December 24, 2017 Isaiah 9.2-7,

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.

On those living in a land of deep darkness, light has dawned.

You have made the nation great;

you have increased its joy.

They rejoiced before you as with joy at the harvest,

as those who divide plunder rejoice.

As on the day of Midian, 

you’ve shattered the yoke that burdened them,

the staff on their shoulders,

and the rod of their oppressor.

Because every boot of the thundering warriors,

and every garment rolled in blood

will be burned, fuel for the fire.

A child is born to us, 

a son is given to us,

and authority will be on his shoulders.

He will be named

Wonderful Counselor, 

Mighty God,

Eternal Father, 

Prince of Peace.

There will be vast authority and endless peace

for David’s throne and for his kingdom,

establishing and sustaining it with justice and righteousness

now and forever.

The zeal of the Lord of heavenly forces will do this.

HOMILY

It seemed like the latest hours I knew as a child, when put to bed before sundown, I would watch the canary yellow of my room fade to grey, and hear the distant sounds of older children still out past bedtime. Luffing off my sheets, I would stand backwards against the helm of my little-wooden-twin-headboard, balancing my sea-legs between it, the mattress, and the crack in-between, where my pillow could be stuffed, at least momentarily, to see out the window.

My city’s nightfall was perforated by a haze of street lights, and the grainy film darkness was floored by golden polka doted light pools, evenly spaced, along the black asphalt of an apartment complex across the drainage ditch from my backyard. In those spotlights, the starkness of a shadow’s edge became the revelatory details of night, and therefore I would stare into them, as if they held the answers for the things I didn’t know, the things which darkness shielded, and the things for which bedtimes were put to avoid. 

But of all my staring, and wanting to know, only once did I ever see anything in the spotlight and it was simple. I remember a black shadow of a boy running across the yellow pool of light, like “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over candlestick,” Though the nursery rhyme warned of the danger of night, I saw, with his jumping, that there was still life to be had in the darkness and that it was good.

And imagine the shepherds in the fields likewise, watching the warm summer’s canary-yellow sun turn everything it touched to goldenrod just before dusk. I imagine the length of the day stretching into sunset over the hills, and the sky above slowly fading to it’s blue gloaming before twilight, and it’s quiet that falls with the sundown and settles in the dark of night. I imagine them on top of their blankets, watching their flocks at night. Christians have always read this darkness as a thing to fear, that the shepherds watched for the wolf or the coyote, or any danger that might befall them and their flock, because we couldn’t imagine anything good happening after midnight, be they predators to sheep in a field, or little girls staring out their bedroom windows. But what if it wasn’t like that, what if it was a summer’s night, without the fear of chill and cold, when even black water was inviting, and subsequent night swimming was invigorating, when the darkness is friendly, and the quiet is welcome, and we are unafraid? What if that was and is, what it was like that night? Would we know? What if it is this night? Would we know? When is the last time we watched the night?

Was it when fear had a grip on our future that wouldn’t let us sleep? Was it when the loneliness of grief became the restless partner in an empty bed? Was it the distraction of staying up too late to avoid the fullness of the next day’s work? And in those moments did we just toss and turn cursing the dark, or did we sit up, watch it, and welcome it in, or perhaps go out to walk in it? 

The prophet Isaiah speaks, of a “people walking in darkness” and the Israelites, have had many a reason to be afraid of the dark. They are living as refugees in their own land, under the heavy thumb of their oppressor, wars rage and blood covers every garment. And therefore, they live in a land of deep darkness. Likewise, there are times when the darkness seems to have chosen us, and will not let up, as if we are in a wrestling match with the devil and have to cling on hard for a blessing to come with the dawn. And there are other times when we choose the darkness knowing and watching for the life it will bring.

My friend James went out for a night walk, through a forest of massive fifteen foot bonfires everywhere. A prescribed burn of the slash dropped from fall’s thinning created giant flames patch-working the snow laden forest. He described it as one of the most surreal experiences of his life, first walking with a friend, and then going back alone. And so often, those moments are surreal, when we choose to walk into the dark, rather than away from it. I imagine him going back, the way a night fire can beckon us in, with both fear and comfort at the same time. I imagine it, like the renewal promised in a yule log, where we set one year to end by burning it so long that it becomes fuel for the next. Those bonfires releasing the lodge pole pine cone seeds to sprout, and the ashen earth soon to erupt into spring morels. The prophet Isaiah, echo’s the scorched earth’s promise, by praising God saying, “every boot of the thundering warriors, and every garment rolled in blood will be burned, fuel for the fire.” That the boots of the warriors shall turn into the carols of angels, proclaiming,

“A child is born to us, 

a son is given to us,

and authority will be on his shoulders.

He will be named

Wonderful Counselor, 

Mighty God,

Eternal Father, 

Prince of Peace.”

And the angel said unto them, watching their flocks by night, 

“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, 

which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, 

who is Christ the Lord.

And suddenly there was with the angel

 a multitude of the heavenly host 

praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward all!”

These are the things which happen at night. So, for Isaiah, and my friend James, and me as a kid at the window, and the shadow of the child I saw jumping, and the shepherds in the fields, and also to the sleepless we who are crowded in this dark night, may we know the way to that peace is through the darkness, for in that darkness is life.

December 17, 2017 John 1:6–8, 19–28

John 1:6–8, 19–28
A man named John was sent from God. 

He came as a witness to testify concerning the light, 

so that through him everyone would believe in the light. 

He himself wasn’t the light, but his mission was to testify concerning the light.                                                                   

The Lord God’s spirit is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me.
The Lord has sent me
to bring good news to the poor,
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim release for captives,
and liberation for prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and a day of vindication for our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
to provide for Zion’s mourners,
to give them a crown in place of ashes,
oil of joy in place of mourning,
a mantle of praise in place of discouragement.
They will be called Oaks of Righteousness,
planted by the Lord to glorify the Lord.
They will rebuild the ancient ruins;
they will restore formerly deserted places;
they will renew ruined cities,
places deserted in generations past.

I, the Lord, love justice;
I hate robbery and dishonesty.
I will faithfully give them their wage,
and make with them an enduring covenant.
Their offspring will be known among the nations,
and their descendants among the peoples.
All who see them will recognize
that they are a people blessed by the Lord.

I surely rejoice in the Lord;
my heart is joyful because of my God,
because God has clothed me with clothes of victory,
wrapped me in a robe of righteousness
like a bridegroom in a priestly crown,
and like a bride adorned in jewelry.
As the earth puts out its growth,
and as a garden grows its seeds,
so the Lord God will grow righteousness and praise before all the nations.

