From the Pastor's Study - September 2023

A group of fourteen of us has just returned from a week of canoeing in the Canadian wilderness. I’m still basking in the wonder of God’s creation and the beauty of living and working with a community of terrific church-folk! Summers are a time of mission trips, VBS, and canoe trips. This summer we also saw another group who sought to offer meals to students and families who would be impacted by there not being school meals. We’ve enjoyed a summer worship schedule that brought people together in one worship space on Sunday mornings. On Wednesday evenings, Vikar Jakob led a more experimental gathering that encouraged people to worship and share in different ways. There have been so many things happening. Each of those events gather people and encourage us to see the world differently, to see ourselves differently, and to work in a way that more fully embodies the love of God.

            As we move past Labor Day, we will reengage many of the familiar ministry rhythms. Worship will return to 8:00 and 9:30. We’ll resume Sunday school and Confirmation classes, and soon Adult Faith Formation classes. Our monthly community meals will return on September 6th.  A new committee will be inspiring us toward greater stewardship, even as another group helps us to remember and celebrate the care and strength of those who have gone before us for 125 years making Peace UCC the place that it is. All these gatherings are rooted in opportunities to remember what it means to be the love of God in the world.

            The canoe trip sometimes offers a chance to sit with a book in the glory and wonder of God's creation and do some reading. This year I was continuing the book “The Art of Possibility” by Rosamund and Benjamin Zander when I read an old folk story, perhaps a myth, that I’ve encountered as both “The Monks’ Story” and “The Rabbi’s Gift” that captures both what I was seeing in our group living in beloved community, as well as the call to what it means for us to be the church in ways that we already know so well.

            A monastery had fallen on hard times. It was once part of a great order which, as a result of religious persecution lost all its branches. It was decimated to the extent that there were only five monks left in the mother house: the Abbot and four others, all of whom were over seventy. Clearly it was a dying order.

            Deep in the woods surrounding the monastery was a little hut that the Rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage. One day, it occurred to the Abbot to visit the hermitage to see if the Rabbi could offer any advice that might save the monastery. The Rabbi welcomed the Abbot and commiserated. “I know how it is” he said, “the spirit has gone out of people. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.” So the old Rabbi and the old Abbot wept together, and spoke quietly of deep things.

            The time came when the Abbot had to leave. They embraced. “It has been wonderful being with you,” said the Abbot, “but I have failed in my purpose for coming. Have you no piece of advice that might save the monastery?” “No, I am sorry,” the Rabbi responded, “I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.”

            When the other monks heard the Rabbi’s words, they wondered what possible significance they might have. “The Messiah is one of us? One of us, here, at the monastery? Do you suppose he meant the Abbot? Of course – it must be the Abbot, who has been our leader for so long. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas, who is undoubtably a holy man. Certainly he couldn’t have meant Brother Elrod – he’s so crotchety. But then Elrod is very wise. Surely, he could not have meant Brother Phillip – he’s too passive. But then, magically, he’s always there when you need him. Of course he didn’t mean me – yet supposing he did? Oh Lord, not me! I couldn’t mean that much to you, could I?”

            As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect, on the off chance that one of them might be the Messiah. And on the off off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.

            Because the forest in which the monastery was situated was beautiful, people occasionally came to visit the monastery, to picnic or to wander along the old paths, most of which led to the dilapidated chapel. They sensed the aura of extraordinary respect that surrounded the five old monks, permeating the atmosphere. They began to come more frequently, bringing their friends, and their friends brought friends. Some of the younger men who came to visit began to engage in conversation with the monks. After a while, one asked if he might join. Then another, and another. Within a few years, the monastery became once again a thriving order, and – thanks to the Rabbi’s gift – a vibrant community of light and love.

May we treat ourselves and each other with the light and love, the respect and inspiration, that has the power to transform us and the world. May God bless us with wonder!           

THE TIDINGS – AUGUST 2023 – From the Vikar’s Study

As twelve members of Peace set out to work on a house in Red Wing, Minnesota, I, being one of them, had no real idea about what to expect. The only house I ever built was probably made out of Lego’s (even though, as I’ll explain later, that would prove to be closer to reality than expected).

First, we arrived at Pine Island High School which, apparently, is an unusual place for a Habitat crew to settle in, as most trips have been hosted by a local church building. This time though the church in question was occupied by yet another Habitat group working on a different project. So, we got an orientation (that helped orient us only a little bit) and decided to camp out in the library. I chose the spot between the “Fantasy” and “American History” sections, funny how those seem so closely related.

Anyway, the place was a maze on three levels, especially with all the classroom stuff piled in abandoned hallways (including some rather menacing PCR-dolls). Soon enough, when night set in, rattling haunted doors and unexplainable noises were discovered throughout. Still, cots and mattresses did their job and gave us a good rest.

After a short hike on one of the bluffs around Red Wing proper we arrived for lunch at Wanamingo, at a church right across from the worksite where we met Bob (the actual builder) for the first time, who would become our faithful instructor for the week. Despite some severe private issues he shared with us, his clear direction and heart of gold would be the true rock on which the foundation of the house was built upon.

