Guest blogger this week is Tom Tropp.

This summer, I had the honor of joining a group from the Lutheran Church of Honolulu on a Lutheran history tour of eastern Germany, following in the footsteps of Martin Luther. The trip began in Berlin, and for a lifelong fanatic of twentieth-century history, this visit allowed me to cross several items off my bucket list. The remnants of the wall, the replica Checkpoint Charlie, and the remaining battle scars from the 1940s are every bit as jarring as I had expected. But—as is so often the case—the most moving moment experienced there came as a surprise.

Across the street from the Tiergarten and immediately south of the American embassy, in a space that was formerly part of the Berlin Wall’s “death strip,” and before that the location of the Reich Chancellery and the Führerbunker, is the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe.

This memorial was commissioned by the German government in 1999 and opened in 2005. This photo is taken from street level, looking north, where the concrete slabs are about thigh-high. Looking from here, the impression is that these slabs follow a gentle rise and fall as one walks through from south to north (or the opposite; you can enter the memorial from any direction). 

Once inside, however, those expectations are immediately shattered. The center of the memorial is not on high ground, but in a pit. As you proceed toward the center, the slabs grow higher and heavier, quickly towering over you. The sounds of the city and traffic disappear, and the ground underneath your feet is constantly and randomly rising and falling. 

With each step, your feet can no longer anticipate whether the next will be a step up or down, and so you stumble; as the concrete slabs tower above you, you can no longer see around the next corner, and so you collide; as you wander, you can no longer remember which direction you are headed, and so you emerge somewhere you never anticipated. The experience is extremely disorienting. This is at once a place of peaceful reflection and one of frustrating wandering. This was the artist’s intention, of course, as this is exactly how our Jewish brothers and sisters in Europe spent the middle part of the 20^th century. 

But it wasn’t only then, was it?

Fear of the outsider, rejection of other-ness, the rise of closed communities: these were not novel in 1930s Germany. And while we all know that these attitudes are not Biblical and certainly not Christian, we must also recognize that they very much arose from within the church. The earliest anti-Jewish interpretations of the Gospels, especially in the Passion stories, evolved early in Christianity’s history, and the translations of these texts made during the Reformation clearly leaned in to these interpretations. 

The City Church in Wittenberg—the birthplace of the Reformation, where Martin Luther preached over 2,000 sermons—was built starting around 1280. Its “Judensau” was added around 1290. 

This relief, on the southeast corner of the church, was something that couldn’t possibly be missed by Wittenberg’s Jewish population, as they walked the narrow pathway that they were required to traverse between their storefronts on the market square and their homes in Jewish quarter—required, so as not to be seen coming or going. It was designed to humiliate and to threaten. And it is on the wall of the church. There were hundreds of these “Judensaus” (a word that literally means “Jewish pig”) added to German churches in the 13^th through 15^th centuries, and this is one of 47 still surviving today. The text etched in this one was added later and was taken from Luther’s highly antisemitic treatise “Vom Schem Hamphoras.” 

One cannot read Luther’s history or visit the sites of his life without finding some pretty dark blemishes. We can cover these up if we want to. Look only at the door of the College Church, at Wartburg Castle, at the Augustinian monastery in Erfurt. That’s easier, isn’t it? But it denies us the full picture and the ability to learn from it. Does learning these things change our image of Martin Luther? Sure it does. Does learning these things negate the good that Martin Luther did? Does it mean that we are against Martin Luther? Of course it does not. Whitewashing the history of our Christian ancestors—or for that matter, our church, our nation, or our family—never serves in our church’s—or nation’s, or family’s—best interests. It only denies us the ability to learn. The façade of perfection is not history. God is perfect; God’s Word is perfect. Those of us who try to interpret God’s Word are not.

When preparations were being made to restore Wittenberg’s City Church for the 500^th anniversary of the Reformation, heated debates took place regarding its “Judensau” and whether it should be removed. Those debates continue today, but ultimately, the decision was made to leave it in place, so that the city and the nation might own its history, to encourage discussion of it, and to learn from it. So the “Judensau” is still there, but on the ground below it have been added both a cedar of Lebanon (donated by Israel) and a memorial plaque.

This piece of art tells an important story. We can choose to forget our history, to stuff it into a box and cover it up. It sure is easier that way. But it will always work its way to the surface, always ooze through the seams—and in a far worse way than it went into the box in the first place. 

