For the past several years it has become my habit each Lent to create a temporary labyrinth for the season. It has become a spiritual discipline that I enjoy, especially when I am not doing it alone. Peter Strom was my partner this year and I am grateful for his company as well as his knees!

To walk the completed labyrinth, to warm it up and ready it for the pilgrims who will travel it this season is a gift. I forget that I am in a gym and feel the path open up to me in the quiet. This meandering path that leads to the center reminds me that, even when I may feel lost, I never truly am. With God as my center, I am never lost.

This week I am participating in the Advanced labyrinth Facilitator Training program through Veriditas. Veriditas trains and supports labyrinth facilitators globally and offers programs and events to introduce and engage people with labyrinth walking as a pathway to personal and community enrichment, healing, and growth. I became involved with them in 2015 when I began a contemplative leadership program after seminary.

It is truly a global organization. Participating in this training are facilitators from China, South Korea, Ireland, and across the United States. I have met people from New Zealand, Australia, the UK, and Sweden at events or workshops I have attended. A large majority of these folks are pastors and faithful lay people. The labyrinth is a spiritual discipline used in the church from the Middle Ages to today.

The temporary labyrinth that is taped to the floor in the gym (we used blue painter’s tape so as not to impact the floor,) is a classical style labyrinth. Unlike a maze in which you can get lost and is created to confuse, the labyrinth has a single path that leads to a center. A maze is designed for you to lose your way while the labyrinth is designed for you to find your way.

The labyrinth path is to be walked slowly, at your natural pace. A labyrinth walk often consists of the three R’s. As you walk into the labyrinth and move towards the center Release whatever is weighing you down. When you arrive in the center, stop and Receive, listening for God’s message to you. As you travel back out on the path, Return to the world giving thanks for God’s presence.

There is no single right way to walk the labyrinth, each journey is uniquely your own. Since reaching the center is assured, walking the labyrinth is more about the journey than the destination, about being rather than doing, integrating body, mind, and spirit. 

Taking on the practice of walking the labyrinth during Lent allows us to spend intentional time with God as we reflect on how we can listen more closely to where God is calling us in this time.

I invite you to journey to the center, our center which is God, with a prayer by the Rev. Lauren Artress, the founder of Veriditas.

Invocation for Centering

Pause.

Let the outer world loosen its hold.

Beneath the noise and motion,

there is a still point holding you

together-

not ridged, not closed,

but centered and alive.

Centration is the power that gathers,

that gives form without force,

that holds complexity without collapse.

May we return to our inner ground,

rooted enough to remain present, 

open enough to respond wisely.

Step gently.

You are being drawn towards your center.

Peace,

Pastor Kristie Finley

“Therefore, stay awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” (Matthew 24:42)

It’s Tuesday early afternoon, and I am working on an Asian Chicken Salad at Panera. Not the popular choice on Fat Tuesday, but I’m trying to be healthy, and it’s delicious! Here’s what I see, hear, smell, and notice…

Folks are drawn to the gas fireplace in the center of the room, where seats are filled up around the warmth, and never vacant for long. Even on a mild February day, the chill of winter will remain for awhile. What a blessing warmth is.

The sky to the south out the window has an opaque orange tone near the horizon, while looking right to the west it’s much more dark and gloomy. I wonder about those around me, which sky pattern reflects their spirit just now.

Three women next to me chatter away in happy tones. They seem to be about my age. There’s smiles and laughter. I hear remnants of high school stories from decades ago. How precious time is, how quickly it passes, and what power is held in memories!

On the other side of the clear waist length window is a table overflowing with delicious sweets. Orange frosted scones, cookies, breads, muffins, cakes, and yes, those irresistible cinnamon crunch bagels. How close temptation is always lurking!

Eighty percent of the people I can see are looking at their phones. Me too! Are they getting the newest breaking news? Playing games? Checking the stock market? Working? Face-timing, one of them. I put my phone down. Four seconds later it beeps, thanking me for my recent blood donation. And I hear for all of us Jesus’ invitation to “come away and rest with me for awhile.”

