“Making a whip of cords, Jesus drove them out of the temple…

He told them, ‘Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!’”

– John 2:15-16

Pilgrims on the way,

Misplaced religious zeal has done much, through the ages, to dishonor the name Christian: The Crusades; the Inquisition; the witch trials; the religiously sanctioned system of racial caste; century upon century of wars in which confessors of Christ drew swords or fired weapons at one another across battle lines or, with weapons as instruments of “Manifest Destiny,” seized—as gifts from God’s hands—the lands and resources that had sustained New World peoples for thousands of years.  Such zeal continues, newly resurgent, in our own time—especially of the quasi-religious/political variety, as the Capitol insurrection of January 6 attests. All too often in the long history of humanity, being zealous has translated into being dangerous and destructive.

So we have good reason to be cautious when, partway through Lent, we come face to face with acts of zeal on the part Jesus himself.  Jesus goes to a Sacred Place, and finds instead a market place.  He sees how love of God has been replaced by a system of commerce makes relationship with God a transactional affair.  His reaction is immediate and visceral: Jesus is outraged  Filled with passionate zeal, he acts—tables fly, money scatters, and out comes a whip to drive the whole operation—man and beast—out of God’s House.  STOP MAKING MY FATHER’S HOUSE A MARKET-PLACE! he shouts.

Zeal is not a word we tend to want to associate with Jesus, much less our Lutheran selves.  Zeal may be OK for Pentecostals, or Southern Baptists. But Lutherans?  “Dogged”—that’s a good word; or “staunch.” Staunch Lutherans.  And maybe, on occasion, like our namesake Brother Martin, “bold.”  But we steer clear of “zeal,” don’t we?  And after the long history of zealous religion gone bad, we have a right—an obligation—to be more than a little cautious, don’t we?  Besides, living under the pressure of a pandemic, it seems that we have to hedge a bit on everything we do, even if that means chastening our faith’s bold feathers and clipping its sharp claws.

Here’s the question then: Is there any room in today’s church for the kind of ZEAL we see in Jesus, the kind of HOLY HAVOC that calls systems of injustice what they are and seeks to overturn them?  Is there a way to be zealous that doesn’t involve dehumanizing the other?  That doesn’t involve attacking or denigrating?  A way that doesn’t depend on violence to achieve its ends?

Nobel laureate (and Lutheran) Leymah Bgowee, who with other Liberian women—Christian and Muslim—started a movement that ultimately brought peace in their country after fifteen years of brutal civil war and the deaths of 200,000 people, tells her story in her memoir, Mighty Be our Powers.[1]  This is what she says:

“During the years that civil war tore us apart, foreign reporters often came to document the nightmare. [Their accounts] are all about the power of destruction [and inevitably focus on men.]  In the traditional telling of war stories, women are always in the background.  Our suffering is just a sidebar to the main tale… During the war in Liberia, almost no one reported the other reality—[the reality] of women’s lives.

• How we hid our husbands and sons from soldiers looking to recruit or kill them.
• How, in the midst of chaos, we walked miles to find food and water for our families.
• How we kept life going so that there would be something left to build on when peace returned.
• And how we created strength in sisterhood, and spoke out for peace on behalf of all Liberians.

“This [story I tell] is not a traditional war story.  It is about an army of women in white standing up when no one else would—unafraid, because the worst things imaginable had already happened to us.  It is about how we found the moral clarity, persistence and bravery to raise our voices against war and restore sanity to our land.”[2]

Read her story and then ask yourself, is not the zeal of Leymah Bgowee and the women in white who stared down unjust, self-serving war lords, who PRAYED THE DEVIL BACK TO HELL,[3] is not their zeal the very kind of zeal we find in our gospel?  The kind our world needs in order to get to a place it’s seldom if ever been?

Coming in the heart of Lent, Women’s History Month is an excellent time for becoming better acquainted with the lives and stories of women of faith who, like Leymah Bgowee, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa, Fannie Lou Hammer, Ella Baker, and on and on, lived out their calling with a zeal that was life-giving instead of life-taking.  You have names of your own to add to that list.  Some whom you know personally.  Some whom you aspire to know—and emulate.  According to the gospels, Jesus’ engagement in holy havoc set in motion his adversaries’ desire to be rid of him permanently.  What they couldn’t see is how the zeal that ultimately led to his death was a necessary step in midwifing God’s dream to birth.  What no one could see is that his death was not the final act but rather the prelude to what would take place “on the third day.”

