My older sister tells this story: As children, our mother hid our Easter baskets in our room and told us to go searching. As I went from corner to corner, too young to even have much memory of this, I asked my sister repeatedly with excitement, “Do you s’pose….do you s’pose….do you s’pose…?” Do you think it’s under this blanket? What about behind this toy? Is it here? Do you s’pose? 

Easter is the season in the Church when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. We center our songs and Scripture and reflections on how this has changed everything for us. Every day we are invited into his death and resurrection, dying to our hurtful ways and rising to new life. “We are witnesses to these things,” as Peter says in Acts. Witnesses to what God has done and is doing. 

I wonder if we may take this time to foster our wonder and curiosity - something children are often far better at than adults. What are we witnessing? What would it be like to go searching in wonder…looking in every “nook and cranny,” under every place we have left forgotten, in every place we have feared is dead, in the most ordinary moments of our day. Where is the new life? Is it here? Or here? How about here? Do you s’pose? 

We are witnesses. God is doing new things; God is bringing forth life; God is present in our most difficult experiences. We are a community of witnesses: asking each other, cheering and supporting each other, wondering and seeking together, even reminding one another of the joy of discovery after we have forgotten. The Easter Basket full of chocolate is really worth finding.

Let us foster our wonder and curiosity as we seek to witness what God is doing among us. Let us show up and welcome one another in our seeking and ask “Do you s’pose?” 

Peace,
Pastor Liz

As we enter this season of Lent, I am drawn to a particular image in the Bible: Moses, standing before a burning bush, hearing the voice of YHWH (the Lord), and taking off his shoes. He is standing on holy ground. 

What if we entered this Lenten season believing that we are entering into holy ground? Here, we will need to remove some things. Here, we are invited to remove what encumbers us; we are invited to let go of what is no longer helping us; we are invited to make a mark in our lives that something is different. This is holy ground. 

What happens on holy ground? A message is received. Here, a new calling and mission is given; a new identity and a new encounter with the God of our ancestors. This is what happened for Moses. The start of something new that led to freedom and liberation for the Israelites. While we remove our shoes on holy ground, we receive what God has for us and are led into new life. 

Our theme for Lent is “Cultivating and Letting Go.” I encourage you to join us through this season with intention and expectation that we are entering holy ground. Here are some questions to consider:

• What are you called to let go of in this season? There will be an opportunity to name those things during our Ash Wednesday service, whether it is fear or bitterness or self-hatred or prejudice or…(insert your need here). 
• What are you hoping God will cultivate in you? There will also be an opportunity to name those things during our 1st Sunday of Lent, whether it is courage or forgiveness or healing or love or… (insert your need here).
• What might be your way of taking off your shoes, a marker for your entry into this holy ground? It could be a fast from television, social media, a food item, or shopping. It could be taking up a daily practice of prayer, giving, helping others, getting outside, making art or journaling. There are many possibilities! How would you like to acknowledge the holy ground we are entering and help it to draw your focus on the Lord who is present?

 
I invite you to stand like Moses, before the Lord who calls you, and say, “Here I am.” We are entering holy ground. I look forward to walking with you through this land. 
 
Peace,
Pastor Liz 

“God presents the Sabbath rest as a shelter we can enter.”        
                                                                                                     - Charles R. Swindoll

“Sabbath becomes a decisive, concrete, visible way of opting for and aligning with the God of rest.” 
                                                                                                - Walter Brueggemann

You are called by God. And guess what, you are called by God to rest. 

When you stretch in the morning, opening your eyes to whatever the day brings and pausing to take a deep breath, God meets you there. When you take a break for a cup of coffee or tea in the middle of your day, God is present. When you get out and walk, listening and looking, God is welcoming you in the moment. When you enjoy a project, letting your creative juices flow, God is humming alongside you. And when you set aside time for prayer, song, community, and fellowship, you are entering shelter. 

You are called to rest. 

We cannot be who God calls us to be without it. It is for our bodies, our minds and our spirits. We are loved by God! So what a glorious calling to rest in the shelter of God. 