***

I don’t like to run on the path at night because it is too bright. I can see where I am to step just fine because of the lamp lights overhead, but I can’t see what is ten feet beyond them. I do not know if someone is there, where my eyes can’t adjust past the beaming into the dark, and isn’t this what they try to teach women who run anyway, to be afraid of the dark. 

We do it with our children, night-lights that lead from bedrooms to bathrooms, or toys that glow which are supposed to ease toddlers to sleep, when in fact, they disrupt their circadian rhythms. Adults, we are not that much different, when we look around the house once we’ve locked the door against scary nighttime intruders, there are blue and green dots of light, the cell phone charging, the printer still on, the stereo on pause, and the digital clock on the wall. I remember going to sleep in my grandmother’s room growing up and watching the clock, because I could, at night, in her house, big green diamond shaped numbers blinked the minutes by, and I would try to wait up just to see the double-digits, and especially if I could make it to 11:11, because that was a wishing number, there in the dark, that somehow I could never have time to wait and watch for in the light of day, everything else I could see was too distracting from just being, and waiting for wishes to come.

And isn’t that the way of things, that we avoid those dark, quiet waiting spaces? That we 

equate light with goodness, and dark with evil, despite the metaphor’s historic oppression of people of color. You look up the word dark in the thesaurus and it gives you adjectives like lack of light, but also, shaded complexion and hair, right next to, grim and hopeless, evil, satanic, ignorant, a time without light, and the witching hour. And you look up the word light, and it describes, illuminated, blond and fair, not heavy, simple, easy, funny, cheery, luminescence. I remember in my sorority’s play each year watching my sisters’ subconsciously pick the roll of the angel with a ring of white flowers as a halo, to be whomever was the blondest girl. That somehow those who were darker could not be as pure or heavenly. But what if that darkness was just where the heavenly begins to appear. What if there were no lamp lights on the path and I could run with eyes adjusted and glance from the freckles of stars across their Milky-Way cheek bones - to the brush strokes black trees against the blue of December’s Snow Moon. What if we scrolled all the way to the end of the thesaurus and found that black also can be a word for hidden, and secret, and mystery. What we honored the passing minutes and knew that almost midnights, like 11:11, held wishes that could possibly be granted. What if instead of locking our door against the nighttime intruders, we became more concerned with the power buttons that intrude our own sleep within our home. What if instead of teaching our children, “Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep, please guide me safely through the night and wake me with the morning light,” or the old scarier version, of, “and if I die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take,” as if night and death were scary and left us without God, we taught our children to enjoy the dark, to let their eyes adjust, to honor the shades in shadows, and the wax and wane of the moon. Growing up, my mom, a children’s librarian by profession and a naturalist by passion, would walk us to the bathhouse on camping trips, and along the way we would turn off our flashlights, and she would point out the stars of Orion and his belt, and the Centaur and his maze, and she would tell us the stories of the constellations such that to be outside at night was a source of wonder and awe and imagination and dreams. Then, we would go back to the city, where too many lights brightened out the stars and our dreams were polluted by other people’s fear. But what if what we feared was the light creeping into our darkness, what if what we rallied against was the stealing of our dreams, the labeling of black as bad, and the avoidance of night, because it is to this darkness Jesus comes. 

Jesus is born not in the bright busyness of day, but in the quiet, solitude of night. What if our pictures of the nativity are not to be full color seeing every angle of yellow hay, but instead a cast of grey lines and shadows, surrounding the soft wrap of swaddling clothes against the smoothness of dark baby’s cheek. What if we allowed the nativity to be at night, true night? Would we be able to find the Lord better if we dimmed the distractions and focused in. I think too of the angels, who do not come to the shepherd girls on a sunny afternoon, the angels whose halos illumine a multitude of completions, show up after the sheep have been counted saying, “Do not be afraid.” and their songs of Gloria, Gloria, In ExCelesis Deo,” became the first lullabies of our Christian tradition. Similarly, the Magi, could only travel by night, turning out their lanterns, like my mother, sister and I, clicking off our flashlights and following the stars. And after seeing the Lord, they go home by another way, through another unfamiliar darkness, I supposed because they know the safety of traveling in the night. So, to us, as these night’s come quickly and stay long through morning, maybe we too are to lean into the darkness, because to that darkness is where Jesus comes, where we will find the mystery of our Lord.

December 3, 2017 Isaiah 64.1–9

Historical Context: “Some Israelites displaced by Babylonian aggression had now returned to Jerusalem under Persian sponsorship. The Israelites who had not been displaced clashed with this immigrating group over questions of status, social standing, and, ultimately, political and religious authority. Contemporary readers of this material should understand it in the context of overriding colonial power. Persia remained the real arbiter of power. This local tension reflects the way that colonization reconfigures group identity, not just in relation to the external colonizing power, but also in relation to each other,” Dr. Corrine Carvalho, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3485. 

Isaiah 64.1–9, Pg. 694

If only you would tear open the heavens and come down!

    Mountains would quake before you

 like fire igniting brushwood or making water boil.

If you would make your name known to your enemies,

    the nations would tremble in your presence.

When you accomplished wonders beyond all our expectations;

    when you came down, mountains quaked before you.

From ancient times,

    no one has heard,

    no ear has perceived,

    no eye has seen any god but you

    who acts on behalf of those who wait for God!

You look after those who gladly do right;

    they will praise you for your ways.

But you were angry when we sinned;

    you hid yourself when we did wrong.

We have all become like the unclean;

    all our righteous deeds are like a fithy rag.

All of us wither like a leaf;

    our sins, like the wind, carry us away.

No one calls on your name;

    no one bothers to hold on to you,

    for you have hidden yourself from us,

    and have handed us over to our sin.

 But now, Lord, you are our father.

    We are the clay, and you are our potter.

    All of us are the work of your hand.

