“Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.”

– Philippians 4:8-9

Dearly Beloved,

It all started with an older gentleman who pulled up to the Dairy Queen drive-through in Brainerd, Minnesota, at the height of the lunch hour.  “I’d also like to pay for the car behind me,” he told the cashier.  “Whatever they’ve ordered, I’ll cover it.”  Darla Anderson rang up the two orders and thought that would be the end of it.  But two days and hundreds of cars later, she and the rest of the crew were still ringing up “pay it forward” orders as each person who came to the drive-through offered to pay for the car behind them.  “I’ve seen ‘pay it forward’ chains that went on for about 20 cars, but never anything like this,” said store manager Tina Jensen.  In the end, the chain spanned more than 900 cars over 2½ days. [1]

After a year filled with news assaulting us at every turn with stories of selfishness, injustice, violence, and the ever widen­ing effects of the pandemic, reading this story in the paper was balm for my soul.  Nothing earth shattering.  Nothing that will turn the tide on the coronavirus or wipe away systemic racism.  Yet, a sign that it is still possible to choose to “pay it forward” in the best sense of the phrase, rather than to choose revenge or “pay back.” The fact that 900+ cars over multiple days partici­pated in what one single man initiated says something about how hungry we are for acts generosity and simple signs of hope and caring.  As far as I know, the gentleman who started it all didn’t check with the occupants of the car behind him to see whether they shared the same politics as himself before he paid for their meal; he didn’t quiz them about their faith stance, where they came from, or other features of their biography, in order to ascertain whether they DESERVED a free lunch or not.  He simply gave freely, graciously—gratis.  And his so doing, inspired others to do the same.  Generosity became contagious on that day.

The words with which Paul closes his letter to the Philippians (above) seem an appropriate way for us to begin this new year.  Instead of dwelling on what is incomplete in ourselves and wrong in the world, Paul says, train your thoughts on the higher virtues, higher goals.  And don’t just go there with your mind—let your feet, your hands, your hearts come along, too. “Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.”

In his reflection for January 1st, Father Richard Rohr wrote something that gives me great hope.[2]  “Even after fifty years of practicing contemplation,” he writes, “my immediate response to most situations includes attachment, defensiveness, judgment, con­trol, and analysis. I am better at calculating than contemplating.  A good New Year’s practice for us would be to admit that that most of us start there.” I find his utter transparency inspiring.  When he goes on to talk about his “hour-by-hour battle” to embrace the True Self, which is always controlled and blinded by “the defensive needs of the separate self,” I nod my head in recognition.  Then he goes on:  “I cannot risk losing touch with either my angels or my demons. They are both good teachers… The gaze of compassion, looking out at life from the place of divine intimacy is really all I have, and all I have to give, even though I don’t always do it.”  In this second gaze, which God ever invites us into, “critical thinking and compassion are finally coming together,” allowing us to see the other “with God’s own eyes, the eyes of compassion.”

When Rohr, a fellow Christian I admire, speaks freely about his own limitations and God’s constant invitation to taste and see God’s goodness and compassion, then there is hope for me!

I expect no miracle cures for myself or the world in 2021.  But I hold fast to the promise that the One who chose to pitch his tent among us in Jesus will continue to companion us along the way, inviting us to “pay forward” with no small measure of delight the undeserved favor we have received from his hand.

With you on the Way,

Pastor Erik

[1] See the article by Cathy Free in the 12/14/20 edition of the Washington Post. https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/2020/12/14/dairy-queen-drive-thru-chain/

[2] You can find his full reflection here: https://cac.org/the-second-gaze-2021-01-01/?utm_source=cm&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=dm&utm_content=summary

Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live!” 

