound to God, that we journey with Christ, and like him are companioned by the Holy Spirit.

From that moment countless eons ago when Earth’s molten surface began to cool, and the heavy vapors of H₂O that surrounded her young atmosphere began to condense, giving birth to rain, the One who called it all into being has been waiting, patiently, for the opportunity to call you to new life through these waters.   Never doubt for one moment that you were meant to belong—to be bound as, St. Patrick sang, “to the strong name of the Trinity, the Three in One and One in Three.” And when you see the snow pilling up in the mountains; when you watch the raingardens at Peace receive the sky’s liquid offering; when you collect ice offerings, muddle in puddles, cross creeks and rivers, and venture on, over, or around the Salish Sea, remember that these waters, which once fell as rain and will again, are all signs—constant and true—of God embracing and blessing you.

Walking wet with you,

Pastor Erik

[1] Cynthia Barnett. Rain. A natural and cultural history. (New York: Broadway Books, 2015)

“If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples;

and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”

John 8:31-32

Beloved of God,

One of the events that informs our life together and the life of the larger church this year and next is the 500th Anniversary of the Reformation on October 31, 2017.  In anticipation of that event, the Sunday Adult Class is beginning the fall with a study of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses.  It was these Theses, posted on the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany on October 31, 1517, that historians point to as the beginning of what would come to be called The Reformation.  Luther wasn’t the only reformer, of course.  Many others, both prior to, during, and after Luther, paved the way for this new movement within the church catholic to take root.  But Luther became the face of the Reformation.  His penchant for prolific writing (55 volumes worth!) in language the common person could understand, combined with the invention of a printing press with movable type, made him the bestselling author in Europe for over a decade.  What he wrote—much of it challenging to greater or lesser degree the received tradition he had inherited—caught the attention of the age.  But what was it that made this movement which began as a trickle, become a flood?  What were the “hidden springs of imagination, high up in the hills, that were to feed the broad river of the Reformation?”[1]  According to author Peter Matheson, it was the advent of new images, allegories and metaphors for the divine and the human—metaphors taken from a reanimated reading of the Bible—that subverted the world which the Reformers inherited and paved the way for another. “When your metaphors change,” writes Matheson, “your world changes with them.”

The most pervasive image of the Reformation is that of the liberated Word of God.  The gospel of John is steeped in image and metaphor, as evidenced by the series of seven “I AM” statements of Jesus: “I am the bread of life; I am the light of the world; I am the gate for the sheep; I am the good shepherd; I am the resurrection and the life; I am the way, the truth, and the life; I am the vine.” In John 8:31-36, the gospel text appointed for Reformation Sunday, Jesus says to the people who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” Their first answer (and mine) is “We have never been slaves to anyone.” Oh how hard we work to keep the truth of our shadow from becoming known!  We do our best to hide it even from our own selves!  But before we can participate in the freedom God offers us in Jesus, we must own the fact that we are far from free; there are forces at work within and around us that keep us bound tight.  The freedom from “sin, death, and the devil” that Luther understood as pure gift of God—unmerited and unachievable—compelled him to preach Word alone, Faith alone, Grace alone, as the pillars of the good news.  This insight has served as a touchstone for the whole church for five centuries.

The danger inherent in any historical movement is that overtime the images and metaphors that once served as a fresh, invigorating wind, awakening the senses and animating the imaginations of a generation, can become immovable truths, fixed in stone; can become, in other words, fossilized.  The invitation for us, as we enter this 500th anniversary year, is not only to ask what images animated Brother Martin and other 16th century Reformers, but what images and metaphors can animate the church of this day, carrying the momentum forward so that the church does not become a museum relic of the past.

The life we share together is full of possibilities—you can read about many of them in this edition of Peace Notes.  Which ministry opportunities ignite your passion? Which are you drawn to be part of?  Where are the gaps that you sense need to be filled?  Go ahead!—use your imagination and creativity to ask how you individually might embody good news in our time and context, and how we might do so together.

With you on the Way,

Pastor Erik

[1] Peter Matheson, The Imaginative World of the Reformation. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001).

Have you not known? Have you not heard? 

The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth; who does not faint or grow weary;

whose understanding is unsearchable. God gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless.

Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted;

but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles,

they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

– Isaiah 40:28-31

Beloved of God,

Our approach to Rachel Lake, in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, was four miles long.  The first three followed Box Canyon Creek up valley, gradually gaining elevation from 2,800 feet at the trailhead to 3,400 at mile three—an average gain of only 200 feet per mile.  But the final mile—up the steep wall that gave Box Creek its name—had acquired a nickname of its own: the Cruel Mile.  As Kai and I began the upward slog, using our poles and any available tree, rock, or root we could grab, we became newly aware of the weight of our packs, and the reality of the 1,300 ft elevation gain ahead of us impressed itself viscerally on our minds and bodies.  This was Kai’s first backpack trip, and I’d put a good deal of effort into finding a destination that would allow him to experience the gifts the wilderness provides without exacting too steep of a price.  As my legs grew tired, I found myself inspired by Kai’s desire to keep going without complaint. “How much do you think we have left, Dad?” became Kai’s refrain every few minutes. “Oh,” I would reply, remembering our sabbatical experience, “about 200 meters.”[1] By the time we arrived at Rachel Lake we were eager to shed our gear and make camp.  By the time the sun set that evening, we were more than ready to crawl into our bags and give our bodies a rest.

When morning came, the weariness of the day before had dissipated, and after a breakfast of freeze dried eggs and sausage, our thoughts turned to the day ahead.  Another mile, and 400 feet above us, lay the Rampart Lakes, a series of smaller alpine lakes heartily endorsed by the guide book, and we set our sights there.  And Rampart Lakes did not disappoint!  But it was still early afternoon and there was plenty of day left.  What if we were to climb to the top of that saddle over there, at the south end of the basin?  And so we went.  The final 40 feet required some scrambling, but in the end we were rewarded with vistas of mountains all around, and a view all the way down to our Rachel Lake campsite far below.  Unforgettable.

Meaningful experiences, shared vistas, shape us.  They become reference points in our life together.  Sometimes, the experiences we worked hardest to obtain become the most precious to us. Not all shared experiences, of course, are worthy of being remembered.  Each of us could point to decisions, conversations, encounters, mistakes that we would gladly do over or take back if we could.  Regret, whatever its specific content, can ride roughshod over us if we let it, even to the point of overwhelming the rich and joyful moments we’ve known.  Thank goodness we have as companion on the way a God who knows how to strengthen us when we’re weak and to lift us when we’re weary—whether that weariness comes from physical exertion or from the weight of past sins!

As summer turns to fall and rhythms shift and change, we can take a cue from the autumn leaves, which teach us the art of letting go.  We have much to engage in together this month in our shared ministry at Peace; so many meaningful activities and opportunities for learning and serving and growing.  At times the calendar can become so cluttered that it feels less like a gift and more like an uphill slog!   But our Lord’s gracious accompaniment makes the journey all worthwhile.  With a spirit of joy and comradery—let the fall begin!

With you on the Way,

Pastor Erik

[1] Wherever we went on foot in Italy during our sabbatical, whether in the cities or on rural roads or trails, when we stopped to ask a local person how far we had to go to reach a particular destination, the answer was, inevitably, “About 200 meters.” This was true whether the actual distance was half that amount or several times that amount.  It became an inside family joke.

Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.

If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to then, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.

– James 1:17, 2:15-17

Beloved of God,

Recent events lead me to reflect on the vibrant nature of our congregation. Oddly enough, one catalyst for my reflection is our family’s recent visit to a congregation I once served.  25 year ago I served as interim pastor at Church of the Mountains, a Presbyterian congregation on the Hoopa Reservation which had been established in the 19th century.  I had rich experiences with that community, with ecumenical partners, and with the Tribe.   As we snaked our way along the winding roads leading to Hoopa, I told my kids about the two majestic Redwood trees that flanked the sidewalk leading to the front doors of the church building, trees which had been planted at the congregation’s founding. I remem­bered their great trunks and the shade they cast in the late afternoon, bringing welcome relief during 100+ degree summer days.  What greeted us when we drove up was quite different.  The two great Redwoods had been cut down.  The adjacent parsonage with its shade trees were gone—the victim of a fire some years back.  The cross on the steeple had been removed. The white clapboard church building hadn’t seen paint in who knows how many years.  The front doors were chained and paddle locked shut.  The whole property seemed abandoned and forlorn.  It was downright depressing.  The cause of all this was obvious, when I thought about it:  that congregation had ceased to play a continuing, vital role within the Hoopa community.  So, when the last of the aging members died, the congregation’s mission—its reason for existing—died with them.