A smiling employee asks if he can take my empty salad bowl away for me. Thanking him, he looks right at me and says, “It is my pleasure.” I watch him do the same, table by table. I can tell who the regulars are, because he knows them by name and they pick up conversations from yesterday. I pray silently the old prayer of a saint from centuries ago: “You have given me so much, Lord, give me one more thing, a grateful heart.” (George Herbert)

Meanwhile, folks are grumbling at the big coffee vats. There is plenty of the decaf, mild blend, and Hazelnut, but the Columbian Supremo is out! And everyone is drinking coffee in the early afternoon, and wants the strong stuff. No doubt about it, that we need some more rest than we get. Finally it comes, and I watch people fill up as George Harrison sings/prays over my airpods, “Give me love, give me love, give me peace on earth, give me life, give me life keep me free from birth, give me hope, help me cope with this heavy load, trying to touch and reach you with heart and soul. Please take hold my hand, that I might understand you, won’t you please, O won’t you…”

A woman walks past me with a scarf covering her head and a hospital ID bracelet on her wrist. My first guess is that she is fighting against the cancer treatments. I take a few moments to pray for her health and strength as she gets in her car and drives away. I realize how much more aware I could/should be of those around me and the burdens they carry if only I’d stop long enough to see them.

So much to see, so many souls to encounter, so many stories unfolding. So much joy, so much sorrow, and all of this in every sacred day. I wonder what they think as they see me.

Life is a gift. What do you notice where you are as you read this? I’d love to meet you at Panera and talk about it!

Love from here

Peter Hawkinson

I’m blogging from home this Monday morning, sitting here, looking around, trying to locate something to write about. Meanwhile, Bear continues to stick his nose into my ribcage, his own way of pleading for what we call his “morning rub”.

It’s a daily ritual with him and me. When I make my way downstairs to put on my shoes, and find a coat, and head off to to Church, he comes close. The first thing he does is enjoy a mighty morning stretch with a kind of low key, pleasured groan. Then, rising up, he walks back and forth close in front of me, giving me full access to his whole body. I find his back and he stands still and tall as I massage his spine. Then he lays down, inviting me to find his belly ribcage and and press on the spaces in-between as once again he groans softly as if to say thanks.

The whole process takes about five minutes. Gotta get around and behind his ears. He delights when I get to the backside, a place he can never reach. Last he stands right in front of me as I gently pet him under his snout on his neck. When he’s had enough he walks across the room, circles up as dogs are prone to do, then sets himself down and takes one big cleansing breath.

He helps me think about the importance of touch, and the vulnerability and trust that comes along. This is because Bear came to us with an unknown history. I found his face on the facebook Chicago pet re-homing page. With little information we met him and his handler at a dog park in the city, and home he came with us. We aren’t sure exactly how old he is, and he likely suffered through some neglect or trauma early on. So when he first came to live with us he did not like to be approached form his back, and made it clear he wasn’t a fan of closed doors and isolation. He would not be trusting enough back then for a morning rub.

But now things are different! He has a happy life, he’s surrounded by loved ones, the doors are open, and he has learned to trust our touches. As I write now, and music plays on my computer, he howls along, evidencing that he surely has some hound in him, even though he looks like a Labrador Retriever. He barks at the mailman as he sits alert on his bed by the window that comes down to the floor.

He reminds me of the healing power and need we have for touch, and the joy we have in each other as loved ones to nurture that touch.

Love From Here!

Peter Hawkinson

To be in Capernaum, Jesus’ adult home town, is a thrill beyond measure. The ruins are extensive, including the floor and walls of the ancient synagogue space. It sits right along the shore of the Sea of Galilee, where call stories are easily imagined and a natural amphitheater seems likely the place where Jesus preached his most extensive sermon on the mount. Oh, to be there!

There is one path, to the right, where pilgrim throngs enter from the adjacent parking lot filled with tour busses. And there is one path out, on the left. Traffic flow is important! It’s the kind of holy spot you just don’t want to leave, but the two tours I’ve been on keep us moving for all there is to see in only a week or so.

The first time I was there with my dad. The second time it was Bonnie. On both occasions, we were not prepared for what appeared on the path out back to the bus. There appears to be from a distance a homeless person on a park bench up ahead. Getting closer it is “The Homeless Jesus”, a bronze sculpture by Canadian Timothy Schmalz depicting a cloaked figure sleeping on a park bench, identifiable as Jesus only by the nail wounds on his feet. First installed at Regis College in Toronto, it now appears at over 50 spots around the world.

That moment when you connect his feet to his identity takes your breath away, and leaves you wondering what to say. I remember my dad, after a long silence, said “He still in this world has nowhere to lay his head”. The next time, Bonnie’s first, I held back the urge to tell her what I knew was up ahead, and let her find it for herself. I don’t remember what was said, but I know we lingered there for a long time and talked until the bus driver came to find us and tell us it was time to go.