– Ezekiel 37:9

Dearly Beloved,

As November arrives, there’s a deep sense that we Americans (and others around the world) are holding our collective breath as we await results from the most contentious election season in our lifetimes.  With so much at stake, there is plenty to keep us up at night contemplating alternative futures.  My bedtime reading over the last month has been a book entitled: BREATH – The New Science of a Lost Art, by James Nestor.[1]  It’s a fascinating read that relates the history of breathing as told by the skulls of our evolutionary forebearers, explores breathing traditions and techniques from cultures ancient and contemporary, unravels why we modern day human beings are plagued with so many breathing-related illnesses, and offers concrete suggestions for dealing with—among other things—snoring and sleep apnea.  Here’s one teaser on why nose breathing is better than mouth breathing:  “The nose filters, heats and treats raw air. Most of us know that. But so many of us don’t realize — at least I didn’t realize — how [inhaling through the nose] can trigger different hormones to flood into our bodies, how it can lower our blood pressure … how it monitors heart rate … even helps store memories. So it’s this incredible organ that … orchestrates innumerable functions in our body to keep us balanced.” [2]

Since I began reading Nestor’s book at bedtime, I’ve dedicated myself to being more conscious about my breath, and becoming a concerted nose breather. (Survey my family and you’ll find them weary of my daily enjoinder: “Remember to breathe through your nose!”) Thus far, I can say without a doubt that this new habit has me reaping benefits!

Over the past two months Nestor’s insights into breathing have become more profound as I’ve contemplated the impact COVID-19 has on the lungs of its victims and the deadly refrain uttered by victims of police brutality—“I can’t breathe!”  My reflections took on an even more personal dimension when I learned in September that my brother Peter, after years of declining lung capacity, was taking steps to become eligible for a lung transplant.  On the heels of having his eligibility confirmed mid-October, he received word that a compatible set of donor lungs was available.  The transplant surgery took place on Reformation Sunday while we were in the midst of Live Stream worship. One of the many challenges Peter faces as he recovers is learning to breath more deeply.  Coughing hard is a necessary and critical regimen which will help him do that.  (Your prayers that Peter cough harder and inhale deeper each day are solicited and appreciated!)

In the Valley of Dry Bones story from the book of Ezekiel, the bones of God’s people cry out in despair, “Our hope is lost; we are cut off completely!”  With COVID-19 cases once again surging; with mounting evidence that the results of the November 3^rd election will be contested; with the cumulative cannibalizing effects of administration policies upon the health of air, land, and sea[3] and the institutions essential to our democracy, it would be easy for us to arrive at a place of despair—OUR HOPE IS LOST!  OUR BREATH IS GONE!   But for we who place our trust in THE ONE whose animating breath brings even dry, desiccated bones back to life, giving up is not an option!  No matter what may transpire on November 3^rd, we are not alone!  We are part of a community, a great procession of God’s people through time, who have held up—and been held by—the stories and testimonies of God’s faithful accompaniment in their lives, come what may.

Last week, as I prepared for All Saints Sunday worship, I found a painting by John August Swanson that spoke of the vast community of saints, past and present, who walk beside us on this pilgrimage of life.  Immediately, I wanted to use his painting for the cover of our All Saints worship guide. The painting is entitled THE PROCESSION.  When I called the phone number given on the artist’s website to inquire about permission to use the art in our publications, who should answer but Mr. Swanson himself.  What followed was a delightful conversation in which we spoke of his work, discovered personal connections, and talked about art’s role in providing new ways of seeing and experiencing the world.  Of his work, THE PROCESSION, Mr. Swanson says:  “The places that inspired this image are the beautiful cathedrals I have seen in Europe and Mexico… sacred places used for procession.  There are sacred places throughout the world for all beliefs, places that have special meaning in the lives of people who journey to get there.  We, in our communities of faith, are a procession of stories, stories both unique and shared, stories connected to those who have gone before us and those who will come after us.”  Theologian Alejandro Garcia-Rivera says that when we imagine ourselves being part of this great PROCESSION, we begin to realize that “our story is part of a larger story, a Big Story of Heaven coming to Earth and bringing forth new life.” ⁴

In the times such as these, when we find ourselves holding our collective breath, God’s Spirit becomes present among us. This SPIRIT—literally God’s BREATH—awakens us to the PROCESSION God is leading and calls us to seize upon the invitation to join it once more.  For to be part of this PROCESSION is to be numbered among that great multitude from every nation, tribe, people, and language,  which is making their Way to where “all things are being made new.”

We cannot choose the times and circumstances in which we live, nor determine on our own the outcomes of elections.  But we can choose to gird ourselves with hope and to walk the WAY Christ showed us, even when the odds are against it.  Historian Howard Zinn, author of The People’s History of the United States, puts it this way: “What we choose to emphasize in [our] complex history will determine our lives.  If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something.  If we remember those times and places…where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act…  And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future.  The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.” 