Contrast this with the scene at Peace during the last week of July:

• A steady stream of blue-shirted servants of all ages—“LIVE GENEROUSLY” their shirts declare—with the full spectrum of experience to do God’s work with their hands, bend body and mind to the task building a Tiny House. Energy is high as hammers pound nails, saws cut boards, drills bite wood, and a house rises from the patio deck.[1]
• Volunteers from within and beyond the congregation show up to be part of it. Neighbors out for walks stop to learn what’s going down. A West Seattle Blog photographer comes by to capture a moment.[2]
• As evening comes, Twelfth Night Productions players fill the Fellowship Hall with costumes, music, and dance numbers—adding their melodies to the cacophony of hammers, drills, and skill saws.
• Meanwhile, after Sunday worship the Fireside Room fills with Peace women gathering to celebrate the impending birth of Hannah and Steven’s first child. (The seventh child born to the congregation over the last 16 months.)
• A journalist and photographer from King County’s Rainwise program stop by to capture images of our blooming raingarden and to interview congregation president Michael T and myself about the process and philosophy behind our congregation’s commitment to the project and to the Green Congregation movement.
• The 75th Anniversary Task Force holds its first planning meeting for our congregation’s Diamond Jubilee in 2019.

There’s more I could add, but you get the picture. There is vitality here at Peace, flowing from our vital sense of mission!  We are indeed a Spirit blessed community!

When my friend and colleague Greg stopped by to see the build, he commented “This is the book of James in action.” (I.e. faith active in love.)  Martin Luther, zealous to prove that God’s grace trumps any works we might come up with, once famously called James the “epistle of straw.”  My response to Greg (and Luther): “We’re spinning straw into gold.” “

Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” AMEN!

Projects like building a Tiny House demand a lot of energy but they also unleash a lot of energy. And there’s another layer to the learning as well.  Building an 8 by 12 foot house is an invitation to imagine what this house will mean to the person for whom this small home will be an upgrade. And to imagine what it might mean for us whose lives are filled with stuff to pare down to the smallest configuration.  It invites us to ask, what is essential?  What do we really need?

In his letter to the Colossians, portions of which we’ve been hearing these summer Sundays, St. Paul speaks of earthly things and heavenly things. “Seek the things that are above, where Christ is,” he writes.  But it’s hard to seek the things that are above when you’re homeless and longing to have a roof over your head.  So, here’s the question: this Tiny House we’re building—is that an earthly thing or a heavenly thing?

The answer, of course, is YES.  It’s both.  Indeed, it’s something that’s bringing heaven and earth together. Beneath the enthusiasm for putting hammer to nail, the development of new skills, and the smell of freshly cut wood is the deep satisfaction of knowing that we are—quite literally—doing God’s work with our hands.  We’re building something substantial and real that will make a profound difference in someone’s life; and has already made a difference in our own.  We’ll wrap up the building project this first weekend in August, and celebrate after worship on Sunday, but the Tiny House will stick around for a little while as staff members from LIHI (Low Income Housing Institute) determine where this particular Tiny House will be placed. Come by and check it out.

Pastor Erik

[1] You can view a YouTube summary of the first four days here: https://youtu.be/KCtpmK3MVZE Courtesy of Anne Churchill.

[2] You can find the West Seattle Blog article here: http://westseattleblog.com/2016/07/west-seattle-scene-peace-lutheran-builds-a-tiny-house/

 I’m going on a journey, and I’m starting today.

My head is wet, and I’m on my way.

Christ’s mark is on me, it’s on you, too;

It says he loves me, and he loves you, too.

– Kenneth Larkin, ELW #446

Beloved of God,

Our crew is heading south to Los Angeles this month, compelled by the wedding of our nephew Jacob and his fiancé Maryel.  It’ll be our first family road trip to California and an opportunity to visit friends and family along the way—as well as take in the sights like the Magic Kingdom.  On our return trip the four of us will camp in the Redwoods, swim in Northwestern California rivers, and spend time with people and places I first met 30 years ago in my first Call as Pastor Director of Lutheran Ministry with Native Americans.  Reconnecting with these places and people and introducing Kai and Naomi to them is something I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.

