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

Earlier this summer I went on a weekend trip with two of my best friends to the Upper Peninsula. We had a wonderful time cooking together, enjoying the beautiful UP weather, chatting about life, thrifting, floating down rivers, and so on; but, we were only able to be up north together for a little over 48 hours. Because our time together was so short, there was a good deal of pressure to maximize and make the most of every single second we had.

When the three of us are together, we’re a pretty ambitious, adventurous, curious, and talkative bunch. However, being the least go-getter of the group (and that’s saying something!), at one point I had to convince my friends that we needed to slow down a little bit. I told them that before dinner we need some SSR time (SSR of course, is sustained silent reading, a term in the back of my mind from elementary school). They kind of fought me on it, but ultimately agreed, and at the end of those 30 minutes we were all so happy we’d resisted the urge to be doing something “more productive” or lively during that time. At another point during the weekend, I was reading down by the dock and told my friend I was thoroughly enjoying my book (a series of essays called Ordinary Time: Lessons Learned while Staying Put, by Annie B. Jones), and I asked her if I could read out loud to her. She said yes, and about a page and half in I could tell she’d fallen asleep. As much as we needed fun and adventure on our trip, we clearly needed rest, peace, and to minimize the urge to maximize.

As a culture, I think we are pretty prone to maximizing, and so there’s a fair amount of societal messaging urging us to do this in our personal lives, on vacations, at our church, in our careers, etc. For example, have you ever been telling someone about what’s going on with you and thrown in the phrase, “but it’s all good stuff!” in an attempt to cover up the fact that honestly, you’re probably doing a bit too much? I certainly have and in fact, I am in one of those phases right now. I am running a sprint triathlon in about 11 days, training nearly every day until then. I am in a band that has gig in 4 days, and we’ve spent at least 20 hours practicing in the last 2 weeks. I said goodbye to a friend moving away from Chicago last week, took our students to Six Flags, made sure my sermon was ready to go for Sunday, and more. All of this is leaving me feeling a bit maxed out, if you will, but I could say “it’s all good stuff,” which of course it is, but that’s not really the point. 

The point is, as much as I often like to be busy, to achieve things and push myself, to stay on top of all my commitments, and “maximize” my life, maximization, I’m pretty convinced, is an enemy of a healthy spiritual life. When I’m trying to maximize everything in my life, I can tend to feel inconvenienced when a friend or neighbor is in need, when I’m interrupted unexpectedly—even though if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Pastor Pete, it’s that “interruptions are the real work” in ministry—I get annoyed and thrown off, and most dangerously, I no longer notice God in my midst or in the faces of other image bearers, because I’m too distracted and there’s too much noise to notice the still, small voice of God. I wonder if you can relate, and if you’ll join me in trying to minimize maximization for a little while. 

In this upcoming Sunday’s sermon text, we’ll discover that even Jesus did not try to “maximize.” He knew that quiet moments of rest were essential for him, his ministry, and for his disciples too. It is why Sabbath has been (or is supposed to be) one of the markers of God’s people, because only in resting as God did, will we truly see ourselves rightly in the grand scheme of God’s kingdom and experience God’s presence as we were intended to. Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

May we truly “learn from” Jesus, in knowing when to stop maximizing. May we follow Christ in taking space for rest and in being open to interruptions, which are often the places God is found. I’m mostly preaching to myself, but I hope you’ll join me. 

With love,

Pastor Lynnea

Becoming Neighbors

How often are our expectations greater than we even imagined? Especially these days when we keep our expectations tamped down because of continual disappointment? On Saturday, when the congregations of Iglesia del Pacto Evangélico de Albany Park and Winnetka Covenant Church came together for a Becoming Neighbors Picnic the event highlighted how we should always expect God to do something greater than we can even imagine.  For me it was like a glimpse of the kingdom.

I invited Julie Hextel, the organizer if the event, and Pastor Lynnea to share their thoughts about the day.