Don’t rage so fiercely, Lord;

    don’t hold our sins against us forever,

    but gaze now on your people, all of us:

SERMON

The evening before, riding back from a bike-tour around Bogota, Uncle Andy told me to watch my camera, that we were in a historically dangerous section of Columbia, South America, called La Candelaria. What it looked like to me was old and beautiful, with narrow cobblestone streets, cornered in by small colonial houses, under red tiled roofs, fronting charming colorful painted murals. What it looked like to me was exactly an area I wanted to photograph and one that didn’t feel very dangerous. That evening, people were out, young students and hosteling tourists mingled, drinking, talking, and smoking, the smell of marijuana only sporadic, discreet enough not to bother, but open enough to remind of it’s more recent legality in Columbia, and it’s equally as recent unrest due to the American greed for marijuana and other drugs. Yet, also through the air, music played, and a mime juggled in front of a white church, where watchers gathered as if hearing a sermon outside. If anything the scene reminded me of Montmartre in Paris, a perfect monastery overlook, where unlike Uncle Andy’s admonition, general awareness evaded crime, rather than overt avoidance of the area. Obliging him, only because the light was fading, I tucked my camera in my shirt for the duration.

In the morning, waking early, before anyone else, I left a note for the Irvine family, that I was going on a walk to take pictures. Before entering the street, I checked and memorized my map, ‘Go all down Carrera 4 (Quatro) skirting the highway on your left, then turn left on Calle 12.1/2 (dulce y medio). That will bring me right back to the murals on old colonials and oldest street in Bogota. Walking out the gate, the quiet city was alive with morning’s smells, arepas and empanadas fried in oil, last night’s indigent urine stained the concrete, and tito, cheap brewed coffee steamed from thermoses. I was met with the long steps of students and workers with places to go surpassing my memorized yet gazing pace. Intersections filled and the sound grew, cars and taxis screeched, chortled, and honked. Short friendly greetings of neighbors and regular vendors to customers clapped of the language their familiar routine, while I, white and clearly misplaced and unfamiliar, navigated alongside it, as the streets became more narrow, less commercial and increasingly colorful. Calle 12.1/2 (dulce y medio), left. 

And I began, I snuck out my phone camera, while stepping to the inside so students could pass on their way, as I leaned against the wall for a window’s reflection against a black and white doodled mural. Back in my fanny pack, hidden under my poncho, I zipped my phone away. Then, “Bird on a wire,” I sang softly at a colorful house with such depicted underneath an actual wire, as if the song, and the painting, and the technology were all to blend. A security guard peeked out a parking-lot doorway to watch and shyly greet me with a nod and I returned it. I noticed a rusted metal community board with a dozen ripped and fading fliers some in English selling to tourists, others in Spanish I couldn’t quite read, and I took another picture then the light changed moving from behind a cloud and I took another photo of the same sign with the clear morning light. Around the corner, the white church bleached back the sun, picture, and the beading sky blue painted parsonage wall beckoned, picture, shadows of a trees both fake and real confetti-ed its surface, picture, picture, the plastic white leafed maple enchanted like hoarfrost, picture, the light behind it with the street scene picture, climbing on a bench for the roof of the parsonage wall, picture, hopping off for the yarrow looking plant growing from between the tiles, picture. Walking to the entrance of the narrow street, a local young woman on her way to class texting a picture herself.

At the nave of the street, an older lady, was washing her porch step and throwing the suds down the road. “Buen Dia.” “Buen Dia,” I responded. “Como estas?” she asked, “Muy bien, y tu, usted,” I shyly, using the formal I remembered from addressing my professor in high-school. “Muy bien,” she said smiling. “Tu calle es may bonita,” I tried, my gestures outsized like charades. And she brightened even more, understanding my attempt at a grateful compliment. We nodded and continued on. 

Again, a thousand pictures in my eyes, murals of birds, picture, another blue wall and a widow with bars, picture, a roof of corrugated plastic held with bamboo poles nevertheless decorated with Christmas lights, picture, a statue of a man jumping from roof to colorful balcony, picture, a busy mural of birds and a tiger and a woman next to a sign for tattoos, the green, yellow and red of the Columbia flag and a parrot, picture. And then, high up, on the other side of the street, a red brick wall, a white window frame, blue shutters, and on the ledge, a nativity. 

Up the sidewalk, to the high point, and still unable to get the correct distance. I unzipped my fanny pack, pulling out what I call my real camera, zipping away my ironically more expensive phone, could the old film body’s magnifying lens reach? Not quite. 

Then the older woman again, dressed for the day, scarf tied under her head, cane beside her, looked and began shaking her head at me, pointing to my camera, and speaking more quickly. I caught the elementary, “Donde estas Tu?” The rhetorical question confused me. I was not staying here, I was and I pointed the director of the Airbnb, that wasn’t what she meant. Of course I knew where I was, I had navigated all by myself, I was in South America, in Columbia, in Bogota. I think what she meant, was, “La Candlaria,” the most historically dangerous section of Columbia, like Uncle Andy had chided me, “Do you know where you are?” she was asking, but I didn’t understand the words until thinking about it later. Yet, I understood her emotion, her fear for me and exasperation with a nice young woman tourist trying to take pictures, with what she perceived as a fancy camera, because it was there, about a month’s wage in that city. I could read her gestures, as reprimand. She pointed to the police officer and told him what I expect was, “this girl is not paying enough attention, watch her.” I both felt ashamed, and indignant. I had noticed the officer and his dog at the end of the street, and his careful eye on me and the locals passing by on their way to begin their day. I had been told by two Bogotanos that the police were not corrupt here and I had seen multiple that morning in this tiny neighborhood with hostels and tourists. I am not sure I would have uncovered my big camera if the officer was not there. I hadn’t on other streets nearby. Besides, I had gone out early in the morning when crime is unlikely. I had watched for the streets to empty and I looked for anything suspicious before sliding out my phone for each picture. I had traveled enough all over the world to recognize when to be especially careful, but this was not it, and honestly when it came down to it, I was willing to risk getting things stolen, or being held up, for the dare of a picture. Comedian David Sedaris and writer Hunter S. Thompson, had to say yes, in order to get their stories, I had to take a little risk to do what I love in taking pictures, it was a way I see and appreciate the world. Besides I pondered, doesn’t my taking pictures and posting them to social media, show Columbia has become safe? Doesn’t it help the whole cycle, where more visitors will come, and with them legal money, and jobs, and the awareness of their culture and history? I nodded to the officer, and the woman went on her way, but our pleasant interaction of prior had been defeated and I was too. There is no way to be a tourist in another country without disrupting that country. My humble compliment in and of itself a colonization, what does it matter if I think her street is beautiful, if it means she and the officer have to watch out for me, if it means the officer is placed in that spot, so I and other tourists can come with our voyeuristic cameras, and take pictures. We can come and take from Columbia, just as Americans and others have for decades, from the Spanish Inquisition stealing it’s gold, centuries of killing and enslaving the people, to our trafficking of marijuana, cocaine, and methamphetamine today, all while pretending to care by creating a War on Drugs that is a front to catch the, ‘bad guys,’ like Pablo Escobar, while ignoring our own dependence on their underground economy. Add to that tourists who come to Columbia sporting, ‘Make American Great Again,’ hats not knowing that people outside the Estados Unidos consider America to be two continents, not catching the irony of building wall. Add to that China and United State’s disregard for the environment by illegally mining in Columbia. Add to that me, taking pictures and with it, police who probably have better things to do, more important things to do, than keep tourists safe. 