First of all, we split into two groups: one to rebuild the fence to the neighboring property, one to go into “the hole”, or, as we chose to say, “the trenches” (just sounds more intense, doesn’t it). As part of Team Trenches, I can really only tell about that. There we had to set all the prerequisites for the concrete to be poured in (on Thursday) which meant hammering a sheer endless amount of stakes in and connect those with boards. Down in the dirt the hammer and me became one in the merciless heat of the scorching Minnesota sun (okay, maybe I’m getting carried away here).

Needless to say, we got the job done, despite smaller setbacks. Rain on Wednesday sadly forced us to have a good time in a nearby coffee shop, (that sweet Caramel Grande, or whatever it was called, was something else)! Soon enough, we returned and prepared the lanes enough for the concrete to arrive the next day. That involved using an electronic laser-leveling thing that would drill holes into your brain by its endless beeping. They should really work on some more satisfying sound solutions for finally hitting the right level!

Thursday was the day we experienced the most visible progress both on and off the worksite. For one we got the concrete poured and the styrofoam wall-parts upon it set (literally like building Lego’s), thus giving the whole place finally a shape resembling a house. The fence also got nearly finished. And, to top it all off, we went to a wonderful picnic at the banks of the Mississippi in the city of Red Wing, where we met the other Habitat group (sent out by a Unitarian Universalist congregation), some Habitat officials and the family who would receive the house. It was a heartfelt meeting with a lot of gratitude to be felt – by the family for us, and by us for having the opportunity and honor to help.

On Friday, after another half-day of work finishing up on what we had built, we took to the high school showers one final time and set course back to Wisconsin. It was a fun trip full of community moments when we gathered daily for devotion, new skills, great teamwork and the good feeling of putting your body’s work to a noble purpose. Where we did our part, others will take over and build upon what we’ve accomplished – just as it is in the life of the church and of anyone journeying in the faith.

May God bless us,

Vikar Jakob

From the Pastor’s Study - June & July 2023

A week ago, Laura and I left the house to visit family in Iowa and there were buds on our trees. As we were out and about, we noted elsewhere that the leaves were already out on the trees along our drive only to return home to find our trees leafed out and shading the yard. I love the changes of spring! Things keep blooming and growing, transforming the world around us in trickles and in bursts. I don’t tend to be someone who likes change for changes sake, but nature itself reminds me that life is constantly changing and that when we open our eyes to see and embrace that change, we might just catch a glimpse of wonder.

The other day Steve Garnaas-Holmes shared a story in his daily reflection “unfolding light” that captured my imagination in this season:

“A girl in my high school that I never knew but saw a lot used to go around every corner in the hallway as if she'd never been there before. She'd lean way out to the side to look, almost on one foot, the other stretched behind, as if to see it for the first time, as if to check it out before she committed to making the turn. But she always made the turn. It wasn't fearful, just a pause, a moment of expectation. “Look,” she told herself, “I'm turning a corner!” I loved it. Whenever I saw her do it I'd walk into my next classroom with a little bit of anticipation, even under pretense, a little expectation that I might be surprised. Or I might actually turn a corner and actually do something for the first time. And I often surprised myself. I looked as if for the first time, and often saw something for the first time. Or saw somebody I'd seen a thousand times as if for the first time. I still love her for it.

What a beautiful image of engaging every turn in life with curiosity and even excitement. I am humbled to imagine moving forward as a church with that spirit. Everything that we read and learn about the church reminds us that there are changes before us. I heard last week that the church is declining as a percentage of population in every corner of the world. And yet (and yet!), there is always faith that we are a tradition that celebrates resurrection even after what we perceive as death and decay. As I keep sharing, we are in a moment in time when it is unclear what that future might look like. So, I choose to trust, because I’d rather turn every corner with curiosity and anticipation than wring my hands in fear. That’s hard to do when finances are challenging, when our world can impose the weary burdens of uncertainty, and when anxiety is used as a tool to push particular agendas. How can we sing a different song in our lives, one that fills pauses with expectation, that looks to celebrate the surprises?

This summer, part of this effort to see anew will be to reclaim some things we’ve done before. We will once again have a Habitat Trip, but with an even more intergenerational team. We’ll return to Canada canoeing, this time sharing the experience with many who have never been with us before. We will look to see through new eyes in each of those settings. At Peace Church, we will be shifting our worship times and services for the summer season. We’ve talked about trying this for years, so this year we will have one worship service at 9:00 a.m. on Sunday mornings. We may be blessed with fuller feeling services through this little change of pace, and we certainly will lean into a season where we all come together without the question of “what service do you go to?” Maybe, this experience will offer a chance to worship with friends and family who have been at “the other service” for years.

I hope that we can all approach the change with the open spirit of wonder. At the same time, we are working to pull together a midweek service that will take on a very different form from Sunday mornings. The hope is to have a space that engages our journeys of faith a little differently than what we’ve always done: more interaction, less formality, a gathering to try to listen in one more way that God is leading us. There will be more information about this soon.