“Now these things occurred as examples for us, so that we might not desire evil as they did…. These things happened to them to serve as an example, and they were written down to instruct us, on whom the ends of the ages have come.” 1 Cor. 10:6, 11

Tom Tropp

I’ve been having a lot of conversations lately with so many of you about the radical nature of Jesus, His gospel, and the Kingdom of God. Radical is defined different ways… “of, relating to, or proceeding from the root of a plant” ….Jesus said, “I am the vine, and you are the branches.” Another definition is “very different from the usual or traditional”… Jesus says, “My Kingdom is not of this world.”

At some level, at every level really, the gospel, the good news of the Kingdom of God that comes to life in Jesus, and flows from his love, doesn’t just tweak a bit the ways our world is and works. No, It’s a whole new way of thinking, feeling, and being human when the grace of God has its way, when the mercy of God becomes our story, when the love of Jesus transforms our very lives. We become salt and light, ministers of reconciliation. We see in every creature and all creation the image of God. We seek to do justice and to love mercy for the sake of our neighbors near and far. And, oh, we need the help, the constant help of God’s Spirit!

This is because while it is as St. Paul says, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me”, the old self still likes to make appearances….he also says “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate…so I find it a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand.” We remain fully human, and this means though we are created according to the old story “very good” and “in the image of God”, we constantly and consistently struggle with our self-centered preoccupation, and all the brokenness this brings into human life. Our shadow companions….greed, lust, deceit, and the list goes on. Power, wealth, and relationships around them become destructive. OY!

Soon Reformation Sunday will be here, on October 25, and as we remember that we are always in need of reforming our ministry and amending our lives, it seems to me that our central prayer as the Church ought to be for God’s help…HELP US!

This afternoon a new hymn came across my eyesight that leads me to pray in this way. It is called We Pray for Those with Empty Hands and the text and tune come from Barbara Hamm:

We pray for those with empty hands, whose hopes have all but died, who search for work in troubled lands, where walls and wars divide. We pray for refugees whose bread is earned at such great cost, whose work to keep their families fed means cruel borders crossed.

God, help us see our sister’s need and feel our brother’s pain; help us to reach beyond our greed and what we stand to gain. God, help us change systemic wrongs that make the world unjust. Your kingdom to the meek belongs — one built on love and trust.

God, help us do your work on earth as agents of your grace, till peace and plenty come to birth and bless the human race. Then hungry children shall be fed, the poor be lifted up; and all shall feast on living bread and drink the blessing cup.

God, HELP us see! HELP us do! Praying with you.

Peter Hawkinson

Here’s the story of my first memory as I remember it. I was chasing another kid (can’t remember who) during quiet time in my Kindergarten class at Peterson School. I tripped over one of the kids laying down and had a head first meeting with a radiator, which got the best of my forehead and left me with a sizable and bloody gash. My mom arrived before I knew it and off we went to Swedish Covenant Hospital and my first of many emergency room visits in my life.

I remember our olive green station wagon with panels on the side and a seat facing out the back. I’ll never forget my mom’s repeated and heavy hugs, and the love I felt in that scary moment. And ever-fresh is the fear I had when I found out I needed a bunch of stitches and the nerve blocking needle came out. I think they did a good job. I can’t find a scar for the life of me.

After we were done at the hospital, mom surprised me when she turned off of Foster avenue and into “The Hot Dog Pit” — these days called Charcoal Delights. Ours was a family budget that found us rarely, if ever, eating out. Mom made me feel so special there, hugging me again and again and telling me to get whatever I wanted. It was a hot dog with ketchup only (sorry!), a big basket of fries and a chocolate shake. I felt like I was king for a day enough to forget about the growing baseball like wound on my forehead for awhile. I also even can remember my mom’s outfit on that 1969 fall day — a kind of flowery polyester precursor of a dress that pointed us ahead into the seventies, looming ahead.

All in all, the day remains a good memory for me. Interesting how the trauma is there but more in the background.

What scientists call ‘Childhood Amnesia” accounts for our lack of early childhood memories. Our memories, which are vivid in our early years, fade as we grow older and farther from them. According to Patricia Bauer, psychology professor at Emory University, extensive research has shown that “traumatic events that children turn into a good story because of present parental affection” become our most deeply formed and remembered childhood experiences. Well, fist bump for that! This speaks right into my experience of remembering.

I wonder what your first childhood memory is. Spend some time reflecting about that.