It is like the scripture, which laments, 

“We have all become like the unclean;

    all our righteous deeds are like a filthy rag.

All of us wither like a leaf;

    our sins, like the wind, carry us away.”

The exiled Israelites, like tourists, returned to Jerusalem under Prussian sponsorship, and thus disrupted the city they loved and the people in it. They felt a claim because once it was a part of their history. Likewise, I came, to a place my country has helped spoil, and I will get on a plane, and leave, and probably never come back, like a leaf, my sins on the tailwind carried away, as there are always new places to explore. Others, perhaps even upon seeing my pictures, will also come and go, but what lasting positive change have I, who can’t even understand Spanish, made. I am but a disruption. 

The scripture laments again,

“No one calls on your name;

    no one bothers to hold on to you,

    for you have hidden yourself from us,

    and have handed us over to our sin.”

There is no way I can see to right my wrong without attempting to justify it. I am a disruption, my mere presence changes the culture which I am attempting to experience, understand, and capture. 

Yet, I think of that last picture, of the joy of happening upon the nativity, far off on a white window ledge against blue shutters, and it’s tiny figurines recognizable not on their own, but instead by their shape bending over a baby, which I could not even see. I think of the way those figures represent Mary and Jospeh who traveled back to their homeland for the census to be taxed, and I think of the way the shepherds came from out in the fields with the gaze of wonder as their guide, and the way, the Magi, of a completely different religion and race came offering gifts, and I think of the way I too came, bent with camera, gazing with wonder, offering the gifts of gratitude and appreciation, and there is something there, that rises above the sin of my transgressing and trespassing in foreign places. There is something there in the traveling from afar to come together in praise of a creator bigger than ourselves and a hope beyond our making.

I think of the scripture’s hope, 

“But now, Lord, you are our father.

    We are the clay, and you are our potter.

    All of us are the work of your hand.”

Like Mary and Jospeh, and the Shepherds, and the Magi, there is a way that traveling from a far, makes each of us, the Bogotanos, the Americans, the Chinese, the Spanish, and the resident Columbians all a sort of clay. Clay that is constantly molded by a potter who is above our separate identities, yet delights in the unique. Might travel be then to notice the work of God’s hand? That travel praises the sculpture of a city, or a woman I called, “usted,” and thus praise the Potter of us all? 

Therefore, I speak the scripture’s own words,

“Don’t rage so fiercely, Lord;

    don’t hold our sins against us forever,

    but gaze now on your people, all of us:”

All of us, who have come, even though broken, to witness the nativity you bring.

November 26 Jim Kauth

The “Judgement of Nations”, today’s reading from Matthew, is about the second coming of Christ, it follows immediately after the parable of “The Talents” which is also about the second coming. It may seem both emphasize good works as a means to please God and thus secure salvation but that assumption would be a mistake. A closer look at today’s reading from Matthew will show what truly pleases God, faith in Jesus, our Lord. You see, our faith in Jesus produces right attitudes and those right attitudes are shown to God and the world by our good works. Good works are not what please God; right attitudes which are the fruit of Faith please God and give glory to God. Did you listen to the statements in Matthew; I was hungry, you gave me food, I was thirsty you gave me drink; I was a stranger you made me welcome. Each of those statements shows a right attitude. It is the right attitudes that bring favorable judgement but more importantly it is your right attitudes that show you are already a citizen of the kingdom of Heaven. God’s judgement just reflects what you already are. And for those of us who are blessed with Faith in Jesus, God’s favorable judgement is our fountain of hope. There will be justice!

Both this reading and the one from Ezekiel are about the second coming and the second coming is about God’s judgement. For us God’s judgement gives us hope. We Christians profess our faith and the right for God to judge us. In accepting the right for God to judge us we accept God’s Lordship. Because Jesus is our Lord, we have hope.

Both of these readings use similes, primarily that of sheep and shepherd. We live in a ranching and farming community, we, as a community have some understanding of the simile of a good shepherd and sheep used in Ezekiel and Matthew. Some of us may even have first-hand experience with sheep and herding sheep. This hands on experience helps us understand the nuances of the simile of sheep and herding and it doesn’t take much, a 4-H sheep project is enough to know what sheep and sheep handling can be like. Knowing this you understand how fitting the comparison of sheep to us truly is! We sheep need a good shepherd and that “Good Shepherd” is Jesus.

When Matthew talks about Christ coming and sitting on a throne to pass judgement on us sheep our only first-hand knowledge of judgement is from our legal system in court, but the judgement from our Lord Jesus is much more. Being judged by Jesus is like standing for judgement in the US Supreme Court. There will be no appeals; there will be no higher court to go to. When Jesus our Lord passes judgement on us it will be a just judgement.

Our western culture doesn’t have first-hand experience living under a monarchy, a Lord. Intellectually we understand what a monarchy is but we have no personal experience with this form of government or with royalty. When the title “Lord” is used in Ezekiel we automatically think of God. This is how Christians are taught to think. But we Christians who live in a democratic society have no true understanding of the nuances that the kingly title of “Lord” carry. We have no hands on experience to inform us. What little experience we have of kings is from news reports and they usually are negative. The Bible does show kings in this light but not all kings.

In 1^st Samuel God’s people demanded that God give them a king and God listened. God recognized that power corrupts and left detailed guidance for those who would rule as king. Some of this guidance for the making of a good king also can make a good shepherd. In Ezekiel and Matthew’s time the people they were talking to understood intellectually and through first-hand experience what it meant to be a good shepherd and what it meant to live under a good king.

As I pointed out earlier, there’s a few of you who understand what makes a good shepherd but none of us have any experience with kings and living under a king’s rule. We don’t appreciate fully what the Bible is talking about when Jesus is called “Lord” and “King” at least not in the way the people during Ezekiel and during Matthew’s time understood.

