This is the peaceful front of our santuary.  For this green season of growth, we added the tree to remind us that growth is an active process, not a passive one.

Truly, growth has been an active process in the past year and a half.  My intention was to write posts regularly.  And then we entered a challenging time — one where I felt unable to post without revealing too much or impacting the people I have come to love dearly.  My own learning curve took a dramatic turn.  And I found myself often sitting on the floor in the front of the sanctuary, drinking in God’s peace, and praying for that peace to reign.

It’s nice to now be in a season of summer — both as an earthly season and as a spiritual state.  We’ve weathered the storm, and are enjoying the rest, re-creation, and laughter of the warm summer days.

The lessons have been rich.  Sometimes difficult.  Sometimes beautiful.  And in the midst of it all, our relationships have deepened, and I have found myself relishing the fellowship of this congregation.  It’s has been, and still is, a season of growth.  We are growing up.  Growing in.  Growing out.  Thankfully we are deeply rooted, and enjoying the blessing of living water and the light of life.  It is good.  Truly good.

This weekend, I went out and bought a bouquet of beautiful burgundy Alstroemeria.  I brought them home and put them in my living room.  And now, I have spent a few days moving them from surface to surface in order to chase the light as it comes in various windows.  They look so lovely with the light shining through them, and it seems so little effort for such a large payoff to move them to where they are the most showy.

After realizing what I was doing, I began to wonder if there isn’t something important about this small action.  Many are facing hardship in this new year.  Decisions to be made, issues to resolve, losses to face.  Some have joys to celebrate and successes to remember.  But in all these things, I find myself more and more drawn to the listing of the fruit of the Spirit in scripture – those signposts of a life lived in obedience to Christ – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self control.  Whether we are celebrating the joys or trying to stay the course through the challenges, these are the characteristics we are called to strive for – the fruit of a life impacted by the deep love of God.

It seems to me that striving to bear good fruit in our lives as a response to God’s deep love is a little like chasing the light.  That through the light shining on and through us, we become a little more transparent and far more beautiful.  And our being becomes simply an avenue by which the Light is made more glorious.  I think it’s worth the effort.

This season, I’ve been using an advent reader as a part of my daily prayer -  Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas (Orbis Books, 2001).   In this morning’s reflection, this passage sprung from the page:

What is it that delivers Christ into the world – preaching, art, writing, scholarship, social justice?  Those are all gifts well worth sharing.  But preachers lose their charisma, scholarship grows pedantic, social justice alone cannot save us.  In the end, when all other human gifts have met their inevitable limitation, it is the recollected one, the bold virgin with a heart in love with God who makes a sanctuary of her life, who delivers Christ who then delivers us.  (p. 99)

In this new role as solo pastor/preacher, I sometimes have days of feeling solely responsible for being brilliant, being creative, being perfect.  Days when I feel the weight of being the one who is supposed to be ‘hearing from God’ about how we work through community issues, what we study during this season, and what word God wants the congregation to hear each week.  And yet, I am fully aware that only God is God, and while I might bring gifts to this community that are God-given for his use at this time, I also bring my humanity, my frailty, and my moments of staring at the sermon page as though I am staring into the void waiting for ANY spark of light to take the edge off the darkness.

And then I consider Mary, who with only her youth and innocence to recommend her, was willing to empty her life to say Yes to God.  To let go of reputation, and to embrace scorn.  To know that all she had to offer was time to stare into the void and wait for light to dawn.  To be willing to give thanks to God, even while she waited.

I am reminded that one of the truths of the Christmas season is God embracing humanity to bring about his will.  It is a great paradox of Christian faith that God is at work delivering us from brokenness, and yet he uses our brokenness to accomplish exactly that.  In whatever way we are able during this season, may love for the God who saves us cause us to make a sanctuary of our life.  To allow space for the presence of Christ to be felt.

My very first post on this blog was about having communion in the elder-care room of an older parishioner.  At 101, this same woman has been unable to join us in church for several months.  So just recently, in a swell of enthusiasm resulting from a conversation with our deacons, we took church to her.  With 20 worshipers, a guitar, a room reservation, and even one crying baby, we took our worship service to her home and had an amazing experience.  There was a Sweet, Sweet Spirit in the place as we remembered that God’s Faithfulness is Great.  We read from Psalm 145 about how one generation will proclaim His good works to another, and then our sermon was a time of sharing about where we have recently seen God at work.   We sang about how He walks with us, and He talks with us, and then we celebrated His Amazing Grace.  It was a wonderful experience.