For my mother’s crucial loving presence with me that day, I’m forever grateful. Alyce Mae Larson Hawkinson died now eleven years ago. She must be counted among the saints.

Peter Hawkinson

Judi Geake

It may come as no surprise that one of my favorite songs to sing in church is “I Love to Tell the Story”.  The Geake Family Story is found in the 313 writings in 8 sections in my book of memories, just like the Biblical family story is found in the 1,189 chapters in 66 books of the Bible.  If you’ve never thought of the Bible as a collection of stories before, think of what narratives in the Bible stand out for you. Adam & Eve, Moses parting the Red Sea, Noah & the Ark, David & Goliath, the birth of Jesus, the prodigal son, the good Samaritan.  I suspect you first heard these stories in Sunday School and then have heard them again in sermons throughout the years. Just as I’m certain that some of your family stories are ones you have heard more than once, perhaps around the holiday table, or maybe in conversations with your grandparents, children or grandchildren. We are fortunate, indeed, that the writers of the Bible told their stories repeatedly until someone wrote them down so they could be shared with future generations. I like to help people tell their stories with the goal of getting those stories in writing so they, too, can be shared with future generations. 

Beginning Wednesday night October 7th, come join me once a month at 6:30 in the library as we tell some of our stories to each other and I’ll show you how to get them ready to pass on. The first Wednesday of the Month is Family Game Night, but perhaps games are “not your thing”. Maybe your spouse and/or children love game night, but you just like to come for the meal.  Maybe you’ve never come to dinner on Wednesday nights and would like to try it out but would rather not play games. Whatever your reason, storytelling will offer an alternative. Maybe you’d just like to join me once at 6:30 to see what we’ll be doing, and that’s OK, too. 

Like the stories in the Bible, our stories aren’t just a recitation of facts. They are our thoughts about what we encounter, they are our recollections from the past and our hopes for the future. They are stories of our jobs, our vacations, our family history. They are our memories of events, both good and bad. Many of us have stories of where we were during 9/11. Some of us have memories of the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. There are stories of family celebrations, of where you went to school, of all the places you have lived, of relatives who have passed on. Our stories enrich and personalize our families’ understanding of history in the same way that Bible stories enrich and personalize our understanding of God, Jesus, and the many writers of the Bible.  Come share one of your stories.  I’m betting you’ll love it once you try it! No homework required! 

So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a wise heart (Psalm 90:12)

Soon our one hundredth year of ministry will be here! On December 14, 1927 Rev. Algoth Olson, President of North Park College spoke at the organizational meeting where thirty persons signed a church charter. Oscar and Hilda Anderson were the first to sign. Services began in evening hours to fit the schedules of these immigrant servants, who were the maids, cooks, gardeners and chauffeurs of the wealthy who lived on Sheridan road, and whose responsibilities carried through until late afternoon on Sunday. On the fiftieth anniversary, remembering this time, Frances Mason writes: “So beginning at 5:00 p.m. with a singing, lay led service in English, the evening proceeded with supper at 6:00 followed by a Swedish preaching service. From the start, the congregation adapted to the lives and needs of the people they served.” And the rest is history, much of which we will remember and celebrate in the year ahead. Some of us have been a part of this community for decades, and some of us are just beginning this journey. Here we are, together!

We will celebrate, remember, and give thanks for what has been and dream new dreams for years and decades to come as we stand on the shoulders of the saints who have come before us. Special events, gatherings, and reunions will happen throughout the year. Soon, very soon!

But now it’s an important moment to plan and prepare for these moments. So This coming Sunday, September 27, following worship and our celebration of pastor Lynnea Miller, we will gather for a time of planning together. The centennial planning committee has some exciting thoughts to share, but now its time for you to help push the plans forward. Here’s the invitation from the committee:

“We’re kicking off the Centennial celebration planning with a high-energy brainstorming session. Join us from noon until 2 as we collaborate, review logo concepts, sharpen our tagline, break out into sub-committees, and map out an exciting year-long celebration of WCC’s 100th anniversary. Bring a bag lunch and your best ideas — we’ll have snacks and beverages ready to keep the creativity flowing. If you’re currently involved or hoping to get involved in centennial planning, this is the perfect moment to jump in.”

The bears don’t play until Monday night! No RSVP is needed. Please join in this important time.

You can reach out to Kim Steiner with questions or concerns at krsteiner1@gmail.com

Looking forward to this time together!