With you on the Way,

Pastor Erik

[1] Mighty Be our Powers (New York: Beast Books, 2011)

[2] Ibid.  Prologue, p. ix, x.

[3] A film by this title tells the story of the Liberian women for peace who successfully pressured their leaders to engage in peace talks.  Bill Moyers Journal featured Leymah Bgowee and the film’s producer Abigail Disney in an interview on June 19, 2009.  Find it @ http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/06192009/watch.html The film Pray the Devil Back to Hell can be purchased through this website: http://www.forkfilmsdvdsales.com/

Artist Ric Darrell, based on Zeffirelli film,
Jesus of Nazareth

“Making a whip of cords, Jesus drove them out of the temple… He told them, ‘Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!’”

– John 2:15-16

Pilgrims on the way,

Misplaced religious zeal has done much, through the ages, to dishonor the name Christian: The Crusades; the Inquisition; the witch trials; the religiously sanctioned system of racial caste; century upon century of wars in which confessors of Christ drew swords or fired weapons at one another across battle lines or, with weapons as instruments of “Manifest Destiny,” seized—as gifts from God’s hands—the lands and resources that had sustained New World peoples for thousands of years.  Such zeal continues, newly resurgent, in our own time—especially of the quasi-religious/political variety, as the Capitol insurrection of January 6 attests. All too often in the long history of humanity, being zealous has translated into being dangerous and destructive.

So we have good reason to be cautious when, partway through Lent, we come face to face with acts of zeal on the part Jesus himself.  Jesus goes to a Sacred Place, and finds instead a market place.  He sees how love of God has been replaced by a system of commerce makes relationship with God a transactional affair.  His reaction is immediate and visceral: Jesus is outraged  Filled with passionate zeal, he acts—tables fly, money scatters, and out comes a whip to drive the whole operation—man and beast—out of God’s House.  STOP MAKING MY FATHER’S HOUSE A MARKET-PLACE! he shouts.

Zeal is not a word we tend to want to associate with Jesus, much less our Lutheran selves.  Zeal may be OK for Pentecostals, or Southern Baptists. But Lutherans?  “Dogged”—that’s a good word; or “staunch.” Staunch Lutherans.  And maybe, on occasion, like our namesake Brother Martin, “bold.”  But we steer clear of “zeal,” don’t we?  And after the long history of zealous religion gone bad, we have a right—an obligation—to be more than a little cautious, don’t we?  Besides, living under the pressure of a pandemic, it seems that we have to hedge a bit on everything we do, even if that means chastening our faith’s bold feathers and clipping its sharp claws.

Here’s the question then: Is there any room in today’s church for the kind of ZEAL we see in Jesus, the kind of HOLY HAVOC that calls systems of injustice what they are and seeks to overturn them?  Is there a way to be zealous that doesn’t involve dehumanizing the other?  That doesn’t involve attacking or denigrating?  A way that doesn’t depend on violence to achieve its ends?

Nobel laureate (and Lutheran) Leymah Bgowee, who with other Liberian women—Christian and Muslim—started a movement that ultimately brought peace in their country after fifteen years of brutal civil war and the deaths of 200,000 people, tells her story in her memoir, Mighty Be our Powers.[1]  This is what she says:

“During the years that civil war tore us apart, foreign reporters often came to document the nightmare. [Their accounts] are all about the power of destruction [and inevitably focus on men.]  In the traditional telling of war stories, women are always in the background.  Our suffering is just a sidebar to the main tale… During the war in Liberia, almost no one reported the other reality—[the reality] of women’s lives.

• How we hid our husbands and sons from soldiers looking to recruit or kill them.
• How, in the midst of chaos, we walked miles to find food and water for our families.
• How we kept life going so that there would be something left to build on when peace returned.
• And how we created strength in sisterhood, and spoke out for peace on behalf of all Liberians.

“This [story I tell] is not a traditional war story.  It is about an army of women in white standing up when no one else would—unafraid, because the worst things imaginable had already happened to us.  It is about how we found the moral clarity, persistence and bravery to raise our voices against war and restore sanity to our land.”[2]

Read her story and then ask yourself, is not the zeal of Leymah Bgowee and the women in white who stared down unjust, self-serving war lords, who PRAYED THE DEVIL BACK TO HELL,[3] is not their zeal the very kind of zeal we find in our gospel?  The kind our world needs in order to get to a place it’s seldom if ever been?