We’re all in the procession together—so let us BREATHE DEEPLY, ACT BOLDLY, LOVE FULLY!

Pastor Erik

[1] You can find Terry Gross’ Fresh Air interview with Nestor HERE.

[2] Nestor has a whole section linking nose breathing to a reduction in the need for orthodontic intervention.

[3] The latest casualty: the Tongass National Forest, America’s last “climate sanctuary” and the “lungs of North America.” https://www.seattletimes.com/nation-world/nation/trump-to-strip-protections-from-tongass-national-forest-among-worlds-biggest-intact-temperate-rainforests/

[4] You can find the painting and his commentary on it, with quotations used here @: http://www.johnaugustswanson.com/default.cfm/PID%3d1.2-22.html

“I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat.” – Matthew 25:35

Beloved of God,

October is a harvest month.  The pumpkins and squash are getting rip, the last of the summer garden produce is being harvested, fresh apples are being picked and making their way to the market.  It’s time for “bringing in the sheaves”—the harvested grain—a sign of God’s providence and plenty.   Our family has long had a tradition of traveling to Jubilee Farm  in the Snoqualmie Valley to join in making fresh apple cider, ride in a wagon behind a team of horses to the pumpkin patch, and witness the hourly hurling of the sacrificial pumpkin using the farm’s famous trebuchet. What fun!  We come back each year with renewed appreciation for what the good Earth produces and for those who work that fertile land so that others may eat.

Yet, in the midst of this time when we celebrate Nature’s plenitude, as Bishop Shelley Wee notes in her column below, nearly 1 in 8 families in our country doesn’t have enough to eat.  The pandemic has only increased the “food insecurity” that many had already been experiencing.  There are a number of ways we can respond to this.  One is through our steady relationship with the White Center and West Seattle Food Banks, both of which have seen a huge uptick in demand since last spring.  Our last Sunday of the month collection of food during worship isn’t an option right now.  The Seafarers Garden helps to fill the gap.  In addition, our AGAPE FUND serves people in desperate need through grocery gift cards as well as other funds for bridging a gap when no other resources are available.  You can read also ready about the importance of ADVOCACY via the Offering of Letters campaign in the pages that follow.  And now, there is another avenue for reaching out:  THE LITTLE FREE PANTRY.

Over a few weekends in August and September, a crew of Peacefolk, using materials donated from Dunn Lumber (arranged by Karl Coy), and seed money from a Thrivent Action Grant, constructed a free-standing, moveable, weatherproof pantry for the neighborhood and anyone in need.  When God calls us to care for the neighbor, God provides what we need to fulfill that call.

Look for the pantry on our westside patio soon!

With you, on the Way.

Pastor Erik

From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.

– Matthew 16:21

Beloved of God,

I don’t know about you, but our household is approaching September and the resumption of Fall schedules  with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.  In a normal year we’d be shopping for back to school clothes and classroom supplies.  Not this year.  In a normal year there’d be excitement about reconnecting in person with friends, and swapping stories about summer adventures.  Not this year.  In a normal year we’d be anticipating school bus schedules, marching band performances at football games, ultimate frisbee tournaments, music concerts, fall festivals and auctions.  Not this year.  September feels decidedly different.  The same is true for the life we share as Peace Lutheran community.  We’re being forced to adapt normal rhythms to new realities, hoping that—at the end of the day—it won’t simply feel inferior.  The excitement and anticipation we experienced one year ago as we counted down the weeks to our 75^th Anniversary Celebration seems like a lifetime ago.  I can’t tell you how often I have offered prayers of thanksgiving that this milestone landed in the fall of 2019 and not in 2020!

Each fall, it’s been our custom here to mark special emphases on a half dozen Sundays—from Rally Sunday to St. Francis’s Feast Day, to Offering of Letters Sunday, Reformation, All Saints, and Christ the King.  What will things look like this year, with in-person worship not be an option for the foreseeable future?  As I write, our worship planning team is in the thick of addressing this question.  One thing’s for certain—though our worship life this Fall may not resemble what we’re used to experiencing, our faithful Lord will continue to show up—and unleash creative gifts, via the Spirit, among us.