The sculptor comments that “it is meant to symbolize the compassion Jesus has for the marginalized and homeless, urging us to see Christ in the poor.” Coming to mind is the grand narrative of Matthew 25, where Jesus speaks with his disciples about his return someday to judge peoples and nations in an unexpected way. Here, the culminating words: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

It is frequently and is now the screensaver image on my computer, so I encounter it multiple times each day. I offer it simply to you as a theological icon.

Love From Here

Peter Hawkinson

The Good Samaritan

Just then a religion scholar stood up with a question to test Jesus. “Teacher, what do I need to do to get eternal life?” He answered, “What’s written in God’s Law? How do you interpret it?” He said, “That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence – and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself.” “Good answer!” said Jesus. “Do it and you’ll live.” 

Looking for a loophole, he asked, “And just how would you define ‘neighbor’?” 

Jesus answered by telling a story. “There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead. Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side. Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man. “A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man’s condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. In the morning he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill – I’ll pay you on my way back.’ 

“What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers?” “The one who treated him kindly,” the religion scholar responded. Jesus said, “Go and do the same.” (Luke 10:25-37, The Message)

This seminal conversation Jesus has and story he tells seems to leap off the page these days, as highly fevered immigration policies unfold in our cities. We have great passion around the politics of what’s going on and find ourselves in heated disagreement about what to do. What is the best way forward?

In the midst of our own political echo chambers we need to come together as Christian community and take up the way of Jesus; we need to find ourselves together in God’s Kingdom, where the mandate is clear: as Christians we prioritize mercy for human beings over legal and societal boundaries. Here in the parable of the Good Samaritan we find out marching orders. Jesus examples the one who stops, and stays, and binds up wounds, and gets the one beat up to a place of safety and healing — points at him, and says, “Go and do the same.”

And there are no loopholes to neighbor love, because the love of Jesus transcends political categories and policies. Our allegiance is not to a red elephant or a blue donkey, it is to Jesus Christ. His love causes us to see the image of God in all people, and to lead with kindness in our encounters.

The way of Jesus is apolitical; the Kingdom of God transcends any human empire. This is where we need to come together and show up on our city streets with concern, with mercy, with compassion, with love, seeking to contribute to what is just and right. We can and will argue about what is just and right in our nation’s treatment of immigrants and refugees. My prayer just now is that we will work together as Christians to lead with kindness and compassion in all encounters and circumstances.

Praying with you

Peter Hawkinson

“Every time you cross my mind, I break out in exclamations of thanks to God. Each exclamation is a trigger to prayer. I find myself praying for you with a glad heart. I am so pleased that you have continued on in this with us, believing and proclaiming God’s Message, from the day you heard it right up to the present. There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.” (Philippians 1, the Message)

Well, I’m back! And maybe you weren’t even aware I was gone. I made my way out to my happy place, the Coachella Valley in southern California. I found there the warm winter sun, breathtaking desert vistas with majestic mountains surrounding, enjoyed reading two wonderful books, had a daily soak in the hot tub, and I welcomed my brother and his wife, who drove down for a visit from the state’s fogged in central valley. All restorative things!

Another renewing gift came in this time, and this was deep feelings of affection and gratitude for you who are my Winnetka Covenant Church family — and my home. Home, after all, is about both place and people. I can still hear my grandmother Lydia saying as she did so often “Borta bra men hemma bast”– away is good but home is best. With age comes a deepening understanding of its truth. When away from home we have a chance to reflect on all the blessings, all that we take for granted, and return with a grateful heart.

I first visited WCC in the summer of 1988, now 38 years ago. I was 24. The place and you the people have been my spiritual home now for more than half of my life. The ups and downs of life have been ours to share together, the hellos and the goodbyes. Like loving family members do, you have embraced me warts and all, and we have and continue to work through the problems that come. Most of all, the community that you are has shaped me into a grace-centered understanding of a God who loves unconditionally. I have experienced that grace and love of God many times through your own.

Last week I had time and space to consider how blessed I have been and continue to be, and latching onto Saint Paul’s oft repeated greeting, “I thank my God every time I remember you…” or as Eugene Peterson translates it, ” Every time you cross my mind, I break out in exclamations of thanks to God.” So as much as leaving the warm sunshine for a polar vortex doesn’t suit me the best, I am so grateful to be back at home.