But everything in our world screams that we must not rest. 

I like the words of Walter Brueggemann - “opting for and aligning with the God of rest.” This means we must also choose to opt out - opt out of attitudes and behaviors that demand us to only pursue, accumulate, distract or numb (numbing - those things we call rest but which aren’t!), without leaving time for sacred rest. This is not easy, but it is good. 

So, what does Sabbath rest look like for you? Where and how are you craving the shelter of God? This, too, is a part of your calling. Start small and pause each day to remind yourself of your need for Sabbath rest. What is God showing you in that moment?

May you seek and find the God of rest today. 

Peace,
Pastor Liz

​People of Hope,

When I was a kid, Esther was my favorite Bible story. That was in large part due to a dramatization that I listened to over and over. It’s also just a good story, full of political intrigue and dangerous situations. Without retelling the whole story here, there’s a moment when Mordecai asks his cousin and adopted daughter Esther a “what if” question. What if you are here for such a time as this?
People of God, what if you are here for such a time as this? A time like the one we’re in with all its pain, suffering, conflict and uncertainty, as well as its joy, hope and promise.
And what if you don’t need to wait to be different or better or certain to continue discovering what it means that God called you for such a time as this. 
The One who created you has called you. The One who loves you has also appointed you. For such a time as this. 
There are many things that collectively and individually may have left us feeling powerless in our lives and in our communities. This is common in all the “call” stories of the Bible - feeling powerless or inadequate to the task, the mission or the journey ahead. So, thanks be to God, we’re in good company if we feel this way!
But I sense that God is drawing our community into a time of discovering anew what it means to be called and appointed. Not only as the body of Christ, but each of us, uniquely and differently. We are empowered by the Holy Spirit to live each day in the assurance of God’s presence in our life. We continue to “wait, hope, renew” (last year’s theme) and we also stretch out for the sustaining power of the Spirit who calls us forward.
So, join me this year in reflecting on our new theme: Called and Appointed. Just as the Lord told Jeremiah, the Lord tells us: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you….See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms, to pluck up and pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.” (Jeremiah 1:5, 10)
By the power of Spirit, we will discern what needs to be uprooted and what needs to be planted. Let’s discover the Spirit’s leading together in 2022. 
Peace,
Pastor Liz

​Dear People of Hope,

“Hope is a muscle,” an online yoga teacher said as I was hoping hard that I wouldn’t fall. Hope is a muscle. Advent feels like the season when we lean hard into using that muscle. Hope, expectation, waiting. Christmas can swallow up the season of Advent. Our culture moves past any waiting and into celebration and cheer...which I don’t begrudge. Bring on the Christmas lights! But there is also a deep yearning and longing that Advent brings forward in our lives, a holiness in stretching the muscle of hope, which I also welcome. 

What also tends to get swallowed up is that the Advent season is not about waiting for Christmas, or for the baby Jesus. Or, it’s not all about that. It’s also about waiting for the coming of Christ again. Waiting and hoping for the fulfillment of all that God has promised! For the kingdom of God -- a reign of justice, peace and joy -- to fully be known and realized. Really and truly, stretching that muscle of hope.

I think of the centuries and centuries of Christ-followers stretching that muscle. Singing and proclaiming and longing for new life. I think of those who experienced famine, disease, war and oppression, and over and over stretched that muscle of hope, even as they grieved, grew weary and touched the edges of despair. Hope has spurred movements that have lived far into future generations. With our hope firmly rooted in Christ, we live out God’s kingdom - justice, peace, joy - now! We witness to the power of hope in Christ through our very living. We begin to experience what we hope for. 

However, hope is not a comfortable muscle to use. It does not allow us to simply be optimistic, to avoid uncomfortable truths or escape from suffering. Like Emmanuel, hope fully enters into the present reality whatever that reality may be. Hope is for living in the present, not in the future...and there is lots of discomfort in the present. Hope teaches us about our longing and yearning. 

