Category: faith

Peak Experience

guest post by Rev. Deb Worley

“You were called to this kind of endurance, because Christ suffered on your behalf. He left you an example so that you might follow in his footsteps.” (1 Peter 2:21)

“…and I will seek You in the morning, and I will learn to walk in your ways,
and step by step you’ll lead me, and I will follow you all of my days…
…and on this road to righteousness sometimes the climb can be so steep,
I may falter in my steps but never beyond your reach…”)

For a few days of my vacation last week, I was camping with Ryan and John at Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, just north of Alamosa, CO. What an incredible place! They had camped there a few years ago with their Boy Scout troop, and convinced me that one of the things we needed to do while we were there was hike to the peak. “Sure,” I said, always up for a hike with my kids (especially one that THEY were eager to do!).

We started out reasonably early Tuesday morning (about 8:45–remember these are two teenage boys who had been in the habit of sleeping in until noon or later most of the summer!), and made pretty good time…for a little while. But the air got warmer, the sand got hotter, and the dunes got steeper! More than once I had to stop to catch my breath and take a swig of water, shouting at Ryan–whose longer (and stronger!) legs seemed to cover more ground both more quickly and more easily–to hold up. John, who hasn’t quite surpassed me in height–or length of leg!–YET, more naturally kept pace closer to me. 

The midway point, looking back to
where we began (the green!)

As the peak got closer, the dunes got steeper and my needs for a break, more frequent! Walking in sand, even on level ground, is difficult; and walking up fairly steep sand dunes felt like a clear case of two steps forward, one step back! At one point, the boys told me I could stop and just stay where I was while they went to the peak, and they would “pick me up” on the way back. There was no way in heck I was going to do that!

So I plodded on…and at some point realized that it was easier to make progress if I made an effort to step in John’s (and/or Ryan’s) footsteps, if I didn’t feel like I had to forge my own path when they had already created a path of sorts for me to follow. So from that point on, that’s what I did–I no longer looked up to see how much further we had to go, I didn’t check to make sure we were going in the right direction, I didn’t feel badly if the boys got too far ahead of me. I just kept my head down and took one step at a time, focusing only on putting my feet in the footsteps they left as they walked in front of me. I figured I’d get to the peak if they got to the peak, and they seemed to know how to get there!

Same place, looking toward the peak
(the farthest, highest point!)

And we made it! And it was awesome! Well, truth be told, it was brutal! A killer hike! Way harder than I had expected it to be!! BUT…we did it. We all made it. Even the 50+ year old mom in the group! And did it feel good when we got to the peak! Really, really good. And not just because the worst was over (although I confess, there was tremendous relief in knowing that!). But because we had worked so hard to get there. Really, really hard! 

In some ways I feel like we are all doing something like that in these times. We are doing a hard thing, living in and through these uncertain times, doing things that are harder than we had expected them to be, with these “things” lasting longer than we thought they would….

And even beyond “these times,” just living life presents us all with hard things. Things that wear us out and wear us down, things that necessitate stopping for a break, sometimes more frequently than at other times. Challenges in our lives that cause us to feel like others are forging ahead with more ease and strength, more clarity of direction and purpose….

In those times, and in these times, perhaps we can take some comfort in following in Jesus’s footsteps. 

In those times, and in these times, perhaps we can, at least for a time, stop trying to figure out “how much further” we have to go, and stop worrying about whether we’re going in the right direction, and let go of our need to compare our progress to that of anyone else around us…

In those times, and in these times, what if we focused on just taking the next step, and doing what we can to make sure that that “next step” is one Jesus left for us to follow, trusting that the direction his footsteps lead us is where, in fact, we want to be going…. 

It might be a hard path to follow. In fact, I can almost guarantee it will be a hard path to follow. It might even be harder than we expect it to be.

But I have no doubt that the destination will be awesome. 

Peace, and persistence, be with us all…as we follow in Jesus’s footsteps, one step at a time. 

To the Rescue

by Victoria S. Ubben

In 2008, cancer crept into our family when no one was looking.  Our family was thrown into a bit of a turmoil until we could find a way out of a very dark place.  After some treatment and some healing, our youngest son (only age 10 at the time) wanted to raise money to help find a “cure” for lymphoma (and other blood cancers). The Scenic Shore 150 is one of Wisconsin’s most popular bike rides and is the largest locally organized and supported event for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. The sandy shoreline of Lake Michigan is the gorgeous setting for a weekend of riding in support of a cure for blood cancer.