But we do understand and we do have first-hand experience with citizenship. Earlier I said God’s judgement reflects who we already are. I want you to know, if we have the right attitudes and act like citizens of God’s Kingdom we are citizens of the kingdom of God. So what makes a citizen of God’s Kingdom?

·         We seek to bring people together; 

⁹ Blessed are the peacemakers

·         We are committed to God; 

⁸ Blessed are the pure in heart, because they will see God

·         We are sensitive to the needs of others; 

⁴ Blessed are the ones who mourn, because   

       they will be comforted                                                                    

·         We know we are helpless without our Lord; 

³ “Blessed are the poor in spirit, because

theirs is the kingdom of heaven

·         We recognize we don’t see the big picture but God does;  

⁵ Blessed are the meek, 

        because they will inherit  

 the earth

·         We yearn for a deeper relationship with Jesus;    

            ⁶ Blessed are the ones who hunger

      and  thirst for righteousness,                

because they will be satisfied                                                                                                           

·         We gently correct one another;  

⁷ Blessed are the merciful, because they will be shown  

        mercy

Do any of these statements sound familiar, yes, they are the beatitudes. These right attitudes of a citizen of heaven are also the attributes God demands of a King. The type of king God requires is a king whose life is an example to the king’s subjects. Divine Kingship is not about power and control it’s about right attitudes and leading by example. Listen again to what Ezekiel and Matthew say, listen to what God says God will do for His people:

·         I will seek you out and brings you all together

·         I will give you shelter, feed you, heals you, make you strong

·         I will give you peace

·         And I will correct you

God leads by example, these are the same attitudes God demands His citizens show each other. We understand leading by example because we also demand these same attitudes from our leaders, though our leaders don’t always exhibit these right attitudes and they don’t always lead by example. Yet our Lord and Savior Jesus, does exhibit these attitudes and He does lead by example. With a leader that exhibits these right attitudes and leads by example, that leader instills confidence in his subjects and with that confidence comes trust. With trust we can accept his authority to lead. And by his example we can confidently hope for justice. This hope for justice and this trust that we will receive justice is critical because our lord does two other things as Ezekiel and Matthew tell us.

·         Our Lord convicts us

·         And our Lord will judge us

Today, this Sunday, we celebrate “Christ the King”. We celebrate Christ as our leader who shows by example the right attitudes a citizen of heaven must exhibit.

Christ’s leadership by example instills confidence in us. Because of this we can trust in Christ and because of this trust we now can confidently hope for justice and accept his conviction and judgement of us. Will we follow our Lord? Will we commit to Jesus, will we accept His authority? While you choose, know this, God has already committed to us. God has chosen us already. We know this because God has made a covenant with us. We are God’s people; we are citizens of the Kingdom of God. All praise and glory to Christ our King.

November 19, Matthew 25:14-30

“The kingdom of heaven is like a man who was leaving on a trip. He called his servants and handed his possessions over to them. To one he gave five valuable coins, and to another he gave two, and to another he gave one. He gave to each servant according to that servant’s ability. Then he left on his journey.
“After the man left, the servant who had five valuable coins took them and went to work doing business with them. He gained five more. In the same way, the one who had two valuable coins gained two more. But the servant who had received the one valuable coin dug a hole in the ground and buried his master’s money.
“Now after a long time the master of those servants returned and settled accounts with them. The one who had received five valuable coins came forward with five additional coins. He said, ‘Master, you gave me five valuable coins. Look, I’ve gained five more.’
“His master replied, ‘Excellent! You are a good and faithful servant! You’ve been faithful over a little. I’ll put you in charge of much. Come, celebrate with me.’
“The second servant also came forward and said, ‘Master, you gave me two valuable coins. Look, I’ve gained two more.’
“His master replied, ‘Well done! You are a good and faithful servant. You’ve been faithful over a little. I’ll put you in charge of much. Come, celebrate with me.’
“Now the one who had received one valuable coin came and said, ‘Master, I knew that you are a hard man. You harvest grain where you haven’t sown. You gather crops where you haven’t spread seed. So I was afraid. And I hid my valuable coin in the ground. Here, you have what’s yours.’
“His master replied, ‘You evil and lazy servant! You knew that I harvest grain where I haven’t sown and that I gather crops where I haven’t spread seed? In that case, you should have turned my money over to the bankers so that when I returned, you could give me what belonged to me with interest. Therefore, take from him the valuable coin and give it to the one who has ten coins. Those who have much will receive more, and they will have more than they need. But as for those who don’t have much, even the little bit they have will be taken away from them. Now take the worthless servant and throw him outside into the darkness.’
“People there will be weeping and grinding their teeth.

****
The kingdom of heaven is like this congregation.
The master gave his servants Lynn Roehm and Bob McKim coins of these engineering type minds and little did I know the precision with which they backed up a trailer on to a hitch, using hand gestures I had never seen, what would carry them through the day picking up food for the Backpack Program. They calculated everything. The weight of the trailer on various pickups, the weight of the trailer loaned by Ryder Brothers vs. the weight and hauling capacity of the one loaned when necessary from our friends at the Nazarene Church. They calculated the cost of various food items at Winco and Costco, and the cost of their time vs. the number of stores they visit. They calculated the time and efficiency of the food bring brought on a wrapped palate vs. the time when it wasn’t ready, twice. They calculated how long we could be in and out of Costco vs. the amount spent and how many dollars per minutes that would be, and how some months were lower or higher than another months depending on the school calendar and the reserves. They calculated which were better, regular hot dogs or polish dogs with sauerkraut, and who would treat this time the $3.18 cents it costs for the both of them with a large soda (and they are going to correct me after this sermon for not getting exact) and were slightly thrown off kilter when Bob offered to pay for mine, upsetting their evenness of turns. They calculated how many carts we needed, and who would get what food item, and how to position the boxes of Nutri-grain bars so the checkout person could scan the boxes from the outside, and when Bob should walk to the bring the truck around, and which class at the high school would be at the correct time to unload the trailer. They also loved when people walking around the store would ask them if they lived way off in the woods or were preparing for the rapture, and instead they got to tell them about their church’s community ministry that fed kids. I liked that part too. That was a coin I have been given too. But the coins of calculating, God gave Lynn and Bob McKim each these coins, according to their ability, and they are out investing them at Costco and Winco once a month.