And being there, in that stark room, with those warm people, I was reminded again that while our language confuses church (the building) and church (the people), there is no confusion about where the true heart of the church is found.  The church is truly the body of Christ and it lives and breathes and celebrates and mourns. It worships and sings and prays and shares.  Interconnected, and intertwined, we are the Church.  And the Church is us.  Blessed Be that Tie that Binds.

It was he who gave some to be apostles, some to be prophets, some to be evangelists, and some to be pastors and teachers, to prepare God’s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be BUILT UP until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.  Eph 4:11-13

This week will be my last week in this current preaching series on Ephesians.  I admit, it was curiosity that drew my attention to this book as a way to begin my time at Westminster.  But the instruction and encouragement about our congregation’s life together has been helpful – even powerful.  We have talked about unity, forgiveness, service, reaching out, Christian life, house rules…  the list goes on.  And yet, the phrase that stays with me more than any other is “…to prepare God’s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up…”

Coming to the congregation, there was lots of talk about growth.  Every week, I receive some sort of mailing about church growth programs.  Yet, I find myself drawn to the idea that the church is meant to be built up – a much richer and fuller goal.  As we serve God, serve one another, serve our neighborhood, serve our world, then God’s church is built up – bringing us ALL to unity and the fullness of Christ.  The Church is built up: it grows in faith, grows in maturity, grows in service, grows in worship, grows in worshipers – it grows every which way.  And isn’t that the point?

After a long and rich life, my grandmother died on June 14, 2008; just hours before her 91^st birthday. We called her Grandmor - a combination of the Danish and English words for grandma. She and I loved to take trips to visit family. And our special grandmother/granddaughter event most summers was to attend the Fall Meeting at Danebod, a Danish Folk School in Tyler, Minnesota.

Thinking tonight about all those hours in the car, and the visits during coffee time, I was overwhelmed with the number of lessons she taught me about living a well-lived life….

It is okay to know you are a princess: Grandmor knew that she was special, with something to offer to the world. She was willing to shine and to share herself with others. And she showed me that it’s okay to think you are someone worth celebrating!

Enjoy creation and the life you’ve been given: Watch the clouds drift by. Enjoy green trees and blue water. Take an autumn drive to watch the colors turn. Pet the dog. Talk to your grandkids. Take trips. Breathe.

Have BIG goals: Grandmor thought it was a reasonable expectation that she would live to be 100 years old. She figured with modern medicine and technology, there was very little that could stop her. She always knew there would be another trip to take, and another visit to make. She showed me that having big goals is a part of living fully – you always have something to keep you excited about what’s next.

Don’t let others tell you what you are capable of: Even with advanced macular degeneration, Grandmor could pick up a pin off the floor, and see Mt. Rainier every time she flew over. She loved traveling, and flew alone out to the west coast to join her family here for a celebration of her 90^th birthday! On our trip to Alaska a few years ago, she took off with her walker down one of the hiking trails so that she could see a bit more of the mountain. Life is given to be lived. Don’t let someone else determine how you are to live it.

Try new things: I love thinking about the night she told me the story of having pizza for the first time. She was a fan of cappuccinos and lattes. She liked cars with smooth rides and air conditioning. And she believed that wind power would provide for our future. New things bring new possibilities.

Let things change, but do so with respect for others: Grandmor believed that new ideas were often good ideas, but that they needed to be held in balance with respect for the people who weren’t ready to embrace them yet. We respect others by providing a vision for something new. We respect others by providing education. And we respect others by encouraging change that has a purpose. We can’t all be comfortable all the time. But we can listen to one another and do our best to help one another through the process.

Always keep the can-opener clean: While working as a cook to support her family, Grandmor learned that the first thing a health inspector looks for is a clean can opener. It shows attention to detail, and a commitment to keeping a clean kitchen. She always told me: Pay attention to the details. They’ll make or break you.

Love your church: You go there to learn about God, to care for others, and to be reminded that you are loved.

Grieving is a natural part of life: She lived through the death of both her parents, a young brother, two husbands, and a host of extended family and dear friends. She was filled with great stories about each of them, and while she might become wistful or sad, she never spoke with regrets. Which leads me to one of the most important things she taught me:

Don’t be afraid to love deeply.