Pastor Hawkinson

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good tidings.” (Isaiah 52:7)

My feet grow anything but more beautiful as the years mount up. A good part of it is genetics, especially the bunions that make my feet almost identical twins of my father’s that I looked at years ago. I’ll spare you more details, sufficing it to say that my feet show the wear and tear of a busy life.

On my annual trip to the dermatologist this morning, I sit looking at them, waiting for Dr. K to arrive with her liquid nitrogen. These faithful companions have gotten me around the world and more importantly up and out of bed faithfully everyday. They have kept me balanced and directed. They used to run wild on the court when I was a boy. Nowadays they’re content to help my heart get my steps in, especially since my lisfranc injury two years ago when I tumbled down the stairs with a suitcase. One thing at a time now. One thing at a time!

In the ancient times and for most of history our feet have been our shoes. To be a foot washer back in biblical times was the mother lode of entry level work, imagining the grit and grime, dust and blisters and sores of travelers who never had to be sure about getting in enough steps — that’s for sure! Little beauty in old feet or the job of claiming them up.

Yet the prophet’s feet are called beautiful. Not the herald’s lips which tell the good tidings, or the eyes seeing the world, but its the feet — the feet that get the prophet up the mountain and keeping them standing up to say something in the first place.

I’m reminded too that when the disciples first found their risen Christ on Easter morning and their confusion and terror turned to joy, it was the feet of Jesus they found. “They took hold of his feet and worshiped him.” (Mt 28:9). Frederick Buechner reflects that “these were the same ruined, tired dogs that had carried him to them three days earlier when they were at their accounts and their nets, and that dragged them all the way from Galilee to Jerusalem, that stumbled up the hill where what was to happen happened.” (Wishful Thinking). And now those feet were fresh with nail scars. How beautiful, indeed, in their mangled and scarred up way, those feet. Buechner concludes: “Generally speaking, if you want to know who you really are as distinct from who you like to think you are, keep an eye on where your feet take you.”

Where have your feet taken you? And when you look at them now and for awhile, even though they might very likely not render to you the word “beautiful” as one that comes to mind, is not the story they tell a beautiful one after all?

Love From Here

Peter Hawkinson

“Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and prosper the work of our hands –O prosper the work of our hands!” (Psalm 90)

“Therefore, My beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.” (1 Corinthians 15)

Labor Day comes. Labor Day, an annual celebration of workers and their achievements, originated during one of American labor history’s most dismal chapters. In the late 1800s, at the height of the industrial revolution in the United States, the average American laborer worked 12-hour days, seven days a week, in order to eke out a basic living. Despite restrictions in some states, children as young as five toiled in mills, factories and mines across the country, earning a fraction of their adult counterparts’ wages. So i,as labor unions developed it became a federal “workingman’s holiday” in 1894.

For those of us in our working years, when we’re asked the question, what do you do vocationally, we most often respond with an explanation of our job, our labor, to which we offer a third or more of our life’s time and energy.

Considering the word “vocation” which comes from the Latin “vocatio”, meaning a call or a summons. Originally, vocation was a spiritual word that emerged in early Christian history. The word was used to designate clergy, hermits, monks and nuns who gave their life to the pursuit of God. It would be said back then when asked the question that “my primary vocation is to be a Christian”.

With the coming of the Protestant Reformation, Martin Luther and John Calvin began to emphasize vocations as divine callings that included secular occupations. The sense was that individual Christians fulfill God’s call in the midst of everyday life. The sacred comes to life in the secular. Luther says, “The call of God comes to each at the common tasks.”

These days it seems that sense of the word vocation has lost most of its spiritual meaning. My vocation is what work I do. My vocation is an occupation to which I am drawn and for which I am suited, trained, and qualified. It’s the job a person does to earn a living.

I am enthused about this idea of connecting a sense of vocation spiritually to the labor of our lives. To be intentional about saying first that “My primary vocation is to be a Christian.” To live, and move, and have our being from this center. My first life’s work is to love God and love my neighbor as myself. But, to also connect this to our life’s labor as the primary place — community, environment — where we live out our Christian vocation. Our life’s workplace and labor then becomes a kind of laboratory for the working out of our faith “with fear and trembling” as St. Paul puts it.