I’m back at it, and with a thankful heart. Borta bra men hemma bast!

Peter Hawkinson

It has long been a WCC youth group tradition to write a letter to oneself at the first youth group after the new year and open one’s letter from the year that is now behind us. I’m not exactly sure when this tradition began, but it’s been going on for likely over a decade. If you’ve been a student or volunteer within that time, the chances are high that I have an unclaimed letter of yours (still sealed) in my desk drawer! Coupled with writing our actual letters– which the students fill with things like, “I predict the Bears will be good next year,” “I hope I grow 3 inches by this time in 2026,” “is 6-7 still a thing??”, as well as other aspects like their prayers, goals, excitements, and trepidations for the year that is ahead– we spend some additional time reflecting on the year that is behind us and praying for those things we deeply hope for in the year to come. 

I have seen a lot of chatter this year about how January 1st is a terrible time to try and start anew with new year’s resolutions and goals, because it’s still the dead of winter. Perhaps we ought to wait until spring, some people say, as that’s the time in which new life begins to bloom. Yet, for the students, and for me too, each new school year marks perhaps the most natural time to begin again. So, winter, spring, fall, let’s throw summer in there too– all of a sudden there’s a chance for a fresh start every season! Thank God!

As I was participating with the rest of the church in our time of confession in the service on Sunday, it struck me how fresh starts, trying again, new chances, and forgiveness are central tenets of our faith. And the good news is, God offers these opportunities to us every second and all the time, not just at the start of each season. Let us not underestimate this amazing gift– the gift of being able to begin again. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, posted on instagram yesterday with a similar sentiment, that it takes much courage to try again or start over, but it is a profound grace that we are able to. 

I am wondering, if along with us at youth group, you might take some time to reflect on 2025 and identify your hopes and prayers for the year to come, to mark this opportunity for a fresh start & begin again. 

Here are some of the questions we used to reflect on Sunday:

• Over the last year, where and how did you notice God?
• When did God feel far away and when did God feel close by?
• As you look to 2026, what is bringing you hope & what do you want a chance to let go of?
• When you think about the year ahead, what do you hope for in your relationship with God, with family, with friends, with your church community?

I leave you with these profound words from the writer of the book of Lamentations– “Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.” May we have the courage to begin afresh. 

With love, Pastor Lynnea

When the song of the angels is stilled,

When the star in the sky is gone,

When the kings and princes are home,

When the shepherds are back with their flocks,

The work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost,

To heal the broken,

To feed the hungry,

To release the prisoner,

To rebuild the nations,

To bring peace among others,

To make music in the heart.

Howard Thurman

In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah. His wife was a descendant of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.

It was a reasonable doubt I had, when I asked the angel, “How will I know that it is so?” Who wouldn’t after all, at our age, after all those seasons of our private, burdened, lonely prayer. But I digress. Let me tell you what happened one unexpected day long ago. May name, Zechariah, it means “God remembers.” That meaning made it a common name — kings a few, prophets, and a bevy of farmers. Elizabeth and I, we come from priestly families. Our ancient family tree led us back into the Holy surprises of Yahweh, but God’s activity had long since ceased, or so it seemed. People would speak my name and roll their eyes and grumble their sense that God’s remembering had turned to forgetfulness.

Twice a year we traveled to Jerusalem, to gather with the thousands of other priests and all the people of Israel. As on each holy day, there were four responsibilities; the burnt offering, the meal offering, tending to the candlestick in the great sanctuary, and the offering of incense. The first three carried a certain prestige, and the fourth was the most honorable of all. Only once in a lifetime might a priest get the chance to light the incense of God, and that only if you’d win the lottery. Safe to say I had only a numb shock when one day the lot fell on me, and I would offer the Lord the evening incense.

I remember my legs trembling that night as the crowd watched me enter the great temple sanctuary. Two men were there, waiting for me. One opened a silver firepan and poured bright coals onto the altar. The other set a dish of incense at its side. They both left, slamming the massive doors behind them, leaving me alone. Here I was making ready the prayers of all Israel. I had imagined it a thousand times, and now, here I was, and it was unimaginable! I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams what happened next.