“Soon and very soon, we are going to see the king,” the song goes. Soon and very soon. An expectation that has spurred action grounded in hope. I wonder what this season will reveal to us during this particular time of the pandemic. How are we being invited to stretch the muscle? What does it mean for us to live in the in-between --- not at the beginning of the pandemic and not at its end? Or, transformed by the coming of Emmanuel, God-with-us, and yet, also singing, praying, proclaiming “soon and very soon” he will come again? How does this hope change our living for today?

I hope you will join us as we journey through Advent. Worship with us on Sunday mornings. Join us for Holden Evening Prayer on Wednesday nights. Follow the prayer calendar in your Advent kit. Lean into the season and stretch the muscle.  May the God of hope bless you. 

Peace,
Pastor Liz 

Dear People of Hope,

This month is Native American Heritage Month, and I have been reflecting on the gifts I have received from Indigenous individuals and communities. Here is one memory: In the summer of 2016, I took a group of youth on a mission trip to Oaks Indian Mission, a part of the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma. It was a different trip than they had ever experienced. We didn’t serve by painting or building projects or food pantries (all good things!). Instead, we were asked to serve by listening. We listened to the stories of Cherokee elders. We learned how to weave baskets and play stickball. We sat and learned the history of the Cherokee Nation. We also learned about each other. The days slowed down, and we shared stories with one another and prayed for each other because of what we heard. 

It was different from what they expected and some struggled with that difference. Shouldn’t we be doing something? Shouldn’t a mission trip be filled with service?

To serve, however, is to begin by listening. 

We learn by listening. We grow by listening. We train our minds and our hearts to be open by listening. Listening to the words, the stories, the perspectives, and the needs of others. Listening to how and where God is speaking and working. Listening to our own needs.  We learn to serve by listening and then responding to what we hear. 

The desire of my youth to act was a good desire. In other mission trips, they learned from their interactions with people in line for a meal. They learned from the hard work of chopping vegetables for the community kitchen and from the people who taught them. They were transformed by speaking with people who were living on the streets. So many good opportunities. 

But they still needed to listen in order to serve.

We, people of Hope, are called to listen. To listen with our whole hearts, our whole minds, and our whole lives. We are called to listen to the Spirit in our daily lives. We are called to listen to our neighbors - to their struggles, their fears, their hurts, their hopes - and trust that the Spirit will guide us in our listening. We are called to listen to voices we may not normally hear or who may not readily be available to us. Our group traveled to Oklahoma to listen, but the truth is, we never have to travel far to serve. But we may have to step out of our bubble, out of our neighborhood, out of our Facebook world, out of our congregation, to listen.

We are called to act from what we hear. We are called to listen in order to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God.

Who are voices that you are being called to serve by first listening? And as we listen, with the openness of the Spirit, we will learn how to respond and to act in loving service.

Peace,
Pastor Liz

People of Hope, 

Do you have what you need for the long journey?

Some time last year, I preached a sermon in which I said something like, “We may wish to go back to the time before the pandemic, but there is no going back. We will not go back to what was.”

Those words have been repeating in my head lately. As we head into September and COVID surges, all I want is to go back. I keep hoping to turn a corner and everything is back to the way it was. Everything is back to “normal.”

But there is no going back to what was. And there is no knowing what the future will bring. There is only here and now and following the Spirit’s lead. This is a long haul. This is a long wilderness. 

Do you have what you need for the journey?
These are some of the things I am striving to pack in my kit each morning:

1. Gentleness with myself and with others. 
 
2. Honest and vulnerable conversations with people I deeply trust. Scared? Angry? Bitter? Rather than letting those thoughts fester and grow, speak them to someone who can hold them in compassion and wisdom, and if there is not another person, there is God. Which leads me to….
 
3. Prayer. Seek with an open heart what God has for us in this wilderness. And throw your anxieties on God! 
 
4. Give Thanks and Laugh. Because the joy of the Lord is our strength!
 
Don’t get me wrong. There’s a whole lotta other things I discover I’ve packed away in that kit, too: anxiety, frustration, apathy, judgmental thoughts toward myself and others, fear and sometimes just a general sense of “can I go outside and scream?” But the more I pack up my kit with what sustains me, the more I notice what is weighing me down and can take them out of the pack. Even if I need to be reminded each day. 