Julie Hextell, “On Saturday, 70 humans gathered, hearts ready to give and receive as they were able.  Our church overflowed with laughter, ease, deliciousness, powerful songs, high spirits, and so many magical moments.  I think about Mary Beth dazzling Ezekiel and Elaine with an impromptu piano session; the abundant feast across multiple cultures; SO MUCH WATERMELON; the giant wave of sound as Lynnea led us in making a joyful noise; the silliness of the piñata; laughing kids chasing after bubbles and balloons; and a dozen introductions and explanations as people connected.  As Christians it can feel like we work so hard to live right and achieve the promise of Heaven – what a joy it was, on one sticky, smoky Saturday, to enjoy the glory of God’s Kingdom.”

Julie sent this message from Pastor Tomás, “On behalf of the IDP congregation, he sent blessings and thanks.  They had several people testify at their Sunday service about the picnic – they were delighted by the feast we provided, our generous welcome, the heartfelt bilingual singing led by Lynnea, the chance to relax in our beautiful space, and the common worship.

 Pastor Tomás remarked that it’s an unusual thing to see one church visiting another for a summer picnic – and he was delighted to look into the audience during the service and see us worshiping together with heartfelt bilingual singing.   He appreciated Pete’s kind welcome message.  He sent special thanks to the drivers who brought the IDP group to the WCC, which felt like such generous service.  More generally Tomás appreciates the many times our congregations have interacted during the past year, this relationship has been a source of joy during a difficult time.

The congregants of the church were delighted by the comradery and the warm welcome to our beautiful campus.  They felt welcomed and protected and appreciated the chance to relax and get to know us.  The volleyball players loved their time on the court and are hoping to return for more play.   Everyone thought the piñata was fun and appreciated the collaboration to set it up on the playground.”

Pastor Lynnea, “I played volleyball for about an hour and a half on Saturday. I’m so grateful that things like joy, laughter, connection, sports, and play all transcend language barriers.”

Thank you to all the hands that made this possible, and blessings on both congregations.

Pastor Kristie

Becoming Neighbors Picnic with Iglesia del Pacto Evangelico de Albany Park

Saturday, July 18, 11:30 – 2:00 at Winnetka Covenant Church

I simply want to lift up this most important mission and fellowship moment before us, coming this Saturday when we host our friends from the Covenant Church in the Albany Park neighborhood of Chicago. Over the past year we have been getting to know one another with visits and a Vigil, and now we’ll spend an afternoon enjoying one another. We’ll have a delicious potluck, singing/worship, and fun games.

In this especially important season of religious, cultural and political tensions of many sorts, this moment of coming together reflects the heart of our mission — so I am asking you to make it a priority if you are able to come and join. Looking forward to the time together!

Peter Hawkinson

“Here’s another way to put it: You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We’re going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide your under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand — shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5, the Message)

THOSE STARS THAT TURN IN US — by Jan Richardson

I do not know how to keep it all together or by what patterns this world might finally hold What I know is our hearts are bigger than this sky that wheels above us and what shines through all this darkness shines through us, setting every shattered thing into a new constellation and we can turn our faces to that light, to the grace of those stars that turn in us.

I so enjoyed reading Pastor Kristie Finley’s blog about “Play”.  I agreed very much with the lost art of play, with joy and sorrow dwelling in the same space within my heart as I read it.  

Here’s the “Joy” side of the coin. Play was very much a part of my life not only as a child with other children, but throughout my relationship with my Mom. We were very silly “sisters” indeed, always doing something fun. Rainy days brought out board games of strategy. Sunny days were spent on bicycles, swings, slides and teeter totters, hopscotching on the various chalk lines we would come across on our long walks together, or breaking out in spontaneous and hilarious public dance move challenges, random “red light – green light” or Simon Says games that broke up boring chores, or engaging in pretend scenarios that we would create for ourselves when at home or in public.  “Oh, let’s be posh British world travelers today as we lunch” I’d say, and naturally she’d play along and we’d create these characters, accents in tow throughout the meal and point out how this or that was, compared to our hyperbolically vast mansions back abroad. Once we pushed past the exit doors of the restaurant, we’d explode with laughter at our little secret. 