In an instant, just as the instant touched the coals, and angel was standing beside me. I struggled for breath, shook with fear, and lost my ability to stand, falling against the side of the altar and almost into the burning incense. Then, suddenly, my fear turned to deepest joy because the angel spoke the two most comforting words I have ever heard…my name, Zechariah, and then “Don’t be afraid.” I had heard what it sounds like when God says your name. What followed was a thoroughly unbelievable tale, that God had been listening to our barren lament, and that Elizabeth was in fact going to become pregnant. The angel at the end of the altar told me that this child would be named John — “God gives grace” — and that he would be the messenger announcing Messiah’s appearance. Well, I reminded the angel that “I am an old man” and found kinder words for Elizabeth — “and my wife is getting along in years.” As I said before, my doubts were reasonable, don’t you think?

Things ended there quickly. The angel told me his name was Gabriel, that he was sent straight from the presence of God to give me this news, and that though seeming impossible, the process was already underway. Then came one more holy surprise, another announcement that I would be silent, muted, unable to speak until the child was born. And just like that Gabriel was gone.

The crowd keeping Vigil outside was impatiently waiting and worried about the incense delay, and when I came out it was a much like anything a game of charades. They couldn’t understand what had happened, and I couldn’t tell them! Put yourself in my shoes; just imagine what that moment and the days and months following were like for me…holding onto the news, aware of the promise, desperately wanting to tell everyone about what happened to me when the powder hit the coals. And that day when Mary came, and she told us a story about an angel visiting her, and Joseph too, and all I could do was nod and draw pictures with stone edges on rocks, and play more charades, which helped us all figure out together that God was up to something holy and new. We celebrated together, and we were scared.

The day the boy was born I remained reduced to silent rejoicing. I danced and drew and did what I could, but my voice didn’t come back, and I was scared; thank God for that blessed eighth day, when we brought him to the synagogue for his circumcision and blessing, and I couldn’t do the father’s job, which was to speak his name for the first time. Instead it was back to the drawing board, as I listened to my relatives project him to be another Zechariah, I scribbled almost violently “His name is John….John!” and right then it was like something invisible punched me in my chest and knocked the wind out of me…AND I COULD TALK AGAIN! And you can only imagine how much I had to say! Finally I could join Elizabeth and Mary in singing my own song.

Though Gabriel never came back to me, I felt a strange and wonderful sense of God’s presence the rest of my days.

I was no longer present on the earth that day when John was a grown man standing in the water and saw Jesus and pointed at him and said, “Here comes the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.”

Peter Hawkinson

I always had a difficult time sitting quietly and meditating. I did not have the
patience to still my mind. My mind would jump to all the things I was
worried about or had to accomplish. I explored contemplative practices
after graduating from seminary and found my way into the silence. While on
a retreat in a monastery, I stumbled across their labyrinth. I had walked
labyrinths before, but this time it was life changing. The kinesthetic activity
of moving my body, calmed my mind and allowed me to engage with the
silence, and in that silence to hear God profoundly. Patience came to me
through the activity of walking. It helps some of us to be patiently active. I
went on to become a trained labyrinth facilitator in 2019 and plan to
become an advanced facilitator soon.

The labyrinth is a meandering path that leads to a center. It is used as a
tool for meditation, contemplation, and spiritual transformation. It is typically
circular, following the circular, spiral patterns we find in nature, in shells, in
plants, and snails. It is not a maze, where there are dead ends in which you
can get lost, but a path that leads you to the center and leads you back out
again. The labyrinth dates back at least 4,000 years. One of the most
famous labyrinths is on the floor of the Chartres Cathedral in France. The
construction of the cathedral began in 1200, and it is believed that the
labyrinth was always a part of the plan.

Most labyrinths follow one of two patterns. The labyrinth in Chartres is a
medieval pattern. In Sweden you will typically find the classical labyrinth.
Sweden is a country with more labyrinths than many larger countries and
you may even find them scratched into the wall at the end of a pew in a
medieval church. Like someone who might have been bored during a
service and wanted something to help them focus. Labyrinths are found all
over the world and many faith traditions use them for spiritual centering,
discernment, and contemplation.

In the Middle Ages it was popular to take pilgrimages and many
pilgrimages contained a labyrinth walk. The Chartres labyrinth is part of the
Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. It is like a pilgrimage inside a pilgrimage.
Walking is a spiritual experience; movement can be prayer. It is used for
contemplation, discernment, and as a way to encounter God. The Labyrinth
is a spiritual tool in which our walking becomes a spiritual purpose. I look
forward to sharing more about my passion for the labyrinth, and guiding
walks.

Kristie Finley