In bringing together the spiritual and the secular understandings of vocation and labor, it might be as Thomas Merton says: “All vocations are intended by God to manifest His love in the world.” And it might help us remember that our spiritual life is not compartmentalized away from the rest of life, but that all of life is spiritual, not one part separated from Christ our Lord. Our work in the world is sacred, because God’s Spirit is at work in and through us day by day.

Love From Here!

Peter Hawkinson

“Come, Follow Me.” (Mark 1:17)

“May you be covered in the dust of your rabbi.” (First-century Jewish Blessing)

This was a common invitation from Jesus to those he met.

I’m learning and reflecting more about the nature of this call, what Jesus might be hoping for as he invites. I thank John Mark Comer for helping me understand more about it through his book Practicing The Way: Be with Jesus, Become like him, Do as he did (2024, WaterBrook books). He says, “These three words from Jesus are the most important words ever spoken in the long annals of human history: Come, follow me.” He argues that the commonly used word “disciple” which appears 269 times in the new testament is better understood as “apprentice”, and that an apprentice is simply anyone whose aim is to be like their teacher. Comer reflects on our post-enlightened and modern western emphasis on “belief in” more than “being like” Jesus, and that apprenticeship is seen more as a post-conversion second track for the small few who want to go further. His conclusion is this: “Tragically, this has created a two-tier church, where a large swath of people who believe in God and even regularly attend church have not re-architected their daily lives on the foundation of apprenticeship to Jesus.” (p.16).

It’s not that Comer downplays the importance of belief, as though it’s juxtaposed against or antagonistic to the practice of faith. But he insists that what Jesus is after is “not converts to Christianity; he’s looking for apprentices in the Kingdom of God.” (17). He notes how the earliest Christians were identified by the culture as “The Way” — and that this Greek word, “hodos”, literally means a road or a path. The Way of Jesus is not just theology and ethics, but a way of life. As Eugene Peterson says it, “The Jesus way wedded to the truth brings about the Jesus life...and Jesus as the truth gets far more attention than Jesus as the way. Jesus as the way is the most frequently evaded metaphor among the Christians with whom I have worked for fifty years as a North American pastor.” (the Jesus Way, Eerdmans, 2007).

I’m only half way through his book, but finding much to ponder here. One reflection that comes is that over the last fifty years the Church in our culture has been doing some really good work in this regard, that is, calling us in our belief (orthodoxy) to a way of life shaped by the love of this Christ (orthopraxy). This has seen the church open up in new ways to the Spirit’s leading, while at the same time caused much tension within the church from others who are convinced we aren’t following the Spirit at all. This is the tug-of-war we are living in the midst of.

I’m left returning to this rather ironic reality (in my view), that the closer the Christian community comes to practicing the way of Jesus, the more tense things become. But this wouldn’t surprise any reader of any of the gospels who find Jesus himself in this bind everyday, and who shall die because he just loves too much after all.

If your interest is piqued, I’d love to have more conversation about it. Get the book and let’s have at it! What do you think? How does the call to practice the way of Jesus comfort and challenge you?

Love from Here

Peter Hawkinson

“Better is a handful of quiet than two handfuls with toil and a chasing after wind.” (Ecclesiastes 4:6)

“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)

I’ve developed a habit over the decade’s last ten summers, and chalked it up to the aging process. I love to get out in my back yard and get into my zero gravity chair when it’s a sunny late afternoon. The chair gets me horizontal, which helps me rest and just let go. This, combined with the view it gives me of the green treetops blowing in the wind against the blue sky captivates me, causes my spirit to settle down and release its tensions and anxieties. It takes some time, but with some time I feel how my breathing slows and finds a soothing rhythm, and my eyes gaze up into the heavens, and it’s as though God’s own presence comes to find and companion me. I become aware of nature’s sounds of squirrels, birds and wind. Seeing a jet way up high leave its thrusting tail, I am transported into the wild blue yonder. But more than anything else, this experience leads to a deep sense of that my whole being — mind, body, and spirit — is held and loved by God.

I’ve never thought of this as a time of contemplative prayer, but I guess it is. If Contemplative Prayer is the silent, wordless practice of resting in God’s presence, this is my experience there. It’s space and time, and often some form of nature’s beauty, or a simple lit candle, or some form of art — something to slow down and focus on that brings us into life’s deeper dimensions.

I’ve been reading John Mark Comer’s book, Practicing the Way: Be with Jesus, Become like him, Do as he did. In it he references John Baptiste Vianney, the 18th century saint better known by his parochial nickname, the Curé of Ars, who liked to tell a story about an old French peasant who used to loiter in his rural parish church for hours at a time. He finally asked the old man why he sat there so idle all day. “I look at God, and God looks at me, and we are happy together,” the idler said.

