“Lord, thou hast been a refuge, from one generation to another.

Before the mountains were brought forth or ever the earth and the world were made,

 Thou art God from everlasting and world without end.”

 ~ Psalm 90:1 KJV

Beloved of God,

The moving choral setting of Psalm 90 by Ralph Vaughn Williams echoes through my mind as I write to you.  It’s a piece I learned while singing in the Choir of the West at Pacific Lutheran University (with Jon Lackey!); a song that, after countless rehearsals and numerous performances, has etched itself in my soul.  Vaughn Williams wrote it as a double choir piece, which means that half of the choir sings one part while the other half sings a different but complimentary line.  Choir One sings of humanity: “In the morning it is green and groweth up, but in the evening it is cut down, dries up and withers.” While Choir Two sings the familiar chorale: “O God our help in ages past.” (Isaac Watts, based on Ps 90).  The effect is stunning: one choir gives voice to the human cry for meaning in the face of the brevity of life and in recognition of the God who is beyond all knowing; the other choir gives voice to the human plea for God’s accompaniment as a “shelter from the stormy blast and our eternal home.” The music and texts combine to create a powerful portrait in song of the human condition and our longing for redemption.

November is a season of remembering and yearning; of endings and beginnings. As we mark All Saints Sunday this year I’ve been acutely aware of endings, having attended the dying processes of members of our community, including four in the last two months.  Death is never generic; it’s particular.  Each person’s final days have their own character.  Through the years it’s been my experience that when a person approaching death is able to talk with loved ones about this “final journey,” they significantly impact the experience and memory of those they leave behind.

On November 5th we will intentionally mark endings as we lift up All the Saints, especially those who we have known and loved. But we will also mark new beginnings, for All Saints Sunday is also a Baptism Sunday this year, and we’ll be welcoming three boys into the body of Christ—Milo (age 9), Lawrence and Harmon (twins age 3 ½ months).  There’s something powerfully resonant about having both death and new life lifted up in one worship service.  Of course we do this every week when we celebrate the Lord’s Supper—recalling the night Jesus was handed over to death, and remembering how his willing death and surprising resurrection brought (and brings!) new life to all who lean on the hope of his promises.  While memorial services are scheduled for each of the first three weeks of November, we’ll also be welcoming 16 new people into our fellowship through the Rite of Welcome on the last Sunday of the month.  And so the cycle of death and new life continues.

How will we hold these days? Are we living fully into the image which God has formed in us?  Are our lives dominated by fears and anxiety about what the future holds?  Do bleak weather forecasts and the growing darkness undercut our ability to hope?  In her book My Grandfather’s Blessings, Rachel Naomi Remen writes:

“Sometimes we live in ways that are too small, and in places that focus and develop only a part of who we are. When we do, the life in us may become squeezed into a shape that is not our own.  We may not even realize that this is so.  Despite this, something deep in us that holds our integrity inviolate will find ways to remind us of the breadth and depth of the life in us and assert its wholeness.” [p. 53]

Remen’s words invite me to take stock. Am I living too small?  Stuck in a squeeze play?  Am I brave enough to sit with the questions and wait for the answers?  The “something deep in us that holds our integrity inviolate” has a name in our tradition:  Holy Spirit.  There is a difference between being carried along in the current by to-do lists and family and work obligations, and being carried and accompanied by the Spirit.  In the calling and claiming and naming of baptism, that Spirit, which “reminds us of the breadth and depth of the life” in ourselves, was planted firmly within us.   As life surprises, challenges, thrills, and at times alarms us, we cry, Lord—you have been our refuge—don’t stop now! And when we take time to listen deeply, another Voice responds, I was there to hear your borning cry, I’ll be there when you are old, I rejoiced the day you were baptized to see your life unfold.  What a privilege it is to sing and to live that promise together!

With you on the Way,

Pastor Erik