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

This past weekend, I had a chance to share a devotional at Covenant Point Bible Camp’s Centennial Celebration, on a topic I’ve been thinking about for a while & that I hope will resonate with you in some way or another. Enjoy!

All the believers devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, and to fellowship, and to sharing in meals (including the Lord’s Supper), and to prayer. A deep sense of awe came over them all, and the apostles performed many miraculous signs and wonders. And all the believers met together in one place and shared everything they had. They sold their property and possessions and shared the money with those in need. They worshiped together at the Temple each day, met in homes for the Lord’s Supper, and shared their meals with great joy and generosity— all the while praising God and enjoying the goodwill of all the people. And each day the Lord added to their fellowship those who were being saved. —Acts 2:42-47

I grew up as a camper at Covenant Point, which was always my favorite week of the whole year. I went on to work on crew, and on summer staff, and to intern. I am now a youth pastor who brings students to camp for retreats several times a year. Something that has remained consistent for me, throughout each season of camp involvement, is that I have always sort of resented how at the end of the week we are admonished to steel ourselves for what it will be like when we go back to “the real world.” 

Now, I’m not suggesting that it’s not difficult to leave camp; in fact, when I was a camper I remember being incredibly sad (dramatically so) on the long bus ride back to Elgin, IL. What I’m saying is that, I disagree with the notion that camp is not the real world. On the contrary, I think camp is about the realest world there is. It’s the same way I bristle when I hear preachers or pastors talk about “the upside down” Kingdom of God. Isn’t it the Kingdom of God that is right side up? Wouldn’t the rest of the world, then, be what’s upside down? 

In Acts chapter 2, the author, Luke, gives us a list of what the real world was like for the very early church. We learn they eat meals together, worship and learn and pray and have fellowship together, share resources together, hold things in common, and live in deep community. We are told they experience wonders and signs of God’s activity, goodness, and faithfulness, and that God is always adding new believers to their fellowship and community. 

To me, this sounds an awful lot like life at camp—where we all contribute to and benefit from camp’s resources, and therefore, it is on all of us to steward them well, where no one is too important to clean toilets or wash dishes, where we take care of one another, where everyone’s gifts and voice are essential and each persons’ contributions to the game intro or the kitchen schedule are vital, where we can learn, pray, worship, and talk earnestly and honestly about faith, where there are signs of God’s presence and activity with us, and where people begin to follow God or take a next step of faith. 

Camp is the real world, and all these things I’ve just listed are kingdom ways of being. So instead of “going back to the real world,” would we each be encouraged to take the real world to the rest of the world, and be God’s kingdom people wherever we go and in whatever we do. 

God of all things, who is found in games played, meals shared, and worship songs sung, would you empower us through your Holy Spirit to be people who bring the real world to the rest of the world, and would you teach us to be Kingdom people everywhere we go. We ask these things in the name of Christ who accompanies us on the way, Amen. 

— Pastor Lynnea Miller

I am so grateful to return after a time of rest and renewal!

Last night I sat with a friend in our driveway to catch the sunset through the trees and then the stunning appearance of Venus in the western sky. Flowers in their planters and pots are obviously happy with recent rains and summer sunshine. The lawn lacks it’s usual late summer brownout.

And then there’s the old boxwood bush that lives in the space between the pavement and our cape house’s side door. (Teaching moment….cape houses almost always have two front doors, and the main, most prominent one goes unused on a daily basis. Go figure.)

The boxwood at the edge of our driveway has looked over our coming and going now for twenty-one years. Decades of life have seen little children grow up and out into the world. Numerous old, used cars have pulled in and out of the space nearby. Two dogs have found it a faithful friend. More than one adult has stumbled coming out the door and fallen into it. I’m not naming names.

Well, this spring it became clear that the old boxwood had met its match in our last bitter cold and snowy winter. It lost it’s beautiful green shine. No more does it need it’s trimming haircut. Now it’s brittle, and brown, and dead… except that in it’s very center there’s a solitary green shoot rising up as if to say, “Hey! see me! I’m still alive, at least a little bit!”

That shoot is at least part of the reason why I just can’t bring myself to dig it up yet — the other being my general laziness having to do with yard work. It persists, this little shoot of life surrounded by death, as if to plead for just a bit more time and hoping against hope. I know that the bush won’t come back. It’s brittle and dead. And yet, it’s alive still, surprisingly. As so, it preaches a sermon, it becomes a parable of the greatest truth of them all, that even when our mortal life reaches it’s end, even death cannot and will not separate us from God’s love in Christ Jesus. Life surely persists, in a different way and dimension.

Lest I over-indulge in metaphor, it is true that surely sooner or later the old dead and living boxwood bush will need to be dug up, making space for a fresh, new, young, green and growing companion to settle in. But now, just for now, I’ll let it be, and hail the wonder of God’s creation and plot resurrection’s wonder too.

Love From Here!

Peter Hawkinson