In recent weeks, Fr. Richard Rohr has focused his daily meditations on what he calls “the universal pattern” that connects and solidifies our relationships with everything around us.  This pattern, he says, begins with ORDER, moves into DISORDER, and finally to REORDER.^[1]  The laws, rules, and traditions we inherit help to establish the sense of safety and identity which is the rightful first focus on our life journey, but these cannot deliver the deeper meaning we long for.  “Sooner or later some event, person, death, idea, or relationship will enter our lives that we simply cannot deal with using our present skill set, our acquired knowledge, or our…will power. We must stumble and be brought to our knees by reality…we will and must ‘lose’ something.”  This is, Rohr writes, “the necessary pattern.” Only by being forced out of the driver’s seat can we set our feet onto the further and larger journey.

In many ways, this is what’s happening to our lives right now—individually and collectively—as the pandemic, our nation’s racist foundations, a contentious election year, and nature’s warning alarms push us further and further into DISORDER.  There is no work-around for this process; no shortcuts that can get us from ORDER to REORDER without going through DISORDER.  The only way forward for Jesus was through—through disorder, through suffering, through rejection, through death.  Only then was the stage set for resurrection—the ultimate expression of what the final stage—REORDER—is about. Having been down that road, Jesus is perfectly positioned to be our guide as we put one foot in front of the other through these uncertain times.

Being bound to him in baptism means we can count on the chaos of DISORDER intruding into our story, as it did his.  But we can also trust that DISORDER is not the final place where this unfolding story is meant to rest.  The courage we gain from having him as our companion enables us not to flee the DISORDER, but to call it out, to name it, to see it clearly; and then to commit ourselves to respond with compassion and justice—holding both together as Jesus himself did.

With you on the Way, Pastor Erik

[1] You can find Richard Rohr’s daily reflections on this topic here: https://cac.org/order-disorder-reorder-part-two-weekly-summary-2020-08-22/

There was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces…but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.  – 1 Kings 19:11b-13

Beloved of God,

For many of us, living through the pandemic has meant letting go of life rhythms we’ve known and counted on—people, places, and habits that once grounded us.  This letting go, for some, has led to significant isolation; while for others it’s led to the rediscovery of walkable neighborhoods and creative ways of staying connected.  Our family has particularly enjoyed brief camping forays to Lutherwood and elsewhere, and physically distanced backyard dinners with friends.  The safety calculus—avoiding the virus—has become the dominant lens for all of us.  And while there are many things we miss—for me in-person Sunday worship is first among many; even at its best, live stream worship is no substitute for being with the physically gathered community!—we have grown accustomed to our forced flexibility.  And perhaps are less apt to take things for granted.

Where do we expect to find God these days?  How do we expect God to show up for us? 

The Scriptures record many stories of how, through the ages, people and prophets have had to come to terms with new ways of understanding who God is and how God might show up among us.  The quote above comes from the story of the prophet Elijah, whose battle against Israel’s worst king on record—King Ahab—and his evil wife Jezebel had taken its toll.  Even after pitching a shutout against the 450 priests of Baal in one of the most celebrated contests recorded in the Hebrew scriptures, (check it out—1 Kings 18:20-40) Elijah was feeling more vulnerable than confident.  So when, in the aftermath of that encounter, Queen Jezebel puts a bounty on his head, Elijah flees for his life, journeying 40 days and 40 nights to the holy mountain of God – Horeb. Elijah arrives there feeling depressed, defeated, fearful and alone.  He wonders whether all his efforts for God’s sake have been for naught.  Exhausted, he crawls into this cave and he waits for a sign.[1]

There’s a lot packed into this story, into what precedes it and what comes after it, but three verses captured my attention this week.  Elijah is commanded: “Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.”  And so Elijah, bone weary, looks toward the mouth of the cave.  This is what happens next:

There was a great wind, so strong it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind;

and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake;

and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire;

and after the fire, a sound of sheer silence…

It’s when Elijah hears that SILENCE—so deep, so pervasive that it tugs at his ears—that he wraps his mantle around his head, crawls to the mouth of the cave, and he stands up before the LORD. Elijah has been around God long enough to learn that God may just show up in ways we least expect—not through outsized events or huge natural phenomenon or feats of strength, but in the form of sheer silence (RSV: “still small voice”).