We keep trying to pay attention to how our still-speaking God is leading us into a future yet unknown. My prayer is that each of us would tell our story: celebrate the corners of the past where we were surprised with wonder; and peek around the corners ahead trying to imagine what ministry is still unfolding among us.

May God bless us with surprises and insights that feed our souls and inspire us to steward the love of God into the world in ever expanding ways!

Pastor Eric

From the Pastor's Study - March 2023

It was a wonderful blessing to be nestled in the Cascade mountains last week at Holden Village. Having this time just before entering Lent couldn’t have been more perfect. Here I was gathered with Laura and Berit in a spectacularly beautiful setting, living a very different rhythm of life.

I have heard about Holden Village since I was a college student, but I had never gone to experience this remote community surrounded by the majesty of God's creation. The snow frosted trees and subtle play of light and shadow on the mountains took my breath away. The structure of life in this beloved community breathed new life into my spirit. Each day I centered myself with a group of people who gathered to practice Tai Chi outside on the loading dock of the main lodge. The practice we were introduced to was Shibashi, 18 postures, a form of Tai Chi which was claimed by a group of Asian Christian women who were seeking to embrace their own heritage. They recognized that their Christian faith had oppressive colonial origins, and they were seeking to reclaim the ways that God's spirit had been woven into the fabric of their culture and history even before Christianity arrived on their shores. During my time at Holden, morning Shibashi became a beautiful body prayer. As we turned and moved and breathed the cold air with the mountains surrounding us and the trees occasionally anointing us with snow bombs, it was hard not to feel aligned with scripture’s proclamations of the trees and the mountains praising God. Each evening closed with “Sacred Space” - one night was Holden Evening Prayer, another was Mountain Vespers with the children of the village dancing wildly in the aisle (think Heehaw meets church), another night it was singing Taizé chants gathered around candles and prayer. Not everyone participated in these opportunities, but for me these rhythms reinforced a community that joined together for meals and for stacking wood, for cleaning the dishes and stoking the boilers… as guests we were welcome to share in a few of those activities.

This experience of living in beloved community is one of the things that I cherish about retreats, habitat, and canoe trips. They are moments when we have a chance to align our whole lives to living our faith in renewed ways. The season of Lent is intended to be a time of realigning our lives to God's ways. The word is simply rooted in the word “lengthening”. For those of us in the northern hemisphere our Lenten journey include celebrating ever more sunlight expanding into our lives, a perfect metaphor for preparation for Easter. The early church instituted the 40 days of Lent as parallel to the 40 days of preparation that Jesus went through in the wilderness, a marker of time that appears often throughout scripture as a season of preparation. I have always struggled with lent as being a time when people would heap on a little extra guilt and feel the weight of how much they needed to repent. This sense of claiming our brokenness only has theological validity if we first celebrate how completely God loves us, with no exceptions. The gloomy, burdensome guilt that can be central to Lent often squashes that reminder of original blessing. Increasingly, I find I am crying out as loudly and passionately as I can that our faith is not intended to be transactional but rather relational. We hear again and again that there is nothing that we can do to earn God's love, that it is freely offered. We celebrate the church as being the bearer of Grace, unmerited love and forgiveness. And yet, we get caught in a long history of “shoulding” on ourselves and others. Our whole journey of faith is an invitation to return to the love of God, so that this love might both transform us and others. The journey of Lent might more faithfully be lived as the turning back from the brokenness of our world and our lives and the ways that we may perpetuate or contribute to that brokenness, to turn back to the ways of God's extravagant love. What if we emphasized that choice with positive language instead of shoulding on ourselves and others?

For years I have sung Holden Evening Prayer last week someone lifted up that their favorite line from that service was the one in the Magnificat when the whole congregation sings Mary’s proclamation: “you have looked with love on your servant here, and blessed me all my life through.” As I lived with this sacred community for a week I was struck by how many of the people had been deeply hurt by the church. How a transactional faith had name them as not worthy or not welcome within the confines of their religious traditions. I started me thinking about the real work for us as people of faith during this season of Lent. And that work would be to recognize our belovedness to God. The same narrative that speaks of our being dust, dry soil, speaks of our being God-formed and loved and breathed into. And not just us but all of humanity. It strikes me that the most important work of the church in this moment is for us to do the work of allowing God's love to claim us fully – and then to let that love flow through us to be shared with all, not because anyone has earned it, or offered the right proclamation of faith or doctrine or creed, but because that how God loves!

What would it look like if instead of giving up something for lent, or feeling heavy laden, if we understood our call to repentance to be one of turning back to the love of God. If you want to put reminders in your life like not eating meat or foregoing chocolate, terrific, but use those markers as reminders to allow yourself to know how deeply you are loved and then to love. Could we let the Lenten journey be one of shedding our transactional theology in favor of a relational theology that draws us ever deeper to the spirit of God which has sought to take our breath away and to fill our spirits with new life since the beginnings of time?

For me, I will be trying to practice Shibashi each morning and remembering that different space of being in relationship with God, breathing in love and breathing out anything that would keep me from God's love. Is there some small way that each of us might redouble our efforts to live that extravagant love of God?

May God bless us on the journey,

Pastor Eric