Mommy taught me, or rather showed me that the ability to play was God’s precious gift to us all to create, and imagine and connect. It was healing. Like air to breathe, and water to drink. Throughout these exchanges she and I had with one another, I learned how to laugh at myself, and be comfortable with knowing that the playful spirit was always within my reach if I would just reach for it, and not care what anyone thought. Joy!  The world didn’t give it, and the world couldn’t take it away. Hallelujah!

But now.

Those things we did  –  those things we would still be doing – just a few years ago have abruptly stopped. With her passing, my childhood friend of these decades, the challenge to find play now feels ever elusive. Distant. These memories of play are almost like an echo. That is the “Sorrow” side of the coin in this healing process I hope by God’s grace to break through one day. To reach again. Just like these little ones that have taken over our church campus for these few weeks – Imagine Day Camp –  there is still that childlike little person within me, desperate to laugh, and jump and to play! To find new games, and to fellowship with others. Especially now, in a world of ever increasing vitriol and uncertainty, I think it’s important that we remember how to play.  Play keeps us young, and keeps our spirits filled with joy, as I suspect God intended it to. I hope that we can. I hope that I can. I pray for this daily. May God help us all to play, and play well.

Blessings,

Susie Lofton

Play, its something we all need but as we grow up we fill our time with “more important” things. As an adult it is a blessing to have an excuse to play with abandon. I get to do that every week when I spend time with my 2-year-old grandson. 

He woke up the other day, found a pirate hat and Ninja Turtle sword in his room and he was off.  I usually just chase after him, but he demands that I stay in character. He flies down the street on his scooter, that has transformed into a pirate ship, and the adventure begins.

I remember taking my son, his father, to any open gym he could find to shoot hoops. I was the rebounder and we didn’t talk much, but it sure was fun. To just run, and throw was wonderful.

Oh, to be able to totally immerse ourselves in the world we knew as children. Games like hide and seek, capture the flag, or water fights allow us to escape from the stress of what is happening in our adult world. To breathe deeply and laugh sets us free. We can connect with ourselves, our children , and each without an agenda.

I have taken groups of young people, and adults to Covenant Harbor for retreats. I haven’t been to Covenant Point, but I think I understand why these camps are so precious to the congregation. You are immersed in nature and able to return to that joy of play. Within that freedom you are able to clearly feel the Holy Spirit run with you and your cares flow off your shoulders like water.

Play is restorative. Your endorphins kick in and you can’t help but smile. So, I wonder, why do we relegate play to the back of the closet where our old mitt, field hockey stick, or deflated basketball reside? 

There is a lot of research about the benefits of play for both children and adults. Marie Montessori is often credited with claiming the “play is the work of childhood.” It is how we all first learn. Play is a natural stress reducer, stimulating creativity, enhancing brain function (really good for us adults,) and strengthening relationships by building trust, empathy, and social connection. 

While in seminary I spent a week at a camp for racial and economic reconciliation with middle schoolers. Much of what divided these children melted away as they swam, canoed, ran sack races, and prayed together. Playing allows us to connect with our neighbors in authentic ways that dissolves what divides us. 

So, maybe wait until the weekend when it’s cooler, grab someone you know, a kid or adult, and go out into God’s glorious creation and play with abandon, like the child you still have inside.

Kristie Finley

This past Saturday came a Peterson family wedding in Beloit, Wisconsin. Bonnie’s family, as you know, has welcomed me so fully into their clan, so I was excited for the gathering, and of course to celebrate Anna and Nick’s love and the promise of unfolding life together.

The weather was stunningly beautiful, as it has been of late. Driving west toward Rockford the puffy white clouds seemed endless in the bright blue sky. The sun was warm and the breeze was cool.

Following a lovely wedding ceremony at the Church, we made our way, following the crowd to the country club, where the reception began on the vast veranda overlooking the golf course. Yes, my mouth was watering — wishing for the chance to get out there as much as for all the appetizers and fizzy summer drinks.

It was all just as expected, and wonderful. Except, that is, when I found a childhood friend I hadn’t seen in a long time, who I didn’t know was a close family friend of the bride’s parents and so there for the celebration. Greg and I spotted each other and did the awkward, non-verbal “I think that’s you, but is that really you?” thing — finally smiling at the same time realizing it was so, and moving toward each other in embrace after all the years.