God gave a super shiny coin to Karen-Kolb Schoneigh, it asked to take me to lunch the other day, as it had on occasion in the past, and I wasn’t sure what was the reasoning was, but unlike other times with other people, I didn’t think I was in trouble, (though, I have rarely been in trouble, it is my head’s go to), and I prayed that she was well and this wasn’t an, I or someone I love is really sick visit. Anyway, we met and she just checked in on how I was doing, about particular personal things I have shared with the congregation, and in general. It was so thoughtful, I was completely floored, but it isn’t the first time I have seen Karen check in on me and others. So much so that at the end of our conversation she asked how the Irvines were doing and did I have their address so she could write to them and check in sending care to their new home in Madras. She also, had noticed a gift of a new congregant and asked what I thought about asking that congregant to participate in a special way. It was a perfect idea, and one that took really noticing and caring and thinking about people, and this is a coin the master God gave Karen and it shines so bright, even if it is mostly at work in the exchanges behind the scenes, going unnoticed.

I saw another coin, and I have seen it a lot lately, and it has a great affinity for details, follow through, and helping others. God gave Linda Moxon this amazing coin. It is so precise that she knows after crafting the worship leader/nursery schedule/communion server/setup/usher greeter/everything under the sun schedule, who is gone what weekend, and then when they come home how they enjoyed it, or who needed to switch dates for sickness that we can be praying for, and who might be out of town for a day school, etc, etc. Because of this coins attention to detail and follow through, it is really good at pitching in and helping. I watch Linda offer to drive people to church and back, bring a meal, or visit with them in the car when they have a long trip. That same attention to detail is required to teach preschool where everything is always happening and Linda invests this coin by teaching out little ones Sunday School. That same attention to detail helps cut Advent Banners for hours while keeping conversion going. The master gave Linda Moxon an amazing coin for details, follow through and helping others and it is bringing forth the kingdom of God.

You see God has given out so many coins to this congregation,

Shirley and Dale - pride in Granddaughter
LaVonne knowing every detail of the church’s financial history,
Georgia Wells - grocery shopping for people
Spencer Smith - Writing the cards for Deacons
Jean Geddes - quiet love
Betty Kuhl - the steadfastness of her friendship with others
Phil Anderson - calming and redirecting kids
Jess Defrees - patience
Peter Ellingson - someone who knows a ton and could lead the Finance Committee is amazing at asking clarifying questions about processes and for clarity.
Dotty Miles - meals for the Bakers, and all those who had brought food, many of which were mentioned by name like the Carrs breakfast casserole.
Shannon Moon - Report from Buildings and Grounds - a page of major items
Cliff Schoenigh - a quick e-mail to help with an update to the Personnel Policy
Kyra - planning young families events
Sharon Defrees - writing science curriculum for our elementary schools. Robbie - Sharon favorite teacher., Dallas biology and land reclamation,
Judy Baker Girl’s Science from LaGrande. Daughters
Judy Baker’s care for her brother
Ginger Rembold - playing jazzy
Our secretary, Susan telling Bev that I would want her to call.
Mark Ferns - Bev. Cary. Hug.
Annie - noticing and giving a hug
Gary Yeoumans - deep care for LaVonne
Roxanna offering to drive the Martells.

This is a tiny bit of what I have seen or heard about in a couple weeks. I am one person, and I know many of these are just that tip of the iceberg, that tiny bit on top of a much bigger source of giving, serving and investing in the master’s kingdom of heaven. I believe that this church and it’s congregation are like the first two servants.

And yet, there are people in our church, who have said to me that there are a few in this congregation who do all the work and a lot who do only little or nothing, who bury their coins in the ground for safe keeping. I agree there are some in this congregation who do a ton, I would say there are many, many, who do a ton. We can so easily see have invested their coins and come back prosperous for the Master’s kingdom. But I see no one, who is not giving in their own way, what they can. Each time I have heard the critique, I have racked my brain to find the servant in this church who has buried their coin, and when I think about those who on the surface could be seen as doing more, I know the rest of that ice-berg, and think of all the various ways those people give, to their families, and their community, and their friends, and their animals, or the earth. It is not always so simple to add up like a trip to Costco, or a number of meals delivered. Other times I know, maybe they are just trying to live with depression, make their marriage work, heal from abuse, caregiver for family etc. Yet even those whose stories run deep, still give so much and I see it.

I likewise don’t believe in a God who is going to toss someone into outer darkness with weeping and gnashing of teeth. I believe in a God who has given all of us coins, and is going to do everything to help us invest them. I believe we have an abundance here. And so, I challenge you next week, and this month, to try and count the money, to try and count the gifts shared, to try to count the wealth of service in this congregation. This is part of my job as a pastor, I am supposed to look, I am supposed to keep a keen eye on the way God is at work in you and I am only seeing the top of the iceberg. I am going to put a sheet in the Fellowship Hall and in November I invite you to write down everything you see of coins shared. You can use names or not, it can be inside this church and outside of it, it can be as varied of gifts as God can imagine. But I want us to write it down for this Stewardship Season, and this will be the end of your sermon, you will write it, you will bring forth the kingdom of God, you will tell us of the hope, and what it means to you. Amen.

November 5, 2017, Revelation 21.1-6a

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, 

for the former heaven and the former earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.

I saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, 

made ready as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 

I heard a loud voice from the throne say, 

“Look! God’s dwelling is here with humankind. God will dwell with them, and they will be God’s people. God will be with them as their God. 

God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more. There will be no mourning, crying, or pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” 

Then the one seated on the throne said, 

“Look! I’m making all things new.” 

God also said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” 

Then God said to me, 

“All is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. 

To the thirsty I will freely give water from the life-giving spring.”

***

I kept getting angrier and angrier at the last presbytery meeting. The moderator was told he needed to open the meeting with a devotion, and instead of just reciting a prayer, or scripture to begin us, he preached his first of two sermons that weekend, one official in worship, and this other, which was sweet and personal, but out of place, as things tend to be when people are told to say something because something has always been said. He had forgotten that the old earth had passed away and a new one had begun. 

Then, later on, supposedly in celebration of the 500th year of the Protestant Reformation, another pastor commandeered the agenda and gave literally another sermon, this time using a cliched book from ten years ago, which attempted to explain church’s declining membership by pointing out that the church goes through a reformation every 500 years and we were just in one of those now. The pastor preached about this shift intending to give the presbytery delegates hope, but I didn’t need a book to do that. I didn’t need some faulty historical prediction. I didn’t need an excuse because I was already celebrating. I had seen the new heaven. But then all three of the retired and remotely located pastors voiced loudly that we needed to discuss this old earth and sea, and the Presbytery never had time to discuss things like theology when clearly everyone wanted to discuss it, they thought. But I didn’t want to discuss abstract theology and the death of the church, mine was a practical theology based on life, for I new the former things had passed away.