So here’s your check-in: What are you packing? What are you carrying with you and what are you setting down? 

We will need to be sustained for this long journey. We will need to continue to wait, hope and renew. And my hope, people of God, is that we will keep doing this together. We will gather in worship, whether online or in-person. We will weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice. We will reach out together for the “upward call in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:14).  Because ultimately, when it comes right down to it, we need our God to sustain us while we walk. Let’s keep walking together. 

Peace be with you,

Pastor Liz
 

Dear People of Hope,

There was a moment last year when I laid on my bed and let out a scream. My dog, Fiona, immediately got up and laid down completely length-wise on top of me. Instinctively, she seemed to know the benefits of a weighted blanket. This moment sticks out to me for two reasons (other than my dog being awesome). One, sometimes we really do need the opportunity to let all that pent-up emotion, anxiety, stress, anger, whatever, release in a shout. And two, there is nothing better than being immediately reminded that you are not alone. Thank God for creatures of all kinds. 

Our Wednesday night group has returned to the psalms many times this last year, and I think it’s partly because the psalms carry such good words to help us tap into what we’re feeling, to express the screams buried in our minds and hearts, as well as the shouts of joy. 

Grieving? “I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping.” (Psalm 6)

Angry? “Do not be silent, O God of my praise. For wicked and deceitful mouths are opened against me, speaking against me with lying tongues.” (Psalm 109)

Longing? “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God?" (Psalm 42)

Grateful? “O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever!” (Psalm 118)

Our lives are filled with all these various emotions and experiences.  It is good to know that we are not alone in them. Ellen F. Davis, a seminary professor, writes that the psalms invite us into “honest speech” with God. As we continue to press forward, I encourage you to search through the psalms. Find the words that resonate and speak to what you are feeling and experiencing. They give you permission to weep, to curse, to hope and to praise. God receives it all. You are not alone. 

Peace, 
Pastor Liz

​People of Hope,

           I was reorganizing my desk when I came across a stack of old newsletters from this congregation. Most of them were from before my time here, but the one at the top was from January 2020 - the first article I wrote to greet you on my arrival to Alaska. As I scanned through the various copies, I was struck by two emotions: grief and joy.

I grieve what we lost during the pandemic. I grieve that I could not physically sit with so many of you and hear your stories. I grieve the sorts of gatherings we may have had as we got to know each other - a new pastor and a new congregation. I grieve that many of you, with longer relationships, have not been able to see one another or sit across from each other or sing side by side for so long. I am certain that you have your own list of griefs from the last year. 

I also found joy as I looked through old notes and articles. Joy at being reminded how Christ has always led this community, long before I ever got here and long before we ever experienced something like a pandemic. Christ will keep leading us. I feel joy that we are beginning to gather again and see familiar and new faces in the flesh and not only on a screen! I feel joy for hearing the “amens” that come on a Sunday morning and the hugs that we are able to give and receive. I feel joy in knowing that I will hear those stories that you carry. 
Joy and grief intertwine and mingle as I pray about where God is leading us.

Here is what I ask from you: Imagine with me what living together as the body of Christ looks like as we continue to return to in-person gatherings. How do we connect in old and new ways? How do we share the stories of the past year and the stories that we carry from our lives? How do we help each other grieve and celebrate? How do we listen and respond to the stories of our neighbors? How do we love and serve our community? Where is God leading us next?

Imagine with me. Dream with me. Pray with me. Share with me. Because what I saw in those old newsletters is that we, as a community, are not strangers to grief and joy. We already know what is true in the midst of loss and celebration: Christ unites us, and the Holy Spirit empowers and sends us forth as the body of Christ. This was true in the last year and continues to be true as we follow Jesus forward. 

Peace,
Pastor Liz