I was serving on the pastoral team of a congregation in Valparaiso, IN, and we had enough interest in our congregation to build a bicycling team to help raise money to find a cure.  Our team committed to ride bicycles in July, 2008, in the Scenic Shore 150, a two-day 150-mile cycling event. 

Our church bicycling team was named the “Still Speaking Cycling Team,” as this was the moment in time when the national United Church of Christ had launched a re-branding and marketing campaign called, “God is Still Speaking.”  Intensive training began for our team and we all set out to raise money for every mile that our team would ride in Wisconsin. 

On Saturday: our team would pedal 75 miles north from Mequon to Manitowac and then spend the night in Manitowac. On Sunday: our team would pedal the final 75 miles toward Door Country, ending in Sturgeon Bay.  My job in Wisconsin was to drive our van the 150 miles to pick up tired, overheated, or sick bicyclists who could no longer “Still Cycle” along the route.  I became lost driving the van.

July 19-20, 2008, was probably the most humid and the steamiest Wisconsin summer of the century.  When one of our bicyclists called me on my cell phone and asked me to come back and pick up one tired, tuckered out bicyclist on our team, I asked “Where are you?”  I was given a location.  This was in 2008, before G.P.S. was commonplace.  I was given an address – an intersection of two streets in some small town on the shore of Lake Michigan.  All I had was an intersection and a hand-drawn map of the bicycle route.

“Okay.  Stay there.  I shall turn this van around and come to the rescue!”  I tried to re-trace the miles that I had driven.  Going by memory, I tried to back-track to find our cyclist (sporting the distinctive black and red jersey with the “Still Speaking” comma logo on the front of it) at some random intersection of two streets in some town in Wisconsin.

But I became hopelessly lost somewhere out in the cornfields.  It dawned on me that these lush, green cornfields seemed quite far away from the “scenic shore” of the blue water of Lake Michigan. I had directions and a map.  Why was it that I could not find our tuckered-out team? 

I did not save the day that day.  Some other support vehicle, authorized by the Scenic Shore 150 event, picked up our disabled bicyclist and transported him to safety.  It was not until that evening as we were recovering with other bicyclists that we came to understand what had happened.  All of this occurred on DAY ONE of our journey and I was looking at the map for DAY TWO.  There is no way that I could ever find our disabled bicyclist because I was using the wrong map.

During this Covid-19 pandemic, we may very well feel lost.  Beyond FEELING lost, perhaps some of us really ARE lost.  Where are we?  Where are we going?  Can we ever find our way through this darkness?  Who will come to rescue us?  Do we have a team support vehicle?  What if our support vehicle cannot find us in this strange and foreign place?

The comfort of the Christian tradition is that God always knows where we are.  God never needs a map to find us.  God is always on the right page.  There is one who is coming to save us, pick us up, and bring us home. 

Living in An Age of American Anxiety

by Ryan Gear

If you have a hunch you might be feeling more anxiety than usual, you’re probably right. With COVID-19, our political situation, the stubborn continuance of racial injustice, and the recent economic downturn added to the normal stress of life, Americans are suffering with astronomical anxiety levels.

According to the Census Bureau, as of mid-July, 35% of Americans are experiencing what could be classified as Generalized Anxiety Disorder. This is almost double the percentage in 2014 and is up by almost five percentage points since January. Arizona is on the higher end, nationally.

There is also a clear correlation of stress experienced according to age group, with almost half of 18-29 year olds experiencing diagnosable anxiety. Ethnic minorities and those with lower educational attainment clearly feel more stress than whites and those with higher levels of education.

It’s not just Americans who are feeling stressed out. British historian Richard Overy states that, like the 1920s, with political change, the increasing strength of nationalism, and fear of future wars, the 2020s in the UK will be an “age of anxiety.”

The same is true closer to home. While Trump may currently be headed for defeat in November, “Trumpism,” a form of nationalism motivated by the dwindling percentage of white Christians in America, will likely live on into the foreseeable future. It is conceivable that every four years for the next couple of decades, American voters may face the choice between leaning into the ideals enshrined in Declaration of Independence or falling toward fascism.

The economic downturn caused by COVID-19 is weighing on American families who have already suffered growing economic inequality since the 1980s. Pew Research found that income inequality in the U.S. is the highest of all G7 nations, and the wealth gap between America’s richest and poorest families more than doubled between 1989 and 2016. Middle class incomes in America have grown at a slower rate than upper-tier incomes since 1970.

