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

​Dear People of Hope, 

I remember the first time I wore a mask into the grocery store. It was last March and it was not yet common practice. I felt anxious, uncertain, even silly. What a difference a year makes! Now I have multiple masks in different places and in various colors, and I wear it without much thought. The last year has brought so much change, and change again, and then change some more, but I have also settled into a routine of sorts and into this new normal (a normal that is difficult and painful nonetheless). 

As I compare last March to this March, I am reflecting on the word of the Lord through the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 43:19): “Look! I am doing a new thing; now it sprouts up; don’t you perceive it?”

My mind is turning to that “Look!” An exclamation, a shout, an imperative. Look! As we pass this anniversary, and as we find ourselves in routines and adapting to life in a pandemic, how is God calling us to look? 
We may be used to some things; we may have developed some ways to cope in this past year, but the invitation is there for us to look again. Look, because God is doing a new thing. Look around us for what God is doing every day. Look around us for the growth sprouting in the midst of death and decay. Look!

Look, because God is doing a new thing in your life and in the life of your family. Look, because God is doing a new thing in our church. Look! For the Lord says, “I am making a way in the desert, paths in the wilderness.” May the Holy Spirit help us to perceive it. 

Peace, 
Pastor Liz

Speak to my heart, Holy Spirit. Give me the words that will bring new life. 

These words are from one of my favorite gospel songs by Donnie McClurkin. I have often relied on this song when writing sermons or needing to center myself in prayer. They are words that resonate with me as I cast my eyes to the season of Lent we will be entering this month. I am feeling so many things…

As we near Ash Wednesday and hear the words “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return,” I am feeling the sorrow of a year where so many have lost their lives. As we near the anniversary of one year since the pandemic began, and since we have had in-person worship, I am feeling grief for all that we have suffered. As we near a church season that beckons me to reflect and meditate on the cross, I am aware of all the many crosses we have had to bear this past year.

And I am praying, “Speak to my heart, Holy Spirit. Give me the words that will bring new life.” 

May this be an invitation to you to pray these or similar words in the midst of whatever you are feeling or experiencing. 

As a congregation, we will have opportunities to pray this prayer. In addition to our children’s faith kits, we will have Lent kits for every adult and household. (Please sign-up for one so that we know how many to make.) In these kits, you’ll find ashes for our Ash Wednesday service, as well as devotional materials to help you with a practice of prayer and reflection through Lent. We’ll also be starting a sermon series, “A Way in the Wilderness,” and our Wednesday night group will start a new series, “Praying our Way.” All of these will be opportunities to invite the Holy Spirit to speak. 

If you are like me, feeling weary or grieving, I pray that the Holy Spirit will speak to your heart. I pray that you will wait and hope for the words of the Spirit to come. And that when those words of new life are given to you, you will be renewed. 

Let us pray together.

Peace,
Pastor Liz