As one who’s always felt a struggle with prayer “words” and as more of a “groaner” Contemplative Prayer has become my happy place. the focus isn’t on gaining insight, or discerning some big thing. No, it’s more like just being with a dear friend, a most loved one, and not needing to function in any other way than to rest, and in rest find a renewed hope. The invitation is to listen and experience God’s presence rather than talking. Being alive and present to the moment without having to analyze or judge it one way or another. With each breath, releasing egos and personal agendas.

The Latin word Contemplatio has three root words in it. The first is “tio”, which means “an ongoing state of being.” For us humans it might be anxiety, or cynicism, or optimism. Scripture’s central hope is for abiding. The second root word is “con”, which means “with”. and the third root is “templa”, which is the place where God lives…hence our use of the word temple. When we put these all together, contemplation means “abiding with God”. Gregory the Great (6th century pope) describes it as “Resting in God” — resting because of the stillness of the heart and mind, which are not so much seeking as experiencing what one seeks and longs for. “I look at God, and God looks at me, and we are happy together.”

I simply want to invite you, as my own spirit longs for this time, to find your contemplative self’s happy place. It might be on a park bench, or at the end of a dock seeing water shimmering in the sun. It might be at the art institute, or symphony center. It could involve your walking shoes or a prayer labyrinth. A sleeping toddler might do the trick, or some digging in the garden. Could be in a movie theater or in our own beautiful sanctuary’s late afternoon light streaming through that gorgeous window.

There is no right or wrong here, no technique, no need to perform or produce. Just whatever it takes for you to find a deep sense of knowing and resting in the love that God has for you, and staying there for awhile. “I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.” (Ephesians 3)

Working on this with you, and sending love from here!

Peter Hawkinson

I have on my mind this Sunday afternoon many of life’s most tender moments taking shape for so many of you, so many of us. Some are happy and full of joy, others are heavy with grief and the feeling of finality. Many, maybe even most of these moments carry with them both some joy and some sorrow too. Such is life!

It’s the trip toward the dorm for freshman year, or the first day in a new grade or a new school. It’s the progression of the hospice journey. It’s labor pains ramping up as anticipation grows for a new baby about to come. It’s the last day of decades of work and so many farewells, or the first day of a new job we hope will be fruitful. It’s the long wait with the worried in the emergency room, or the slow slog as we wait for test results. It’s a glad reunion after so many years, and a longing for a lost child to appear. It’s the wedding of a child, sibling, or parent. or the funeral of the same. It’s the waters of Holy baptism, or the water flooding the basement. It’s fresh, newfound love and it’s the separation or divorce you never could have imagined. It’s a freshly minted vacation plan. It’s a trip to rehab or you or someone you love, or the joy of ringing the bell for your last cancer treatment. It’s that chronic pain that won’t end. It’s the communion of saints who remain close and companion us. It’s one of those birthdays with a number that takes us by surprise. It’s a sudden engagement. It’s the last day in an old house and goodbye to the space but never the memories. It’s joints aching for replacement surgery upcoming, or its the painful success of rehab therapy. It’s keeping vigil at bedsides for months. It’s camp celebrations of sacred spaces. It’s a new hello or a final goodbye.

Life is filled up for us with good and hard realities. On our recent family trip, we could all easily find challenges and anticipate joys we could see coming our way in the year ahead. We agreed that we want to face them with faith, hope, and love, and that we need God’s presence and a supportive community around us to do this. This is what it means to “Bear one another’s burdens” (Galations 6:2) and so fulfill the law of Christ.

This leads me to realize yet again what a treasure we have in each other in the church as companions along the way. When we get to celebrate together it’s wonderful, and it’s wonderful too when we can hold our sorrows together. As we begin another year, the hymn we often sing invites us:

“I will weep when you are weeping, when you laugh, I’ll laugh with you/I will share your joy and sorrow till we’ve seen this journey through.” (Covenant Hymnal 617)

Finally, and most importantly, it is God’s own presence with steadfast love and healing in his wings that remains through all of life and forever. As the Psalmists bids, “Rejoice in the LORD, O you righteous. Praise befits the upright.” (Psalm 33:1)

Holding you all in my heart!

Peter Hawkinson