In August, I’m giving a sermon series at the church I pastor called Distressed: Living in An Age of American Anxiety. My central point of the series is that, as people of faith, we have two things to offer to stressed out Americans, including ourselves:

  1. Our faith offers us resources to cope with anxiety, and
  2. Our faith addresses the root causes of American anxiety.

At the center of the Jesus Way is the belief that God cares for all of us and is especially predisposed toward people who are struggling. 1 Peter 5:6-7, encourages people who feel beaten down:

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

We have the comforting words of Jesus from Matthew chapter 6:

“‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?… For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them… But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’”

We believe that God cares about stressed out Americans and that God provides. At the same time, we also know how God expresses care and exactly how God provides… God cares and provides through God’s people who partner with God and allow God to care and provide for society through them.

God cares for us, and God cares through us. As people of faith, we have the invitation to partner with God to address the root causes of our nation’s anxiety. In a previous time of heightened inequality and anxiety, Walter Rauschenbusch woke up the American church with the book that birthed the era of the Social Gospel, Christianity and the Social Crisis. The Social Gospel movement was fueled by the words of the Hebrew prophets like Micah:

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8).

The champions of the Social Gospel were optimistic in their belief that human hearts could be quickly bent toward justice and usher in the millennial reign of Christ in the 20th century. The quagmire of WWI, however, along with the Bolshevik revolution in Russia, and the doldrums of the Great Depression, exposed a degree of naiveté in the movement.

Reinhold Niebuhr, while agreeing that the premise of the Social Gospel was rooted in the biblical concept of justice, suggested that a new kind of “Christian Realism” was needed. Niebuhr wrote in the 1932 Moral Man & Immoral Society that people who desire social justice must force it to happen politically. He points out the reality, for example, that a few exorbitantly wealthy people will pay more taxes out of the goodness of their hearts, but most will not; tax laws must be changed. There are individuals who love justice, but society as a whole does not. Therefore, the political will must be influenced by those individuals who do, and laws must be passed that force the rest to comply within a more just system.

In an era when, like ours, racism and economic injustice played the central role in American politics, Niebuhr presented a strategy that we can also utilize today to address the root causes of American anxiety. In Moral Man & Immoral Society, Niebuhr holds up the example of Ghandi who, while known primarily for using the method of non-violence, also wisely employed another strategy to influence the political will of the British Empire to act more justly toward India.

Niebuhr writes that even though there is actually no ethical distinction, in a strategic decision “Mr. Ghandi never tires of making a distinction between individual Englishmen and the system of imperialism which they maintain” (p. 249). Ghandi acknowledged the perceived difference between the decent and law-abiding individual Englishman at home and the horrible injustices the English collectively perpetuated in India. By doing so, he slipped past the defense mechanisms of the individuals who maintained the system and ultimately changed the political will. Quoting Ghandi from C.F. Andrews’ Mahatma Ghandi’s Ideas, p. 238:

“An Englishman in office is different from an Englishman outside. Similarly an Englishman in India is different from an Englishman in England. Here in India, you belong to a system that is vile beyond description. It is possible, therefore, for me to condemn the system in the strongest terms, without considering you to be bad and without imputing bad motives to every Englishman.”

As anxiety-producing inequalities are worsening, and political divisions are widening, Ghandi’s graceful strategy of inviting willing individuals to change the system may both counter the politics of division and be the most effective approach to addressing the root causes of our national anxiety. We have an opportunity to reduce our own anxiety and be the change we want to see.

Ryan Gear is the Lead Pastor of The Well in Chandler, AZ. During the COVID-19 shutdown, The Well meets online Sundays at 10am AZ/1pm EST.

I Guess It’s Up to the Angels Now

by Lynne Hinton

I guess it’s up to the angels now, their gossamer wings, glimmering and strong, wide and soft enough to cradle souls ready to go. Family members, hospice chaplains no longer permitted to hold their hands, whisper in their ears, “you did well, you can go. I forgive you. I will always love you.” Just heavenly messengers carrying the load once shared.

I guess it’s up to the angels now to teach the dying how to breathe from this world to the next, how to let go of what binds them to this earth, how not to be afraid, give them the strength they need to wrestle free from these bodies loaned to us, surround them with the peace we all should be allowed when we leave.

I guess it’s up to the angels now to touch fevered brows, wipe away tears, moisten tiny sponges and hold them to parched lips, to read sacred words, pray the prayers, sing the songs.