Then during the meeting, we looked at the Presbytery Mission Budget for grants and again I was perturbed. There were just as many historic programs that had to be covered by mission money, as new programs applying. Two of those historic programs herald from a time when Eastern Oregon and Kendall Presbyteries were joined under the Snake River Mission area. One of these mission projects was Shared Ministry which, from being on their board, I knew had a bigger budget then it could use and Shared Ministry literally tried to find ways to spend it. The other mission project, was the Ring Praise ministry, which the Executive Presbyter said her church no longer invited, as they gave the same program every year. I questioned if these ministries should have permanent funding when programs like Open Door and Backpack weren’t even funded because of lack of funds and our repeated applications were this year denied, due to an attempt to make ministries sustainable on their own. I didn’t need historic programs to be funded indefinitely because I believed in a God who is always making all things new.

Finally, the Executive Presbyter gave what was considered a report. We had to watch what looked like a church boy-band, slick, dyed, hair included, singing in an over-acted way, while walking on a giant Celtic cross. They were singing about the death of the church and asking questions about its future. I think half of what made me annoyed honestly, was the cheesiness of it, but the other half, was that by then, I was so tired of what I perceived as the presbytery’s myopia. We were supposed to answer a question in a group about the death of the church and this is what I raised my hand and said,

“When I was a camp counselor there was one day where all the former counselors would come back and remember all the previous year’s stories, of which, there were many. They had to do with the people that came before and the way camp used to be. It was a fun day of nostalgia and a little grieving the people who weren’t coming back that summer, and the ways camp had changed. Yet, after that day, the old stories weren’t allowed to be told when the new counselors showed up. It was time for creating new stories. Similarly, I feel like at Presbytery meetings and many other gatherings of the church, I’m attending a funeral of someone I never new. I’ve sat here and honored your grief, I’ve done it for a decade now, and at this point I believe our focus on the past is limiting our ability to see God in the present. This exercise alone is in and of itself what continues to bury the Holy Spirit.”

I had seen something they hadn’t, or at least weren’t recognizing, I saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God. There were some delegates that were dumbfounded, there were others that were hesitantly excited that there might actually be a way to move forward, and there was one, who near enough to my age, felt I gave her voice. After the meeting was over multiple pastors came up to me saying, I want to have a conversation about this, and they started asking questions, but by that point, we had been at the wake of a presbytery meeting for two days and I was ready to go. It made me wonder how many visitors in our churches for so long had watched the processional of what used to be, that they left. to go out in the world, and experience the God that was there, I imagine them seeing heaven on earth made ready as a bride beautifully dressed for her partner.

I thought about our church, how many times had visitors walked by our virtually empty pews, even those roped off, and perhaps they have felt they too were at a funeral. We know the names, whose families you remember, and of the time when the Johnsons, and the Cassidys, and the McKim, and the Lissmans filled pews with kids all in a line. You have a heart for families and kids, First Presbyterian, that piece of you will always be heaven on earth. Yet, interesting isn’t it, that many of the kids today have chosen for their parents, that they want to sit up front where the action is. From the front you can see that God is squirming, and giggling, and coloring away. I wish I could have told those visitors, God is here, it’s just further up than the people remember. What if we took that value of honoring children in worship and made a space for them at the front? Some churches solve the too many pew issue, in part by creating a children’s worship space for coloring, or children’s books, or play dough, or felt-figures of Noah and the ark and nativities you can touch with your hands. Is this the new Jerusalem, coming down from heaven, where we tell the kids, let the little ones to come me? Can you imagine the ways we would see God alive in the fervent rub of crayons, and in the sharing of figurines? 

Likewise, the Nominating Committee for Elders and Deacons expressed concern to Session about the abundance of slots to fill and the lack of members to fill them. It was a concern that drove me nuts because the issue is exemplary of our congregation’s sometimes hesitancy to get out of its box; we are Presbyterians, often called the frozen chosen, for good reason. The thing is, our membership has not decreased since I arrived, but something has changed, God has been at work and we were looking backward. Our Elder and Deacon job descriptions attempted to put God in our box, with tasks like, “hang banners according to the seasons,” rather than, “adorn the sanctuary to the glory of God.” God moves in banners, but God also moves when Sharon Defrees asks the Rohner’s for some stalks of corn, or the congregation brings in its bells. Likewise, we forget to ask visitors, what are their gifts and how they want to participate, and then to invite them, or even allow them to bring their own thing, their version of a new heaven or a new earth. When we began with lack instead of abundance we are always going to come up empty but when we look for our abundance, there will be that. God is making all things new. It has been proposed by the denomination that what if instead of membership, coming to worship, or at least our baptism, was how we measured someone’s calling to ordination as an elder or deacon. Because at this point, our stepping stones feel a little more like you have to join the club to serve it. That tends to feel yucky to millennials like me, even though they are as willing to serve. And what if serving didn’t come from standing committees, and instead, we set our values and our goals and people signed up on a task force to do that one thing, and if no one signed up to lead it, maybe we let that one thing go. Maybe we accepted that it was the sea, to be no more. I don’t know how the system would work exactly. It makes me nervous too, but then I remember, “Look! God’s dwelling is here with humankind. God will dwell with them, and they will be God’s people. God will be with them as their God.”

This doesn’t just go for the system of the church, but this holds true for you and for me, and for everyone who has gone before us, and who is to follow. We gather here to remember, and to honor them on this All Saints Day, but we also gather to remember and to honor a God, who says, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.” Similarly, we have a bell in this church that was given by someone that no one can remember, before this sanctuary was ever built. I am sure when that person passed away, it rang, and tears fell, and today, it will ring for them and for others and tears will also fall, but on most Sundays, if there is a child, or a child at heart, with a few spare minutes before 10:30, the bell also rings us into worship. It is a bell to remember the names who have gone before, but it is also a bell that reminds us that we have God of now, and always. 