The answer to the question: WHERE WILL GOD SHOW UP FOR US DURING THE PANDEMIC? may surprise us.  The story of Elijah invites us to not come to conclusions too quickly about where we can find God, but to remain open to how and where we see God manifested during this vulnerable time. To listen for that “still small voice” which can only be heard when we learn to filter out all the other loud, boisterous, public, competing voices which vie for our attention.

With you, on the Way.

Pastor Erik

[1] Sidebar: Some of the ancient manuscripts, in verse 9, call it “a cave” where Elijah found refuge. That’s how it’s translated in the NRSV.  But others name it “the cave”; definite article  What’s the difference?  The first version suggests it was any old cave.  Version two suggests that this could be the very cave where Moses hid when we saw the backside of God.  See Exodus 33:17-23.

The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; 

then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.

– Matthew 13:44

Beloved of God,

Massive shifts are under way in our society and world, and it remains to be seen how it all will sort out.  As we mark Independence Day, the symbols and sound bites that traditionally accompany our celebrations—like phrase “liberty and justice for all”—are sounding differently on our ears. The Black Lives Matter movement and the question of how or whether to “defund” police department budgets; the sharp rise in COVID-19 cases around the nation and the ongoing economic turmoil that attends the pandemic; the looming election; the question of what school and college education will look like in the fall—the list goes on and on.  It’s too much, really.  With no relief in sight.  What are we to do?

Reinhold Niebuhr, the great mid-20^th century theologian, who became known for an approach of Christian engagement in the world known as Christian realism, once articulated the human task this way:

Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as it is from our standpoint. Therefore we must be saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness. (The Irony of American History)

While personally and collectively we are called to “act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God” (Micah 6), we must understand that our conclusions and actions our neither perfect or pristine.  Shades of grey cover the field.  Motives are mixed.  Hazards abound.  We cannot see clearly.  Yet, choices must be made.

Thomas Merton, in a letter he wrote to young activist named James Forest, says it this way:

“Do not depend on the hope of results.  When you are doing the sort of work you have taken on, essentially an apostolic work, you may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless and even achieve no results at all, if not perhaps results opposite to what you expect.  As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results but on the value, the truth of the work itself.  And there, too, a great deal has to be gone through, as gradually you struggle less and less for an idea and more and more for specific people.  The range tends to narrow down, but it gets much more real.  In the end, it is the reality of personal relationships that saves everything. . . The real hope, then, is not in something we think we can do, but in God who is making something good out of it in some way we cannot see.  If we can do God’s will, we will be helping out in the process.  But we will not necessarily know all about it beforehand.” (1st Vol. of Merton’s Letters).

Personally, I’m going to try to channel a bit of the wisdom that I picked up from a dear colleague of blessed memory, and recommit myself to being a less anxious presence in a world turn asunder by turmoil.  I have a notion that, focusing first on that task, I’ll be more likely to stumble upon that treasure hidden in a field.

With you, on the Way.

Pastor Erik

When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, for they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. – Matthew 9:36

People of God,

Stories of being followed, stopped, harassed, threatened, intimidated, tased, arrested, falsely accused and otherwise abused by police officers sworn “to protect and serve” the public good are so legion and so deeply rooted in the experi­ence of people of color that it is has long since come to be treated as a fact of life.  Because of this, parents, when their children reach a certain age, sit them down for “The Talk,” laying out rules for engagement that must be followed if their children are to sur­vive in a dominant culture that—regardless of facts or intent—perceives them as threat, as hostile, as guilty because of the color of their skin.  For generations, parents have given the same lecture to their children: Don’t act out.  Stay away from bad places.  Avoid confrontations.  A list of do’s and don’ts every black person should follow if they want to avoid being bru­talized or killed by police officers or other white people.[1]  But after high profile and deadly confrontations in Minneapolis (George Floyd), Louisville, (Breonna Taylor), and Brunswick, Georgia, (Ahmaud Arbery) in recent months, what exactly should black parents be telling their kids now?  And what should white parents be telling their kids?