I guess it’s up to the angels now and so it shall be. And maybe it was always up to them. Maybe they were always there; we just didn’t see them or count on them or pray to them like we do now. Maybe they are doing what they have always done, whispering, cradling, touching, singing. Maybe nothing has changed in their world at all even as everything has changed in ours. And maybe, though we stand empty-handed behind doors and windows and phone screens, we somehow open ourselves to what we have not completely opened ourselves to before, to faith and hope, to let go of what we are now unable to do, to believe and surrender.

Perhaps it isn’t the dying who need so much after all. Maybe they’re just fine in their last hours, already looking ahead, already shed themselves of earthly attachments, exits already begun.

Maybe it’s those of us left behind in the greatest need, those of us without the proper goodbye for which we all so desperately cling. Maybe we’re the ones who most require the help, must look to something or someone beyond ourselves.

Maybe we are ultimately the ones requiring grace, the ones in need of divine assistance, the ones who struggle most as we find ourselves having to leave it all up to the angels now.

Rev. Lynne Hinton is the author of 21 books. She lives in Albuquerque and is a member of First Congregational UCC and works as a hospice chaplain and as a writing/journaling instructor for Bernalillo County Behavioral Health Department. She is married to Bob Branard.

First Church Mockingbird

guest post by James Pennington

During this season of COVID-19, I am much more aware of the sounds of the city in my neighborhood and in the courtyard of First Church, the location where I spend 5 – 8 hours of my day. 

At home, I have a mockingbird that has made the large tree in my front yard his singing perch. Whenever I leave my home in the morning, the mockingbird is there with its beautiful and exotic singing. On our Church campus, as I sit in the courtyard, a mocking bird arrives each morning between 8:00 and 8:30 am and perches on the highest exhaust vent on the northernmost roof of the sanctuary. (I have wondered if it is the same bird who follows me?) The mockingbird in the courtyard sings its heart out until about noon, periodically flying straight up about 2 feet, showing his brilliant feathers, and then dropping down to continue to sing on its metal perch.

Mockingbirds often mimic the sounds of birds (and frogs) around them, including shrikes, blackbirds, orioles, killdeer, jays, hawks, and many others. They go on learning new sounds throughout their lives. The song is a long series of phrases, with each phrase repeated 2-6 times before shifting to a new sound; the songs can go on for 20 seconds or more. Many of the phrases are whistled, but mockingbirds also make sharp rasps, scolds, and trills. Unmated males are the most insistent singers, carrying on all day and late into the night.

I don’t know if the First Church mockingbird is an unmated male or female, but what I do know is that its song is ever-changing and simply beautiful beyond description. It seems to me, this mockingbird never makes the same sound twice. Its song and antics fill my ears and eyes and heart with joy.  The mockingbird who has been visiting our campus every morning for a week and a half may have been present for months. But because I have been slowing down, being “fully” present outside, and hearing more of nature because humanity is increasingly more silent, I have noticed the mockingbird.  And I have also noted that the sound of the mockingbird is not the only bird or human sound on our campus, but it is one of the loudest and most soul-nourishing. 

As I listen to the bird mocking, I am reminded of Jesus’ words to his worried, anxious, perplexed followers:

“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Parent feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” (Matthew 6:26)

Or from the Message paraphrase which I actually really like: “Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds.”

I love the way these two different expressions of the same saying of Jesus play off each other.

I am asking myself, what is this mockingbird teaching me/us? Look more deeply at this bird, James.

  • Is it time to change my “song”?
  • Do I keep singing the same old tired song over and over and over? Am I stuck?
  • Am I being encouraged to be less tethered to my “job description” of who and what I am supposed to be and be more in the moment, singing and flapping to a new song?
  • As my retirement account shrinks, am I being reminded that what I have stored away in my barn and banks is impermanent and less important than the value of the people around me?
  • Am I being reminded to breathe deeply and let the Spirit of God lift me up into the air so I can have a different perspective on what is really important in this life? A bird’s eye view (pun intended!)?

The mockingbird has many positive symbolic meanings, including joyfulness, cleverness, playfulness, security, and communication. In the book “To Kill a Mockingbird,” the mockingbird symbolizes innocence.
Mockingbirds are known for being very intelligent and protective of their families. There are many myths about mockingbirds. Certain tribes of Native Americans once believed the mockingbird taught people how to speak, while others see mockingbirds as guardians of the dead. Cherokees used to have their children eat mockingbird heads in the belief it would make them smarter.