There have been times when the bell hung silent, where no one came and pulled the string, but it did not mean that it could not sound. Likewise, in our grief, there are times where it is hard to praise, hard to see a future, and our tones fall silent. When I came to this church, I figured the bell was broken, a relic from the past, until Luke said, “We used to ring it when I was little.” I asked, "Why aren’t we ringing it?” “For awhile, we didn’t have enough kids,” he said. I noticed we had a lot of little ones, but Luke said, that the strength to ring took the kids being older and stronger, but then I said, “Can an adult help them?” Truth was, as a kid, I always wanted a bell to ring and as a grown up, that desire hadn’t diminished. So one Sunday, during Children’s Time, we taught the kids, but had grown-up, “helpers.” Today, it rings most every Sunday, whether there are kids or not, and especially I’ve noticed if Gary Ball is around. What we learned was, that, in order for the bell to sound, we needed to change our view of who could ring it, because the God for whom we ring, is of us all. We needed to change the idea that because a flock of kids had grown up and gone, it remained silent. A bell is never silent, just the ringer. Likewise, God is never silent, just the worshiper. We are called to ring out our praise, in a balance for what was once long ago, like the Reformation, and the Church of the fifties, and old formats and systems that once served us well, we balance with it the tones of children lined up and walking through the sanctuary to pull the string with grown-up helpers, and grown ups, like Gary Ball, who teach us how to be kids at heart. We balance it with those that will ring when we are gone, maybe when this building too is gone, but somewhere there will be bells and with them always the praise of God, and God’s promise saying, “Look! God’s dwelling is here with humankind. God will dwell with them, and they will be God’s people. God will be with them as their God.” From beginning to end, Alpha to Omega. Always. Bell

October 29, 2017 Matthew 22:34-46

When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had left the Sadducees speechless, they met together. One of them, a legal expert, tested Jesus. “Teacher, what is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

He replied, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: You must love your neighbor as you love yourself. All the Law and the Prophets depend on these two commands.”

****

I want you to think for a moment about a time you have felt close to God. Maybe it’s riding horseback in these hills, maybe its sitting next your granddaughter in church, maybe it’s the solitude of a hunt, or laughter around the dinner table. Whatever it is, I want you to think for a moment, of a moment when you have felt close to God. 

We had been thinking about this theme a lot in our congregation, as we sought to apply for a Lilly Grant for sabbatical for the church and myself. The grant asked, “What makes your heart sing?” and for me, the answer came immediately, it was being with friends in water. It was being in water. That is where I felt closest to God. Yet despite the ease of my answer, there were often months between opportunities to become submerged. This is because, taking time for yourself is a hard thing to do when there is so much to do. It’s a hard thing to choose, to love yourself.

As I have preached before, I went through some of my first major health issues, from about last fall until this summer. I menstruated for seven months straight, was pumped with hormones, and told I may not be able to have kids, and then that I needed to sooner rather than later. It was heartbreaking and panic inducing. 

I had been dating for about four years, and though people say, “You never know when your going to meet someone,” I knew the statistics here weren’t good and I was a little odd. It made the timeline of my life become oppressive, “Katy, you have to find someone now, and you’re never going to find someone here. You have to leave.”

And then, with the thought of leaving, I would feel a different kind of heartbreak. I remember riding in the car with Kate Averett last winter under a full moon to go snowshoe Anthony Lakes, and my saying, “This may be the most beautiful place I will ever live,” and her concurring, and we two poets, our words dropping into the vibrant, silent light bouncing off the snowy mountains. Similarly, I threw a party recently, and a new friend remarked, “I looked around and saw you have created this amazing community of people, and I thought about your job, and how, after awhile you’re expected to go, and I how hard that will be for us all, but especially for you.” I felt like my friend saw it, and saw me. Then, there was this church, in the same way as that party, and in some ways more, I walk in, and see my family. I see the people who took me on as a first-call pastor, who upheld and healed me during my divorce, and since then had nurtured, encouraged, and continually inspired me. This was the place I felt at home. But as much as Baker City felt like home, and the place to which I am called, I knew even more strongly, I was called to be a mother. But the life paths didn’t make sense. What was God asking me to do? I didn’t understand. 

And then there was this Lilly Grant, which was truly the opportunity of a lifetime, but I felt like I didn’t have time, my biological clock was ticking, and the grant required the pastor to stay a year after they took the sabbatical. I knew in my head that to choose the grant was to choose the abundant present, instead of an unknown dreamed of future. To choose the grant was to choose to seek peace, over fear. I knew to choose the grant was to choose love, love of this church, of this place, of this community, and especially of myself. But it is hard to choose to love yourself, when there is so much else to do. It’s hard to love yourself, when so much of life is out of our control. 

I figured I would at least apply. We as a church worked together, and whenever I would be asked, “What makes my heart sing,” I felt an overwhelming peaceful pressure, like that of sinking into warm water, and when I submerged into that dream of the sabbatical, I found myself smiling. I found myself, feeling like myself, something I hadn’t felt in awhile. In the same way, when I heard different congregants share what made their heart sing, I saw that same sense of peaceful direction from God. 

We had to wait from submitting the grant in April, until August to know if we had received the grant. In the meantime, I worked diligently with a spiritual director, and we focused on healing. I focused on me, on loving myself, and loving God, instead of dating and trying to find someone to fit in a timeline. It sounds easier than it was; I needed constant reminders to choose me. I needed those good friends, I needed afternoons in the mountains, I needed invigorating discussions at Lectionary Bible Study. I needed those times I sat in awe at an amazing Session and the wisdom and compassion of our elders. I needed those moments where I was in the present choosing to love myself. 

While I was gone on Summer vacation, I got the call from Susan, the secretary that there was a big envelope on my desk from the Lilly Foundation and should she open it. I was in the car with my college roommate, and when the answer was yes, acceptance, I got squealing excited. We were stuck in traffic but all I wanted to do was jump up and down. I didn’t need any more convincing I had made the right choice, and what convinced me was not the grant acceptance, but the joy I felt. It was an answered prayer, or an answer to more prayers than I can count, as I know you lifted them up too. 

I went to the doctor last week, the nurse said she remembered my name very well but couldn’t place it until she read the file. The visits had been intense but then distant. I told her and the doctor my bleeding had stopped being crazy, and I could see a peace in them too. I asked the doctor what my next steps were in regards to fertility and/or freezing eggs. She said she had just read a new study which told, that despite a lot of research, there are just too many factors to predict fertility, that one couldn’t really know, and then she said, I had time and I felt like I did. I feel like I do have time. And so do you.

Love yourself. Go do that thing. Forget about your timeline. Lean in to God. Start right now. Choose to love yourself.