I’ll never forget the first week of my new job.  I was attending a conference hosted by Humboldt State University that gathered together local tribal leaders, US Forest Service executives, environmentalists, and forestry professors from the university.  The topic was natural resources—approaches to developing and using them—and the fault lines of cultural perspectives that emerged were profound.  As we broke for lunch on the first day, I ended up at the same table as a Karuk elder who would become a significant mentor for me during my years of ministry there.  Our encounter was the first of many Spirit-driven events that took place during my five years of service in Indian Country.  I am forever grateful for the teachers, mentors, and companions God sent my way—both from Native communities and the church community—who extended and deepened my “education” in ways no seminary training could.

In a “parish” spread over 10,000 square miles, I worked with tribal communities—the Karuk, Hupa, Yurok, Tolowa, Wiyotte in particular—and a dozen Lutheran congregations, in a ministry of word and witness, advocacy and service. Along the way I discovered that my most profound learning often emerged when I was forced to confront the assumptions and limitations behind my own ways of thinking.  Looking at reality through the eyes of others challenged my assumptions about how and where and what God was up to.  Along the way, I discovered a new vocabulary to fit the new experiences that I was having, and came to appreciate the myriad ways God’s presence was embodied among peoples and within landscapes that were different from those I had known.  It was a journey I hope never to forget.

And the journey continues.  The earliest name given to the disciple community which gathered around Jesus was “people of the Way.” Our sisters and brothers of Calvary Lutheran marked the end of their journey as a congregation in a final festive sendoff June 26th.  That service marked the end of their formal life as a congregation, and the end of Pastor Paul Winterstein’s active years of service.  But it did not mark the end of their journey with God!  They remain “people of the Way.”  Their journey, which began in the waters of baptism, continues—through this life and into the next.  Some Calvary folk have indicated their desire to make Peace their new home base.  What a joy it will be to welcome them into our life and mission!  Others will take more time to discern where God is leading them now.  One thing we can be sure of, Christ’s mark abides on them and he will be with them, wherever the next stages of the faith journey takes them.

Whatever paths you travel this summer, claim God’s love for the journey, remember Christ’s mark on you, and stay wet!

Pastor Erik

 “In his beautiful canticle, Saint Francis of Assisi reminds us that our common home is like a sister with whom we share our life and a beautiful mother who opens her arms to embrace us. This sister now cries out to us because of the harm we have inflicted on her by our irre­sponsible use and abuse of the goods with which God has endowed her.”

– Pope Francis, Laudato Si‘: On Care for Our Common Home

Beloved of God,

The record-breaking warmth we’ve experienced this spring has accelerated the growth and flowering of our region. Some of us have enjoyed the extra days of shorts and t-shirts, while others have pined for the cooler springtimes we remember.  Our experience here in the Northwest is by no means unique.  All over the globe temperatures are rising.  Climate change is upon us, and that’s no hoax.[1]  With it come consequences in every sector of life.  One simple example:  As prices for air conditioning drop and the demand in developing countries grows, a new estimate suggests that 700 million air conditioners are expected to be installed by 2030, and 1.6 billion by 2050. The average air conditioning unit in American homes releases about two tons of carbon dioxide each year.  Do the math. [2]  Seattleites start complaining when temperatures approach 80 degrees—imagine living in Phalodi, India, where a new record high of +123.8 degrees was recently set![3]  As temperatures rise, who can begrudge people who live in unbearable conditions the option of buying air conditioning?  (Understand, it’s only those who can afford to purchase their way to comfort who will benefit; for the vast numbers of people living in abject poverty around the world such choices remain elusive.)

It’s easy to get lost in the statistics. As people of faith we need a place to be grounded as, together, we face the truth about what human actions and choices have done to place our planet home in peril and build strategies to turn the boat around.  Those strategies have to be about more than buying stock in air conditioning companies.