When the Mockingbird comes into our lives it can be a message that we need to rethink how we work, interact and communicate with others. Are we accommodating? Are we being flexible? The Mockingbird way is to listen first, then respond. This is one of its greatest lessons for humans.  The Mockingbird is very playful. Few birds have the kind of bright vitality and obvious revelry. So when this happy bird flies into our lives it is a cue for us to frolic, and suspend our severity for a time. Enjoy, relax, and take time to appreciate the pleasureful things in our lives.

For me, and for Jesus, I am looking to the birds, to a mockingbird, at least for today and this time. Teach me, teach us, feathered visitor, to suspend my severity for a time and find playful moments during the season of COVID 19. Allow our minds and hearts to relax and take time to appreciate the sights and sounds we may have missed for years because our “job descriptions” and storage barns have taken our eyes and ears off of what is really important. 

The First Church mockingbird is calling to each of us rethink how we work, how we interact with those who are familiar to us and those who are strangers. COVID 19 and social isolation are giving us plenty of time to hear and answer the call. The mockingbird is calling us to sing a new song, a melody released by the Spirit of God in each one of us, a gift to the world.  

A Cardinal Lesson in Discernment

by Teresa Blythe

I have not always been sure of what I wanted to do with my life, but I have an uncanny ability to know deep within what I do not want—especially in what you might call “defining moments” of my life. 

In the late ’90s, I served as a low-level public relations assistant for the government transit agency in Baltimore, assigned all the tasks that the director of communications didn’t want to do. We were hosting the Catholic Cardinal one day as we dedicated the opening of a new subway station near the Cathedral, so I wore my nicest skirted suit. 

As the Cardinal spoke, it was clear the sound system wasn’t working properly. It made no difference that there were two men, in pants, staffing this event alongside me—I was ordered to step onstage during the speech, get on my knees, reach under the robe of the holy man, and adjust the sound. After the event, my boss ribbed me about “getting to fiddle around under the Cardinal’s robe” It was then I realized this job had run its course, and public relations was not a good fit for me.  

Leaving that job, I went to seminary in the hope that my theological leanings would lead to a career. Everyone, including me, expected I would become an ordained minister. But part of seminary training is exposure to a variety of ministries and ministers. And what I discovered was a general malaise that set in for many clergy after doing the job for five or more years. These men and women of God talked a lot about “callings” and “loving the people”—in the abstract. In reality, they were lonely, tired and depleted. I became tired just being around them. Some of them had personality types like my own, and I realized that if they couldn’t cut it, neither could I. I just didn’t have the mettle to be a parish minister. And I knew that if I ignored that “no” and pushed forward anyway I would have a lot harder time leaving that job than I did saying goodbye to the job that had me crawling onstage with the Cardinal. So, with a bit of sadness, I crossed “parish pastor” off my list. 

I wondered what I would ever be willing to say “yes” to?

While in seminary, I also studied to become a spiritual director—a person trained in listening and helping people along their spiritual journeys. We look for signs of energy, desire, life, and joy—clues that God is doing a new or significant thing in the person’s life. We look for the “yes” and pay close attention to the “no,” which is a key principle in the spiritual discipline of discernment.

As I learned how to walk with others, I found my own passions. Being a former broadcaster and having that short-lived career in public relations meant that I had done a lot of writing over the years. Now it was time to write about things that really mattered.

It began with articles, essays, book reviews and finally co-authoring a book. I was saying “yes” all over the place, and amazingly, people were responding. Then came an offer to write someone else’s book. It looked like a great career move, but a little voice deep inside me was saying that old familiar “no.” I pondered. Weighed the pros and cons. Consulted with mentors and elders. No. No. No. As certainly as I did not want to duck under the robe of the holy Cardinal, I did not want to write someone else’s book.

That’s when I learned the “cardinal” lesson of discernment. It is only in hindsight that we know with any certainty whether the path we chose was the right one, and that’s OK. As we keep looking back, we discover what we need to know to move forward. That visceral “no” is an important voice to honor. In fact, sometimes I think that’s the voice more good people in the world need to obey. It’s heartbreaking to see someone who says “yes” to every offer that comes down the road and become a scattered mess. Perhaps they heard the shout of “no” a few times but ignored it and now they are burned out and looking for the escape route.