As a white parent, I didn’t give my children “The Talk”; it never entered my consciousness as some­thing I would ever need to do.  This is the definition of white privilege—the working assumption that systems of justice, government struc­tures, and public institutions that hold power in our society will, by and large, work well for me and mine and serve our in­terests.  Thanks to my younger kids’ multicultural peer groups and friendships, the teachers in their K-8 school and high school, and conversations that come up around our dinner table, Kai and Naomi are much more aware and conversant with issues of race than I was as a kid growing up in Montana and Minnesota.  The years of childhood I spent in Minnesota—grades 4-10—left me with overwhelmingly positive memories.  Now, the Minnesota I see portrayed on the television and the evidence of injustice from police forces that I’ve always taken for granted were “on my side” have me questioning what underbelly of the Midwest culture I’ve been missing.  This questioning moved deeper last week after conversations I had with my older son Nathan and his wife Dehydra, who live in the same Longfellow neighborhood where George Floyd was murdered; and deeper still when I read a post from a young black woman in Minneapolis, a hospital worker, named Emily Otiso, which my son had shared with me.  Here’s an excerpt:

“As a black woman I *know* that my brother’s life, that my life, is worthless in the eyes of the criminal ‘justice’ sys­tem. As someone who has lived in 5 states and traveled to 30 others, I have said, and will continue to say, that Min­nesota is the most racist state I have ever lived in.  I am constantly treated like a criminal in my own community.

I am constantly living in fear because of my race.  I have lived with these feelings for as long as I can remember, long before Black Lives Matter started trending. There are no words to describe the weight of the burden you bear when your skin is ‘the wrong color.’

“What is happening is not just about George Floyd. His murder and the protection given to his murderers set off the racial powder keg here, in the most racist city in which I have lived, in America, a country composed of 400 years institutionalized racism, systemic oppression, police brutality, implicit bias, micro aggressions, and countless other legalized and socially acceptable ways in which our country keeps its knee on the neck of black communities.

“This pandemic has affected all of us and has, without a doubt, contributed to the violence that has erupted in our city. Covid-19 has led to people losing their jobs and filing for unemployment, it has led to frontline workers beg­ging for proper protection because their lives depend on it, and it has taken a massive toll on our country’s mental health. I implore you to take a moment to consider the parallels between this crisis and the crisis black communities face on a daily basis.”

For decades, incidents of police brutality were largely hidden from public view.  But ever since the 1991 video showing Rodney King, an unarmed black man, being brutally assaulted by four white Los Angeles police officers, the reality and fre­quency of abuse has been increasingly laid bare.  Over 1,000 people have been fatally shot by the police in the past year, according to The Washington Post.  And on May 25^th, in broad daylight, in the presence of eyewitnesses and with camera phones rolling, we watched four Minneapolis police officers ignore the pleas both of victim and bystanders alike, and en­gage in the slow, tortuous asphyxiation of Mr. Floyd.  The resulting protests and riots in cities throughout the country, in­cluding Seattle, have set loose a cauldron of raw emotions, peaceful and determined protests, acts of looting and arson, confrontations, property destruction, newly alleged incidents of police brutality, and National Guard deployments.

As some of you know, one of my public roles is serving as a Volunteer Chaplain with the Seattle Police Department.  This role has given me the opportunity to see police officers and their work up close on a number of occasions.  I’ve sat through regular roll calls and through debriefings after major shooter incidents; I’ve met officers at the homes of persons who have just committed suicide; I’ve listened to young officers who were experiencing circumstances for the first time and wanted to “get it right”; I’ve watched officers who’ve worked double shifts stand for hours in the heat, speaking compas­sionately to folks who’ve suddenly lost their loved ones; I’ve participated at the memorials of officers killed in the line of duty.  My take?  Just like pastors, not all police officers are the same.  Like pastors, officers are drawn to their vocation for a number of different reasons.  Like pastors, some have more gifts and aptitudes for the work than others. Like pastors, some perform well and others poorly; some are successful and others less so.  We cannot place every officer into a single bucket of attributes and tendencies or make assumptions about what motivates them.  Perhaps most importantly, the overall cul­ture of the police department where officers serve out their careers plays an outsized role in shaping the kind of public servants they become.  In Minneapolis, that culture has, by many accounts, been toxic to black citizens.  And police depart­ments across the country, since 9/11, have become more militarized in their weapons and tactics in the face of perceived and real terrorist threats.