Pope Francis, in his encyclical Laudato Si‘: On Care for Our Common Home, gets at the heart of the matter. A group of us from Peace and Calvary, in addition to other friends, participated in a study of Pope Francis’ circular letter earlier this spring.  One of the outcomes of that study was an urgent desire to affirm what the Pope said and to place our own stake in the ground.  As a result, a letter to Pope Francis authored by study participants has been written.  (You can read an excerpt in the pages that follow.  To read the complete 3 page letter, follow this LINK).  A tree honoring the spirit behind his encyclical will be planted on Peace property on June 5th—the first of four Sundays in this year’s Season of Creation.

In his book, LENS TO THE NATURAL WORLD: Reflections on Dinosaurs, Galaxies, and God, Ken Olson, a retired ELCA pastor and paleontologist, uses analogies to help us comprehend how we human beings fit within the scope of Earth’s long history.

“One could represent [earth’s] 4.6 billion years with a line fifteen miles long. In that scheme, the last 6,000 years from ancient Mesopotamia to the present, which brackets what we usually call “civilization,” would be represented by just the last single inch.  In vertical scale, if the history of the earth were a cliff a mile high, all of historic time would occupy just the uppermost 10th of an inch, and a single lifetime less than the thickness of the finest hair.”

These analogies seek to help us grasp that is essentially ungraspable—the immense expanse of deep time that forms the backdrop to this universe in which we find ourselves, and the infinitesimal portion of time our species has been alive by comparison. Yet, in spite of our brief existence, we homo sapiens have had an outsized impact on the health of the planet’s natural systems.  There are many factors that have led to the reality now confronting us.  Myopic greed and runaway hubris are two of them.  In the words of Pope Francis:

“We have come to see ourselves as [Earth’s] lords and masters, entitled to plunder her at will. The violence present in our hearts, wounded by sin, is reflected in the symptoms of sickness evident in the soil, in the water, in the air and in all forms of life. The Earth herself, burdened and laid waste, is among the most abandoned and maltreated of our poor; she ‘groans in travail.’”

Many studies document the impacts of human choices on Earth’s health, but Pope Francis’ letter frames the impacts in ways we can both intellectually grasp and viscerally feel. I encourage you to read Laudato Si‘. (Follow this LINK to the Vatican website.)  More than that, I invite you to join the conversation taking place at Peace, and to come to worship during the month of June as we once again celebrate the Season of Creation.  Our worship themes this year revolve around the FOUR ELEMENTS: EARTH, AIR, FIRE, WATER, and will incorporate excerpts from Laudato Si’. When you come on June 5th, be prepared to get your hands dirty! After all, putting our hands in soil is a sacred activity! The sacred, fecund soil (Hebrew: adamah) from which God first fashioned the first Earth-people (Hebrew: adam) will be the focal point of our activity during worship, so dress casually.

It is in our worship life where God promises to meet us, re-grounding us in God’s intentions for us and for this world. In Christ’s Meal gifts of grain and grape become sacred emblems of Christ’s presence in our midst. Our eating and drinking unites us with Christ and reconnects us to the Earth from which these sacred gifts come.  In sharing this food we become what we eat: the body of Christ for the world.

The letter to Pope Francis includes a reference to the ELCA Social Statement “Caring for Creation: Vision, Hope, and Justice” (1993), which states:

“Humans, in service to God, have special roles on behalf of the whole of creation. Made in the image of God, we are called to care for the earth as God cares for the earth.”

The letter to Francis goes on to conclude thus:

“Despite current differences in theology and politics, there is no excuse for waiting to cooperate. These environmental and social crises we face need immediate and frank discussion, cooperation, and action.  Let this now be a rock on which we can stand together as brothers and sisters in order to level the playing field between rich and poor, embrace the best scientific research, and work toward a cultural change of consciousness which can lead to renewed care for our common home.”

Faith is a verb. As people of faith we are called to practice what we preach, to live what we profess, trusting that the Triune God is with us in the midst of the muddle; breathing life into us at every turn, as God once breathed life into our first ancestors.

Pastor Erik

[1] Some prefer the term “climate breakdown” as a more accurate description of the realities at hand.