That “no” taught me that, because life is short, I need to pursue what I am specifically made by God to do, even if it’s not all that clear at the moment. I need to write what I want to write, be around people who are full of life and help others along their spiritual journey. 

And, of course–never, ever, work for someone who demands that I crawl under a Cardinal’s robe.

Ideas for reflecting on listening to the “no:”

  • When is the last time you honored a “no” that you felt in your heart? How did it work out?
  • How did you discover your life’s work? If you have not yet found your way, what tools are you using for discernment?

Practice: Using the Quaker image of the “stop in the mind” as part of your discernment process. When you feel an urge to slow down or stop around a particular request made of you, take time to explore that. It could mean saying no is what’s best. Or it could mean you need more information, or that now is not the time. The “stop in the mind” can be important discernment information about how God’s spirit relates to us.

Why I Became a Spiritual Director

by Teresa Blythe

The practice of spiritual direction rescued me. I never felt I fit into the conservative church I grew up in, so I set out as a young adult to find a spiritual path that focused on God’s unconditional love of creation.

The journey took considerable time. My new path had little to do with the institutional church. I didn’t discover it in worship, bible studies, social justice activism or through the adoption of a new theology. I found it by way of a Presbyterian minister who was in training to be a spiritual director. From the very moment I entered spiritual direction, I knew I wanted to be exploring my experience, values, and beliefs the rest of my life.

A Safe Place

The spiritual direction relationship was a safe port in the storm of my connection with Christianity. It also gave me the tools and the space for discernment—especially around vocation.

When I entered spiritual direction in the late 1980’s I had no thoughts of pursuing ministry. I was busy developing a career as a radio news journalist. My need for spiritual direction was solely about healing my image of God. And it was working—I was healing.

As I moved from market to market trying to make a living in what was turning out to be a shrinking field, I was fortunate to find many able and experienced spiritual directors along the way. The work I did in spiritual direction gradually changed me, showing me a greater depth of purpose in life.

The Call

By the mid-90’s, I was broadcasting 100-second news updates for a Baltimore rock station with a “Morning Zoo” format, fondly referred to in the business as a trio of “the d–k, the dork and the (news) girl.” My epiphany—my “call narrative,” so to speak, came when the two DJs brought in a female stripper to entertain them at work. While I’m not a prude, inviting a stripper to a radio show seemed useless, even counterproductive to me. Still, I played it cool, reading the news on air as she danced for the guys. Walking out of that studio, heading back to my closet (literally—they had me work out of a closet) I heard a tiny voice say “I want more than this for you.”

For me that meant attending the Ecumenical Institute of St. Mary’s Seminary in Baltimore at nights while continuing to be part of the Morning Zoo. From there I headed to San Francisco Theological Seminary because it had a training program for spiritual directors.

Giving Back

Wanting to give to others what I had received was a driving force for me vocationally. I thought I would work mostly with people—like me—who were refugees from fundamentalism. What I’ve come to appreciate is the variety of experience, concerns, and spiritual needs in the world. We’re all refugees from something. Everyone who enters spiritual direction has wounds, desires and beliefs worth paying attention to. We all need sacred space filled with compassion, deep listening, and reverence.

That’s why I became a spiritual director.

The year I became a nonviolent universalist

by Karen Richter

Note: our 2020 Annual Meeting (April 24-26 at The Good Shepherd UCC in Sahuarita, AZ) theme is Stories That Transform. Humans are meaning-making, storytelling creatures. In the weeks leading up to AM2020, the SWC blog will feature posts that highlight this aspect of our human journey.

Two things happened in my senior year of high school that have helped form my character. Like most of us, I’m barely recognizable as the same person that I was all those years ago, but two experiences over that year have set me on a course to be who I am now.

The first was in Washington DC. My biology class was visiting the Capitol area and the national aquarium in Baltimore. I had visited the monuments before with family, but on this trip, we walked through the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. At that time, I could not have found Vietnam on a map or told you anything of significance regarding American involvement in that conflict. I knew vaguely that I had born around that time and that friends of my parents had been drafted.

As I walked along that stark wall, I cried. My friends wanted to be helpful… they inquired about my tears. Had I lost someone close to me? Was I homesick or heartbroken? I had no good answers. “I just hate war,” I kept saying. It was the emotional reaction of an adolescent – wanting to be special, discovering who she might become – but the idea of nonviolence, of a life committed to peacemaking has stayed with me.