Where are the signs of hope?  How about Flint, Michigan, (yes, that Flint) where Genesee County Sheriff Christopher Swanson, standing before a crowd of outraged protestors, told them “we want to be with you all for real,” and proceeded to take off his helmet and have his officers put down their batons.  When the protestors applauded, he asked them what he and the other officers needed to do, to which the crowd chanted their reply: WALK WITH US…WALK WITH US…WALK WITH US!  And so he did.  “We are walking with you,” he told the crowd, “because all you’re asking for is a voice and dignity for all, no matter who you are.”[2]  Resolutions are possible when, looking across the barricade, we see other human beings, not enemies.

When Jesus, as he moved through the cities and towns of Galilee, saw crowds of desperate, needy people, his response was one of deep compassion. The Hebrew word for compassion shares the same root as the word for womb.[3]  To have com­passion is to have a womb for someone—that is, to treat that person just like the one who once carried her in­side her own body; to remember how loved that person was even before eyes were ever laid upon her.  You can’t practice that kind of love without becoming vulnerable yourself.  That’s what Sheriff Swanson did in Flint; that’s what Jesus did again and again.

Let me be clear: People of color in this country have lived with vulnerability and trauma ever since the first slave ships docked on these shores 400 years ago.  Jesus is not asking people of African descent to maintain their position of vulnerabil­ity while they await some form of redemption.  Instead, he’s asking—commanding—those of us who, by virtue of race, gen­der, economic power, or social status live privileged lives, to come clean about that privilege, to learn to recognize the con­tinuing vulnerability of neighbors like George Floyd and Emily Otiso, to refuse to accept the status quo any longer, and to become part of the movement for sustainable, systemic change.   For some of us that may well mean a non-violent pres­ence on the street—marching or cleaning up the examples of defacement left by others.  For others of us it may mean working within our families, work contexts, among peers, and in our neighborhoods to make our solidarity and com­mitments visible.  For all of us it means giving new expression to God’s dream to “love our neighbors as ourselves.”

This is a moment in our culture to be seized upon for good.  Let none of us be bystanders.

Pádraig Ó Tuama, former leader of the Corrymeela Community in Northern Ireland writes:

In these moments the past and the future pivot.

In these moments the inner life of reflection

can help us reach out for the outer life of reconciliation.

We turn to each other.

We ask the difficult question.

We hear the difficult answer.

It changes us. We turn to each other.

We have the possibility of making something new together.

Our prayer deepens our action.

May we all be reconciled

living in the unity for which all were created.

Despite all the death that surrounds us, the injustices, the pains, the losses, the laments, God’s compassionate womb holds every one of us—on whichever side of death we find ourselves.  But God does more than hold us.  In Jesus, God sum­mons us to a compassionate Way of living in community, of exorcizing the demons of racism and white privilege, and of journeying with him on the path of solidarity and reconciliation.

Yours in Christ, Pastor Erik

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[1] Does “the talk” work anymore:  https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/black-parents-wonder-if-the-talk-is-still-effective-in-keeping-their-children-safe/ar-BB14LFV2

[2] See New York Times article documenting the event: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/31/us/flint-sheriff-protestors-camden-police-ferguson.html

[3] Frederick Niedner. 

“You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” – Psalm 23

Beloved of God,

Each year, the 4^th Sunday of Easter is celebrated as Good Shepherd Sunday, and the 23^rd Psalm, a favorite for over 3,000 years, comes back into view.  Some of you remember committing this psalm to memory, as I did, during confirmation class.  Though new translations of this psalm have made their way into print through the years, it’s the language I put to memory 50 years ago that comes to my lips whenever the occasion warrants.  This year we’ll be incorporating several musical versions of the psalm in our LIVE STREAM service on May 3^rd.  I hope you’ll tune in.

An enduring memory from our family visit to Glendalough, the Irish monastic community founded by St. Kevin in the 6^th century, is walking in the rain along the boardwalk past grazing sheep, and then turning to find a brilliant rainbow touching down in the vary place where Kevin founded his church. That experience wedded the rainbow sign of God’s promise not to abandon this creation with the psalm of David: The Lord is my shepherd; my cup overflows.