Coming in the heart of Lent, Women’s History Month is an excellent time for becoming better acquainted with the lives and stories of women of faith who, like Leymah Bgowee, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa, Fannie Lou Hammer, Ella Baker, and on and on, lived out their calling with a zeal that was life-giving instead of life-taking.  You have names of your own to add to that list.  Some whom you know personally.  Some whom you aspire to know—and emulate.  According to the gospels, Jesus’ engagement in holy havoc set in motion his adversaries’ desire to be rid of him permanently.  What they couldn’t see is how the zeal that ultimately led to his death was a necessary step in midwifing God’s dream to birth.  What no one could see is that his death was not the final act but rather the prelude to what would take place “on the third day.”

With you on the Way,

Pastor Erik

[1] Mighty Be our Powers (New York: Beast Books, 2011)

[2] Ibid.  Prologue, p. ix, x.

[3] A film by this title tells the story of the Liberian women for peace who successfully pressured their leaders to engage in peace talks.  Bill Moyers Journal featured Leymah Bgowee and the film’s producer Abigail Disney in an interview on June 19, 2009.  Find it @ http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/06192009/watch.html The film Pray the Devil Back to Hell can be purchased through this website: http://www.forkfilmsdvdsales.com/

“We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies…”

– Romans 8:22-23

Companions on the Way,

February is a bridge month, split between the brilliant light of Epiphany and the ensuing descent into Lent.  The last burst of Epiphany comes in a mountaintop vision of a transfigured Jesus holding council with Moses and Elijah—stand ins for Israel’s covenant and prophetic traditions.  Dazzled by the light, the three awestruck disciples who’ve made the hike with Jesus struggle to understand what it all might mean.  Peter finally settles on the idea that they ought to set up tents and stay awhile—why not let the adulation sink in!  He mistakes the martyr’s white Jesus is wearing for party attire.

I don’t blame Peter.  After all the day-by-day slogging through fear, loss, trauma and fickle internet connections the pandemic has brought upon us for twelve months running, I’m eager for a celebration, too!  The vaccines are beginning to do their thing, to slowly turn the tide.  But there is no magic by which we will be transported back to our pre-pandemic lives.  Even when the road ahead is lined with hope, the losses are real and close at hand; no inoculation can sweep them away. The bridge we cross this month moves us off the stage of luminous light and points us down the hill to the road leading to Jerusalem.  Over the threshold of that bridge are the words: “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  Never, in this generation, have these words bespoke such truth.

In a prose poem entitled WARNING TO THE READER, Robert Bly writes:[1]

Sometimes farm granaries become especially beautiful when all the oats or wheat are gone, and wind has swept the rough floor clean. Standing inside, we see around us, coming in through the cracks between shrunken wall boards, bands or strips of sunlight. So in a poem about imprisonment, one sees a little light.

But how many birds have died trapped in these granaries. The bird, seeing freedom in the light, flutters up the walls and falls back again and again. The way out is where the rats enter and leave; but the rat’s hole is low to the floor. Writers, be careful then by showing the sunlight on the walls not to promise the anxious and panicky blackbirds a way out!

I say to the reader, beware. Readers who love poems of light may sit hunched in the corner with nothing in their gizzards for four days, light failing, the eyes glazed . . .
They may end as a mound of feathers and a skull on the open boardwood floor . . .

On the Mount of Transfiguration, limned by such awe-full light, one could imagine—as the disciples did, as the birds in Bly’s poem did—that in those slats of light lies freedom!  But the downward wending trail of Lent testifies to the deeper truth: the only way out is down and through—through the rat’s hole.  The only true gateway to resurrection is the cross.

Our hope for this life and the next, finally, comes not from any power we have nor attribute we possess, but from trusting that we do not journey alone.  Christ journeys with us; we have each other; and are accompanied by the Spirit “who intercedes with sighs too deep for words.”  And that, dear ones, is enough.

With you on the Way,

Pastor Erik

[1] From his collection, What Have I Ever Lost by Dying? (New York: HarperCollins, 1992) p. 65

“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/