The second event was less dramatic… just a phone conversation. My parents’ house had a single rotary dial telephone in the kitchen. To have a private conversation, I would walk a couple of steps down the stairway to the basement and snake the phone cord under the door. I was pretty conventionally churchy in those days and I had a friend whose soul I was very sincerely trying to save. This seems nearly laughable now, but again, adolescent emotions were involved. ‘Just how does this work….?’ my friend wondered. And I had my opening! Out of my mouth poured all of the atonement theology I had absorbed in 17 years…

“There’s a price to pay for sin.”

“God is righteous.”

“Humans don’t deserve eternal life.”

And as those words poured out, they seemed to crash down on the steep wooden steps where I was sitting. And I sat there, listening to my own words, and no longer believing in what had moments before been so important.

In that year (1988 in case you were wondering), I became a nonviolent universalist. The content of my intellectual faith assents (like miracles and healings and virgin births and even bodily resurrection) has ebbed and flowed through the years, but these identities have remained.

To share a story from your life, please email Wende Gonzales at wgonzales@uccswc.org

For inspiration, click over to this Medium article with advice from Pixar.

Christmas 2019 Meditation

by Bill Lyons

“We are all meant to be mothers of God . . . for God is always needing to be born.”

Meister Eckhart

One Christmas I ventured into the kitchen at Grandma’s house. She and my mom and my aunt were scurrying to clear the table, put away food, and wash dishes, all while chattering about this church friend, that neighbor, or some distant relative’s Christmas letter. Their movements were fluid, fast-paced, and well-rehearsed from years of repetition. I could only imagine their energy before dinner. 

Until that particular Christmas, I had only known the “living room” side of family holidays. The guys sat lazily on comfortable furniture, predicted outcomes of college bowl games, avoided politics (it wasn’t safe then either but for different reasons), and stared at the tree. We kids piled presents neatly at everyone’s traditional seats, so as to be ready the moment our hostesses emerged. How different these two distinct experiences of the same day were!

The Nativity narrative sounds very “living room” to me this year, telling the tale from the guys’ point of view. The Holy Couple’s journey seems to be all about Joseph. The innkeeper pointed to the stable from his establishment’s doorway. Shepherds (almost always males then) experienced the wonder of an angelic birth announcement. Privileged Magi decoded a star’s mysterious meaning and called on the king of Judea before delivering beneficent gifts to a different king’s impoverished family. Yes definitely, a carol-inspiring guys lens on Christmas. I imagine Mary describing Jesus’s birth quite differently.

There can be no question that she was uncomfortable at that point in her pregnancy. Her mother tried to hide her worry while Mary smiled through her own fear and anxiety at the prospect of leaving the familiarity and support network of her hometown. The shifting backbone of a walking donkey is no friend to a widening cervix. We aren’t told exactly when Mary’s water broke, if she thought her back pain was just from the 4- to 7-day trip, or just how long she was in labor. At some point, the contractions got closer together, lasted longer, and wrenched a first baby through a virgin’s birth canal. Where was the epidural, the episiotomy? Were there any experienced mothers or midwives at the manger?! Or was it only an inexperienced Joseph holding her hand, telling her to breathe, that it would be OK, sweating beside her albeit for different reasons. 

Not all births had happy outcomes then – or now. But when they did, when they do, a feeling that ‘everything is right with the world’ arrives too.  Sometimes it comes after the first cry and baby turns pink, or after the last push and the placenta’s exit, or maybe even after the OMG moment that this baby is beautiful and ours. Sometimes it settles in after the relief that baby has latched onto mommy’s nipple and is nursing. It’s the realization that a miracle just happened. And with that moment, everything that mommy’s just been through yields to the joy of what’s just happened and what can happen next.

All of that had to have been part of Matthew’s, “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way,” (Matthew 1:18) but no one recorded it. We have trouble remembering it.  And we need to remember – especially in these days – we need to remember how the birth of Jesus happened for Mary if we are going to live into our roles as “mothers of God.”

John’s never-read-at-Christmas account of Jesus’s birth makes our ‘mother of God’ role crystal clear (Rev. 12). And no wonder we don’t read it! An expectant mother is about to give birth while an incarnation of evil waits to catch and devour her baby the moment the child is delivered. For John, we (the Church) are that expectant mother, the agent through which Jesus arrives in our time and our place. And just like Mary’s experience, our delivery of the Christ in the world is fraught with fears, painful and exhausting, and includes blood, sweat, and tears. But we don’t really want to hear that version of the nativity on Christmas Eve. 