As I remember Grandmor’s life well-lived, I’m especially grateful for these final two lessons. The world feels different today without her in it. But I will be forever grateful for the time we spent together and the opportunity to learn from her example. Life is a gift, and is to be lived fully and with joy. But don’t forget to keep the can-opener clean!

Chicken casserole, red jello, and delicious noodles! Along with the wonderful company of 25 older folks from the church… it was all powerful good. That phrase caught my attention as it was used by one of the gentlemen at the table. He was describing the apple pie, but I was thinking the same words would apply to the privilege of building relationships across generations.

This group of folks solidified their relationships with one another when they were building this church back in the 1960’s. They had a sense of call that this building was to be for the community and the neighborhood, and they built the sanctuary their own hands. The relationships forged are still thriving today – with depth, and a comfort in one another’s presence.

As a pastor, it’s a part of my job to facilitate community building among the members of the congregation and in the neighborhood. I’ve read all the ‘try our program’ brochures, and attended seminars on how to bring people together. But sitting with these folks today, I find myself wondering if the thing my generation has lost in its view of the church is the value of working side by side towards a common call. Rather than unrolling a 10 step plan for the revitalization of the church, my sense is that Christ has a common call for us. And as we follow Him, we will be building relationships both inside and outside this building that will bring Him glory and bring us purpose. And that will be powerful good.

I forgot them. That’s right. Forgot them. Saturday night at 8:30pm, and I remembered that the ONE thing I absolutely needed to do this week was pick up Bibles for our graduating third graders. And in the middle of finishing my sermon preparation for the following morning, I was fantasizing about what size crowbar it would take to break into the Christian bookstore and get them out from under the counter.

Yet worship still happened. People still sang praises to God. The kids were still prayed for and celebrated, and my apologies were graciously accepted. I have my moments wondering whether third grade bibles is the way to go. Because while personal study of scripture is important, it is in the life of community where we discover grace, forgiveness, and our humanity. It is in the life of community where God shines light on His word and on our lives in a way that helps us see Him and the world in a new way.

My prayer for our third graders is that they will always grow in an ever deepening love for the word. And at the same time, that they will always choose to live a life woven into a community. A place where they will experience the love of God for them through worship, fellowship, and forgiveness. Even when they forget to bring their Bible…

I’ve been recovering from a cough that has pretty much robbed me of my voice. It’s never been an issue before – I’ve never been the only one on deck for a Sunday morning service. Preaching last weekend felt very complicated. Not only was I trying to articulate clearly with my froggy sounds, but I was trying to walk the fragile line between letting others care for me in my weakness and still live into the responsibilities that have been entrusted to me in this role.

This whole last week has been an exercise in finding my voice. I have discovered that I am finally ready to begin asking questions, to listen carefully to the answers, and to offer some vision and leadership in response. In the past month I have been given a deep affection for the people of this congregation. I am excited about coming into a season where I am not just learning names, but learning the hopes and dreams of our worshiping community. It is my prayer that I will regain my voice, both physically after this cough, and spiritually after this transition. May every opportunity to use my voice honor the hearts of those around me, and honor God with the faithful stewardship of this call.

Installed on Sunday as the pastor of this Westminster, I began to make home visits and take communion to the home-bound this week. This afternoon I encountered the sacred in a most ordinary setting. Our congregation was a woman of 101 resting in her rocker, a Cambodian brother seated on a fancy 1930’s hotel style company chair, and myself, balanced on a walker turned backwards. Our sanctuary was a rest home room. Our communion table was a notepad balanced over a small trash can, centered between us. On the notepad, I placed my great uncle’s home communion set – tiny glass communion cups held in a silver tray, and a small loaf of Dolly’s famous homemade bread on a second silver tray.

As my Cambodian brother said the words of institution over the beloved and broken body of Christ, I knew that the beloved and broken was also us – the body of Christ. And as we prayed, my understanding of the transcendence of communion suddenly exploded into something bigger. Communion is Christ with us – somehow linking us to the body before, and the life yet to come. Binding us together with the Church of the last 2000 years, and also giving us a glimpse of worship together in eternity with those that we love dearly and miss desperately.

For years, I have served communion with the prayer that God would take the ordinary and transform it into the extraordinary sign of his grace. I never could have imagined that our trash can table would hold a feast, and that our congregation of three would receive the ‘gifts of God for the people of God’ right at the foot of his throne.