​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
 

Dear People of Hope,

Pause. Take a breath. Let it out slowly.

I thank God for you. I thank God you are here, in this moment, reading these words and that God has brought us this far along the way. Because it has been a difficult road, and we still have a way to go. 

I am thankful for each of our council members who, on top of all the troubles of the past year and a half, gathered each month to discern where God was leading us and trusted God in the making of our decisions. I am thankful for those who gave their gifts in artwork, worship planning, music, community care, garden, property, technology, office administration and so many other areas. I am grateful for the ways you have called each other, sent cards and ministered to one another along this way. I am thankful for all the actions I did not get to see, but know you did in loving your neighbors and your community.
Pause. Take a breath. Release slowly. Hear God also saying, “thank you.” 

Julian of Norwich talks about discovering, in her revelations, God’s gratitude for her. Isn’t that a wondrous thought? May we discover God’s gratitude for us, the children of God, who have pressed on following our Shepherd’s lead. Though we were in the valley of the shadow of death, we kept walking. 

We still experience the shadow, and our world is still heavy with grief and sickness, but we are perhaps witnessing new places of rest and green pastures. We move forward on this way, returning to in-person worship, different people than we once were. And that’s okay. Because whatever new hurts and griefs we may have, God is still our healer. And whatever ways we fell short of who we hoped to be, God is still our merciful deliverer. And whatever we have learned or not learned from this past year, God is still leading us into our new future. 

And in God, we will find our footing along the path and rest along the way.

Breathe. The Spirit is with you. Keep walking, people of God. I am thankful, though we have trekked through valleys, that we are companions as we follow our Savior’s lead. 

Peace,
Pastor Liz

​Dear People of Hope, 

I recently came across a statement from Marcus Harrison Green, “There is a significant difference between ‘all are welcome here’ and ‘this was created with you in mind.’” 

How true this is. Imagine a building with a sign above the door, “All are welcome here,” but there are stairs leading up to the door and no wheelchair access anywhere. Clearly this space was not created with certain people in mind, and no amount of “all are welcome” signs will truly make it a welcoming place. This is a more obvious example, but there are a thousand big and small ways that we put out “All are Welcome” signs without doing the work to create actual spaces of welcome. 

But, whew, it can take work. In order to welcome and serve all, we must be people who are willing to learn, to be challenged and to risk finding out we’re wrong. We must be a community that is willing to be vulnerable and who embrace the vulnerability of others. We must be a community that seeks to create courageous spaces, where we each are able to show up fully as themselves. And we must be a community that seeks repentance - Did we mess up? Do we have big blinders on in certain areas? Did we hurt someone? We are a community of repentance and forgiveness!

We have been disrupted this last year from all that we had become accustomed to and from our ways of doing worship. As we slowly return to in-person worship, these are the questions I invite us to consider: What do we hope to create in our sanctuary space? Who do we hope to be as a community? We are drawn together by God, celebrating grace, serving all. Who is the all? Do we have them in mind as we reach out for our next steps as the body of Christ? Who are the neighbors of Lutheran Church of Hope? As we return to our sanctuary, are we creating a space with them in mind? 

So People of Hope, who is God calling to your mind, asking you to consider how we can be a Church for them? 

Peace,
Pastor Liz

Dear People of Hope,

During a recent conversation, someone shared with me that perhaps we are living “Holy Saturday,” that day between Good Friday and Easter. I know that we are celebrating Easter and shouting “Christ is Risen!” (and we’ll keep shouting it!) but I find it helpful to consider leaning into that moment of our church calendar a little bit longer. We are in an in-between. Not the beginning of the pandemic, but not the end. We are living with anticipation for what is next and what will be new, even as we may also be experiencing some trepidation for all that has changed within us and outside us. There will be so much learning and re-learning to do. We will do it together. But before then, for this moment, I offer a blessing by Jan Richardson, written for Holy Saturday.

​The Art of Enduring
For Holy Saturday

This blessing
can wait as long
as you can.

Longer.

This blessing
began eons ago
and knows the art
of enduring.

This blessing
has passed
through ages
and generations,
witnessed the turning
of centuries,
weathered the spiraling
of history.

This blessing
is in no rush.

This blessing
will plant itself
by your door.

This blessing
will keep vigil
and chant prayers.

This blessing
will bring a friend
for company.

This blessing
will pack a lunch
and a thermos
of coffee.

This blessing
will bide
its sweet time

until it hears
the beginning
of breath,
the stirring
of limbs,
the stretching,
reaching,
rising

of what had lain
dead within you
and is ready
to return.

—Jan Richardson, “Circle of Grace,”      janrichardson.com

God is present and working in our waiting. May this blessing linger with you.

Peace,
Pastor Liz