Thankfully we had the strength and will to get through the surface things — the weather, the cubs and bears, and the beautiful spot — and what followed was a half hour of reminiscing, of remembering, or re-connecting and of risk-taking. Shared experiences of the “remember when” brought us laughter and joy. Family updates about parents and siblings led to many other memories and caught us up. But then, just when it could of well ended with “so nice to see you”, it didn’t. We shared some of the challenges we’ve each faced over the years, some sorrows and griefs, of relationships still undone and distant. Greg shared with me how he wished our own friendship could have been closer years ago, and I responded in like mind. Dynamics of “in crowds” and cliques that hurt fifty years ago were remembered. We both shared how powerfully those realities from long ago still affect us. It all ended with a long hug and mutual blessing.

Home now a few days later, I am moved by that encounter. It came as an unexpected gift. It’s a reminder that we never know what potential a moment holds for remembering’s power when it comes to life’s present moment reflectively. Our summer book discussion last Thursday evening focused on vulnerability. The author, Rachel held Evans says “So perhaps wholeheartedness does not mean reductive thinking that clings to the idolatry of sharp contracts between black and white but rather a recognition and acceptance of the reality of the vast and beautiful landscape of grays.” (Wholehearted faith, p.45).

Greg and I were able to risk getting into the grays of strained teenage relationships and hurt feelings from fifty years ago, and it seems this was so healing for both of us. Surely the Spirit was there in the conversation. Here’s to the vast and beautiful landscape of grays.

How long has it been since you have remembered life way back when with a childhood friend?

Love From Here

Peter Hawkinson

Coffee cup is in hand this morning. The first cup of the day is always a special moment, for a few reasons. There’s the caffeine of course, which helps me continue the process of waking up. There’s the drip sound, and the delicious smell that fills the kitchen. Alongside at some point come the morning greetings and the “How did you sleep?” and “How does your day look?” catch up check-ins. There’s the morning rub with bear, whose always first up and ready to go.

But today as I open the cupboard and rifle through the mugs, I realize why we have so many. Almost every one of them recalls memories — some of places we’ve been, others of moments we’ve shared, some of most memorable days with family and friends, and others literally created, formed by the hands of those we know.

There’s the Yosemite mug my brother Eric and wife Patty gave to me last time we were there. It maybe the most beautiful spot in creation I have yet seen in this world. There’s the big yellow lab mug that Hannah, Sarah and I brought back from palm Springs for mom when we were grieving the loss of Silas. I’m drinking from it just now. Oh look, there’s the Country Music Hall of Fame mug I got for Stina at the Goodwill store for Christmas as a kind of joke, but it’s no joke, because it’s my favorite these days. Steamboat Springs calls out from the upper shelf, bringing memories for Bonnie of her years living and skiing in Colorado. The cubs, the bears and the bulls represent, as does the Masters. Others bring memories of seminal places in our life memory — Bethany Covenant Church, North Park University and Seminary, Chicago, Cape Cod, Seattle, and Stockholm. And then many beautiful, seemingly benign beautiful blue potted mugs, that are most treasured because they come from the creative and careful hands of a friend as gifts.

I could go on and on as I look over the shelves. No wonder we have so many mugs and can’t let them go! I’m left with an overwhelming sense of how blessed Bonnie and I have been over these last thirty-three years, and how we hope for so many more to come. I’m thinking about those we’ve lost and those who’ve come into our lives, the places we’ve been blessed to live and work, the communities we’ve been a part of, the vacations we’ll always remember and treasure, and the friends we have and love. And all on a shelf!

What stories and memories do your coffee mugs hold? Take a look, remember, and give thanks!

Love From Here

Peter Hawkinson

Praying  (by Mary Oliver)

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

I don’t know about you, but I struggle with prayer. Always have, and I’m afraid, always will. Or maybe the struggle is to come to grips with what we’ve decided counts, qualifies, and what is effective in the end. I’ve always taken comfort in those disciples who begged Jesus, “Lord, teach us how to pray.” (Luke 11:1). In their imploring is both a confession of struggle and a longing for new strength and understanding.