[2] http://www.wnyc.org/story/uptick-air-conditioners-impacts-climate-change

[3] http://www.cnn.com/2016/05/20/asia/india-record-temperature/index.html

Lord, send out your Spirit– and renew the face of the Earth! Psalm 104

Children of the Spirit,

May is packed with meaningful events within our life together – the blessing of the quilts (5/1); the photo shoot for our first pictorial directory in 7 years (5/3-5); the Peace/Calvary Women’s Retreat (5/6-7); the Rite of Confirmation on Pentecost Sunday (5/15); the annual NW WASH Synod Assembly (5/20-21); the baptisms of 3 little ones on Trinity Sunday (5/22); and—to top it off—Scholarship Sunday (5/29). Occasions for celebrating the Spirit’s living presence among and between us abound!  You can read about all these and more in the pages below.  But I hope you’ll do more than read—I hope you’ll choose to be part of many of them.  After all, our community is not the same without you.

“Come, let us build a city…and make a name for ourselves.”

Genesis 11:4

As the Day of Pentecost approaches, the story of the Tower of Babel comes to the fore (Genesis 11:1-9).  One of the ancient legend stories of Genesis, the story tells how humankind sought to use the newest technology (brickmaking) to gain control of its destiny.  Underneath the text is a not so veiled desire for a homogeneous identity: we would rather stay with our kind, within the homogeneous tribe or national identity or lingual bond that we know, rather than venture beyond them. Juxtaposed with that story is the story of Acts 2, when the promised Spirit of God comes suddenly and powerfully upon the disciple community in Jerusalem.  Instead of scattering peoples and languages, this Spirit unites them.

In the contemporary film BABEL filmmakers Alejandro Iñárritu and Guillermo Arriaga trace the consequences of one impetuous act which sends shock waves through the lives of four different families on three different continents, linking them to each other in a chain of tragic events that changes their lives forever. When two Moroccan goat herding brothers, testing the limits of a new rifle, randomly hit a tourist bus, it quickly becomes an international incident with lasting ramifications for the brothers, for an American couple on board the bus and their Mexican nanny and children back home, and for a Japanese businessman and his deaf-mute daughter.  Events spiral out of control in “a whirlwind of rash judgments, linguistic barriers and sheer bad luck.” (Neil Smith)

In a world that grows smaller with each technological advance, and at a time in history when communication is—supposedly—easier than ever, the film portrays how isolated and apt to miscommunicate we truly are.  And how quickly our cultural biases and presuppositions become avenues for confusion, fear and violence.  Using the Tower of Babel parable as its starting point the film shows, on the one hand, how interconnected our lives have become, and on the other hand, how limited our ability remains for reaching across barriers to create and sustain human community.  If we need any further corroboration of this, we need look no further than this year’s election rhetoric!

Language can coerce or it can liberate.  It can deceive or it can reveal.  It can manipulate or it can illuminate.  Human hubris, says the story, forever desires to (1) make a name for itself, (2) maintain control, and (3) resist change. The human chorus rising up from the ancient plains of Shinar (quoted above) confirms these tendencies.

Amazed and astonished they asked,   “How is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native tongue?”

– Acts 2:7, 8

But for all of us who find communication challenging; for all who struggle to find the right words for the right time—words that bridge the gap, that build relationship instead of tearing it down—Pentecost, is a day of hope. God’s Spirit is unleashed, bringing not only a new energy to God’s people but a fresh capacity to listen and to understand. God opens ears, loosens tongues, and links people to each other in a chain of gracious events that changes lives forever.  On this day, people from different countries, races and cultures, speaking scores of different languages, find their ears and their hearts open to one another in a way that was never before possible.  On Pentecost the voice of the OTHER, whose thoughts and experiences had been beyond reach, comes in crystal clear through a miracle of the ear, and the tongue of fire becomes a flame that has kept burning in each generation since.

During a retreat last month, we asked our confirmands to articulate how they intend to live out the five baptismal promises/practices as they move forward with their lives of faith.  I was impressed with what they wrote.  Their vision of participation and servanthood reflects the lively, inclusive, and compassionate flame that ignited the Christian movement 20 centuries ago.  On Pentecost Sunday we will celebrate the Spirit’s work within the lives of these five young women as we gather to bless them and pray for the Spirit’s continuing accompaniment.

Then, on the Sunday following Confirmation, three infants will be brought to the waters of the Font by their parents, and the whole gracious chain of events will begin once more!  We all have a place and a role in that circle.  Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

Pastor Erik