Neither do we want to hear the after-birth Gospel accounts about the Holy Family fleeing for their lives and seeking asylum in Egypt, or the ensuing slaughter of Bethlehem’s children under age two. Still, those stories are part of the Holy Family’s Christmas experience. Tragically, stories like those are the Christmas experience still of too many families in poverty, facing violence, being trafficked, at our country’s borders, separated, and in detention. 

I wonder exactly when Christmas became the story of Jesus coming into the world to deliver individuals from personal sin. That wasn’t Mary’s experience. Mary’s song about Christmas (Luke 1:46-55) was about bringing down the mighty and filling up the hungry. Delivering Jesus into the world was a painful, messy, labor-intensive task. But the outcome was, and is, new life in our midst! Mary’s lens on Christmas promised a time when everything would be made right again. As long as we are willing to be “mothers of God” and deliver Jesus into our world, Christmas still holds that promise. 

When Jesus does arrive through our acts of charity, advocacy, generosity, solidarity, or justice restored, we can experience, like I imagine Mary experiencing, the truth of John’s words: When a woman is in labor, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world. (John 16:21) May these Twelve Days of Christmas revive and renew you, strengthen and encourage you, empower and embolden you as mothers of God in our time. May joy be yours every time you bring Jesus into the world, joy so profound that everything you just went through in the process melts into God’s forgiving forgetfulness.  And be assured of this: everything in that moment is right with the world. 

This Unholy Christmas

by Abigail Conley

This Christmas seems to be a Christmas of lasts. An aunt is dying and this will be her last Christmas by any reasonable account. My mom was diagnosed with dementia earlier this year, and while medication is staving off some symptoms, that won’t last forever. “Rapidly progressing” was added to the diagnosis. In less than six months, she went from working full-time to not making sense in phone conversations. Hindsight says there may have been earlier signs, but no matter what, I imagine she will be much less of the mom I cherish by this time next year. I’m walking with lay leaders snagging moments with loved ones, knowing this is the last Christmas together. 

All of that is terrible, and brings some wonderful with it, and is exactly what we expect from life. Some years and seasons are better than others. But as I read the story of the Magi’s visit with a bible study a couple weeks ago, I was reminded of the strange and profound re-writing of history that Christians did. Matthew, the only Gospel writer to tell of the Magi’s visit, does all sorts of acrobatics to tie this experience of Jesus to the Old Testament. He cites verse after verse, assuring us, “This is what those people were talking about.”

If you go back and read the original texts, what Matthew says is about Jesus is never about Jesus. Read Isaiah all the way through at face value if you don’t believe me. Yet, here he is, re-writing, re-telling, certain of God’s faithfulness in the quoted texts and in the experience of Jesus. Facts are being rewritten in favor of Truth. 

One of my rabbi friends was appalled the day I told him that many Christians’ understanding of redemption is that a ransom was paid by Christ or a purchase made. Redeemed ends up wrapped up in the cross. With all the horror still on his face, he said, “You mean it’s not that God can take something terrible and make something good out of it? Like the holocaust?” I liked his definition better for sure, but I readily admitted that was a definition that would have to be supplied and agreed upon. It was not the assumed definition. 

I say that because Christians do not have a corner on God’s ongoing work in the world. Sometimes we think we do for sure, but we are not alone among the people who believe God still intervenes in this place. Nor are we alone in our understanding that we participate in God’s work. 

We are a bit alone in the Trinity, though. Even those of us who reject the notion of the Trinity are still wrestling with it. I can go most ways on the Trinity, but I do like that one of the claims of the Trinity is that the prophetic Spirit that was with Isaiah made its home with the church. We are always Spirit-led, Spirit-breathed people. I wonder about what it means so many years later for our Jewish family, but I am still amazed by the permission given by the Spirit for Matthew to rewrite history. 

And I said all the Spirit stuff to come back to this: lasts are still holy. We have permission to figure out the new thing. We do not sit back waiting for God to do God’s thing. We make choices, and we do so with prayer and discernment trust the Spirit remains with us through that. Some of God’s best work even seems to come in impossible interruptions that are made holy. 

So as we sit in these days with the prophets roused by the Spirits, and the Magi called by a star, and the Shepherds beckoned by angels, and a holy family that definitely wasn’t feeling so holy to start with, keep deep hope even through the lasts. For God still calls and leads, even you.