Me too! Me too! Both the struggle and the longing. How about you?

Like so many of Mary Oliver’s poems, this one about praying invites me into a more hopeful space. Maybe she’s right – that the secret of a praying life is accepting the grace of what “it doesn’t have to be.” If you’re like me – and you don’t usually find the exquisite and profound words (that would be the blue iris!), and the truth is you often have no words at all; if your secret prayer closet habits, would they become public, cause you to shutter with fear; if doubt and questions haunt you into feeling that your faith is, after all, inadequate; then I say, welcome, welcome. Your struggles are mine.

But what if Mary is right? What if prayer’s invitation is an open door into a whole new world, or put bluntly – what if prayer is God’s primary way to speak, and for me to be quiet – simply to open the door of my life, and receive what God has to say, to give. What if the contest is about who can be quiet, and still, who can listen and wonder…these are hopeful and inviting words.

Read the poem again. Better yet, a few times. It’s short enough to memorize, and then you and I can pretend the Holy Spirit is speaking to us, again and again, reminding us that it’s not a contest, but an invitation, should we desire a shared life with the God of the Universe. Now that sounds hopeful!

Love From Here

Peter Hawkinson

On Pentecost Sunday, following our own worship service where the dove flew through the sanctuary, we sang of the Spirit of gentleness and of the living God, and reflected on how this Spirit that came at Pentecost helps us as Christians today live lives filled with the Spirit’s fruit, I attended the Pentecost service at Iglesia del Pacto Evangélico de Albany Park. I clapped along with an amazing worship band, followed a hand-out filled with passages about the Spirit’s presence, and was greeted in Spanish and through hugs by members of the community. Ninety-five percent of the service was in Spanish. I did my best to follow the sermon, sing along, and greet my neighbors in the language I grew up learning from elementary school to college. But, it’s been eight years or so since I took my last Spanish class, so I’m more than a little rusty. 

I went to college at Michigan State University. I was drawn there for their top-tier education program, and began college as an elementary education major and Spanish minor. I felt called to ministry the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, and so after 3 semesters as an education major I switched my major to sociology. The Spanish minor was one of the longest minors there was and so, to ensure I’d graduate on time, I dropped it. I miss it, and now that I’ve concluded my seminary studies, I hope to dedicate more time to practicing my Spanish again. 

I’m ruminating so much on the language here because, while at my second Pentecost celebration of the day, I realized how wonderful it was that I got to worship that day in both English and Spanish, with both hymns and a worship band, with dancing and clapping, and while watching Pastor Pete fly the dove over my head. All of these expressions represent the true spirit of Pentecost. 

In Acts chapter 2, when the Holy Spirit came and settled on the believers, everyone began speaking in languages other than their own. Every person and people group present that day heard their language spoken and witnessed their culture being expressed, all because of the Spirit’s presence and power. Many believe Pentecost to be the beautiful reversal of the story of the Tower of Babel, found in Genesis 11. In that story, the people ignored God’s command to be fruitful and multiply, to spread out over the whole earth, essentially, to become diverse and create different cultures. Instead, they spoke one language, and to avoid being spread out throughout the world, they built a tower and city for themselves. But God, not to punish them for disobedience per se, but to fulfill the intention that always was, mixed up their languages and spread the people across the land. See, God loves and intentionally created different languages, cultures, nations, and people. Every single one reflects a part of who God is and who God has created us to be. By expressing our own culture, we honor God. But solely prioritizing and witnessing only our own cultural expressions, limits God and we end up missing out. 

At Pentecost, the Spirit came to all people and all were asked to speak another language and cross cultural barriers. In the ways that you can during this season of Pentecost, the longest of the entire church year, I invite you to learn about a different culture, speak a different language, break bread with those across cultural lines, and also, celebrate your own culture, but de-prioritize it too. One tangible way we can all do this this summer, is to attend a picnic on July 18 that our Becoming Neighbors group is hosting for Winnetka Covenant Church and Iglesia del Pacto Evangélico de Albany Park. We hope you can come, to have fellowship together, break bread, practice your Spanish, and become an even better neighbor. 

Con amor, 

Pastor Lynnea