St. Kevin was known for his connection to the creatures of the natural world.  Though not a shepherd, during his days as a hermit he relished spending long hours communing with the animals who he came to know there.  There’s a story about him holding out his hand to a blackbird one day.  When the bird finds Kevin’s hand a suitable place for building its nest, Kevin remains there—his arm outstretched—all through the ensuing cycle of nest building, egg laying, egg hatching, and fledging.  (Irish poet laureate Seamus Heaney wrote a poem about this story, which you can find here.)  It seems that “The LORD is my shepherd” expanded, for Kevin, into a lifelong ethos of caring for creatures and marveling at the abundance of God which “overflows.”  More at home in some ways with animal beings than with his fellow human beings, Kevin practiced tender kinship with God’s creatures 700 years before St. Francis was born.

The image of Jesus as Good Shepherd is one of the oldest in the Christian tradition.  You can find it painted on the walls of the Christian catacombs outside of Rome.  It testifies to the tenderness with which he cares for us and the fierceness with which he defends us from that which would do us harm.  Those who know his voice are secure; their cup “overflows.”

During this time when so much of what we know is collapsing; when the whole world is holding its collective breath while awaiting relief and the opportunity to move back into familiar rhythms, we are called to trust that we are being held, blessed, and offered abundant life by a Shepherd who walks alongside us. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”  Trusting the truth behind these words, trusting in the accompaniment of the Good Shepherd, allows us the confidence to reach beyond ourselves and show concern and care to others.  Many of you are doing just that—finding ways despite social distancing to express caring and love to others who desperately need it during this pandemic.

Last week I was called to the bedside of a man I’d never met who was dying from cancer.  There, in the home he shared with his husband, I offered assurance that the Good Shepherd would hold him fast as he made the final journey to the life beyond this life.  This promise brought him a peace that awaits all of us when we hold fast to the promise the “neither life nor death, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

With you, on the Way,

Pastor Erik

“The import of the commandment against killing is this: In the first place, we should not harm anyone… In the second place, this commandment is violated not only when a person actually does evil, but also when he fails to do good to his neighbor, or, though he has the opportunity, fails to prevent, protect and save him from suffering bodily harm or injury.”

– Martin Luther, The Large Catechism

Beloved of God,

The church building is a quiet place these days.  Too quiet.  As I’ve ridden my bicycle to Peace in recent weeks, there have been days when not a single car has crossed my path.  Much of any given day I’m the only body here at Peace.  Yes, the building is abnormally quiet—and yet my days are full of people: phone calls, ZOOM meetings, collaborations with Peace staff and leader, conversations with pastoral colleagues, virtual huddles with our Tech Team to produce videos and plan ways for maintaining connection with each other during this time of forced separation.

The shift to this new world happened so swiftly that many of us found ourselves reeling; yet many of us are finding ways to acclimate ourselves to this new normal, which we now know will be in place at least through May 4^th.  In the process of acclimation, some of us are discovering capacities we didn’t know we had.  A recent phone call to the Sunde household revealed that, with a little ingenuity and a few strategic purchases, face shields were being made for a local medical team.  Another phone exchange revealed how Michael T. was becoming the “go-to” coffee and chocolate supplier to his neighborhood using Fair Trade items that would otherwise sit untouched in the Peace narthex.  Working from their home studio, Jon and James have recorded music to embroider my weekly audio and video messages; and Laura B. has been writing original music to accompany the Holy Week reflections written by Boots W—and on it goes. The upshot?  This novel virus is unleashing novel ways of serving others—God’s Spirit is alive and well among us and for that we can give thanks!

If your household has discovered new ways of connecting with and serving others, I’d love to hear about it!  Please share it with me via phone or email.

Brother Martin, in excavating the deeper layers of the 5^th Commandment, reveals that at its core the prohibition to murder is more than a line in the sand God commands us not to cross—it is an invitation to proactively look out for the welfare of our neighbor.  This kind of proactive commitment to care for those around us is in high demand these days.  As much as our focus of care surely should be on those within our family and household circle, can we also extend our field of vision to include neighbors who may have needs we can help address?  I know that many of you are doing just that—and doing so while maintaining proper safety protocols!  You, my friends, are doing God’s work!  While the 24/7 flood of dire news about this pandemic can have a debilitating effect on us, making us cautious about every interaction, and causing us to turn in on ourselves, it need not be so among us.  Through the centuries people of faith have demonstrated in a variety of ways both great and small what neighbor-love can look like.  We continue in that long stream.

Pastor Erik