Have You Ever Thought About Voting as a Spiritual Experience? →

By Rev. Laura Folkwein

Today is election day in Gallatin County, and I am wondering if you have ever thought about voting as a spiritual experience? We research candidates and study up on issues on the ballot. But do we pray about our votes and the election process? We can, and perhaps we should.  

Here are some things we might pray about today and this November: 

We can pray for all candidates, that they remember who and why they want to serve. That win or lose, they engage in fair and transparent processes. That when elected, they have accurate information and sufficient support to make informed decisions on behalf of those they represent. 

We can pray for people who hold office currently, that they may govern with fairness, integrity, and justice.  

We can pray for everyone overseeing and managing the election process, for clear heads and compassionate service (including many of our church members serving as election workers today). 

We can pray for free and fair elections around the world, and those who observe them to promote and protect democratic processes.  

We can pray for our own decisions as we fill out our ballots at the polls or at home. That our votes may reflect our best hopes and clearest values for our communities, based in our best interests for ourselves and our neighbors.  

We can remember everyone who has served us by serving in elected or appointed office with gratitude.  

We can pray in gratitude for everyone who has had to fight to get and maintain the right to vote, and we can pray for forgiveness for the sin of disenfranchisement and exclusion. 

Early in the U.S. voting access was initially given to states to decide, and most states limited voting to white males who owned land. 

In 1870, post Civil War, the 15th Amendment guaranteed that the right to vote could not be denied based on race. However, Indigenous people in the U.S. were not allowed to vote until 1924, with passage of the Snyder Act. 

The 19th Amendment guaranteed that the right to vote would not be denied to anyone on account of their sex, in 1920.  

Additional voter protections were ratified in 1964, and the 1965 Voting Rights Act, (which was amended and severely weakened in 2013). 

In 1971, 18-year olds were allowed to vote. 

(Learn more at: https://constitutioncenter.org/interactive-constitution/blog/the-evolution-of-voting-rights-in-america)  

In Isaiah 58:1, the prophet says “Shout out; do not hold back! Lift up your voice like a trumpet!”  

To vote is to raise your voice. There is much to be concerned about these days in terms of national and local governance, abuses of power, and widening ideological divides. Still, voting is a sacred right and a privilege not to be wasted or taken lightly—even if sometimes we may wonder if it matters. Decisions about how we live together in community: who runs our courts, who oversees our schools, who represents us in all levels of government, should be made carefully and prayerfully.  

On election day, I am grateful to have and to freely exercise the right to vote. I am grateful to be connected to history, community, and something greater than my own interests. Voting is part of the spiritual practice of loving my neighbor and participating in community with faith and hope. 

Ponderings on Justice

By Susan Wordal

I hear the word “justice” a lot in my work. I also hear it a lot in the public dialog. But I find the word means different things to different people. And, it has different definitions in a dictionary or among dictionaries. All of these are applicable, but it’s interesting to see what is the first definition in a dictionary. For example:

Justice: the process or result of using laws to fairly judge and punish crimes and criminals-Miriam-Webster

Just behavior or treatment-Oxford Languages

The quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness-Dictionary.com

Now, in my world, as a former City Prosecutor, the Miriam-Webster definition strikes a chord with me. My job was to see that those who committed a crime were held to account for that crime. Notice I don’t say, those who are accused of a crime, because not all those accused actually committed a crime. The law is supposed to be written to provide us with the guidelines by which we live. If someone crosses the line, that person might be said to commit a crime.

As an attorney, the first part of that definition, ending with “fairly judge” also strikes a chord with me. Because whether we are dealing with crimes or with property disputes or other matters, the law is supposed to provide us with guidelines by which we live, by which we determine disputes, and for which we can turn when there is a question.

But history has taught us that our laws are subject to human failing. Some laws are written from a biased perspective and, over time, we come to see the error of that bias and we correct it. Some of the laws we have find their basis in the 10 Commandments and most people would say, “I agree with that one” about a few:

• Thou shalt not kill

• Thou shalt not steal

• Thou shalt not bear false witness (lie)

Interesting that out of 10 Commandments, there are only 3 secular items I can pull out of them which are likely to get more or less universal agreement. I don’t include coveting your neighbor’s goods because, frankly, we can want what our neighbor has without actually stealing it from them, and stealing is already covered, so I left the coveting out. That one is between the person and God. So is taking the Lord’s name in vain, honoring your parents, and observing the sabbath. I’m not even going to get into coveting your neighbor’s wife! That’s a whole other discussion.

So, if laws are not always a good guide, and things change over time, how are we, as good Christians, or as good members of a just society (if we take religion out of the equation) supposed to know what is or isn’t acceptable.

I think the clue is a combination of the above definitions. While the laws might not be perfect, generally there is a theme to them. It centers around not killing or causing physical injury, not stealing and not lying. But Justice, and being just, is also about observing something we’ve said to our kids for years: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Sounds a lot like something Jesus said: “Love your neighbors as yourself”. Justice is holding others to the standard to which we would hold ourselves. We can’t dictate what is morally right. We’ve tried and it doesn’t work. But we can put ourselves in a particular set of shoes and can ask ourselves: How would I like it if this was me? If the answer is: Not very much. Then very likely that isn’t something we should put into law.

History has shown us that judging another by their gender is not right. Took us WAY too much time to figure that one out, but we eventually started to get it. We’re still working on it, but then, nobody is perfect. Judging another by their skin color isn’t right, either. And again, it took us W-A-A-Y too much time to figure that one out, but we’re starting to get it. Same goes for sexual orientation, nationality, and many other things.

So, the next time you hear the word “justice”, you might want to consider what it means generally and what it means to you personally. If you feel like you are hearing your grandmother in your ear with that refrain, “Do unto others…”, that might just give you a clue.

May wisdom guide us and justice be a measure of who we are.

Where My Heart Goes to Heal

by Dilynn Wise

When school ends and summer vacation begins, I find myself needing a way to recharge, reset, and heal my heart. And ever since my parents thought it was a good idea for my brother and me to fill our summers with as many activities as possible, there has been one constant. Every year I have felt my summers were incomplete unless I spent at least one week up at Camp Mimanagish. Once I had gone to Camp, I felt like it would be okay for summer to be over. As I got older, I felt the need to be at Camp longer and longer. Luckily, I slowly found a way to increase the number of weeks I could gain up there.

It wasn't until I was in high school that I understood why I felt the need to go to Camp every year. There are so many little things that we put-up-with throughout the year. Things that we carry with us in the back of our brains we don't notice until the weight of all those little things finally tumbles down and crashes right into the middle of our life. There needs to be a way for each of us to purge all of the little things, hopefully before they all tumble down.

Mine is going up to Camp Mimanagish, a place that anchors me and helps me shed all of the weight I carry when I’m down the mountain. Each mile that I travel towards Camp, I slowly let go of all the things that really shouldn't matter or my mind keeps obsessing over. So, when I finally step out of the vehicle and take a deep breath, I can feel that breath throughout my whole self.

Camp is a place that means so much to me in so many different ways. I grew there mentally as I learned about who and what I am. What is important to me when making decisions about my life. Physically I learned to do the things that make me happy and that happiness can be felt all over. Camp is a spiritual anchor for many people who go there and that is the same for me. Who I am and what I am and where I want to go in my life were discovered and are rediscovered at Camp.

Now I have the good fortune to be up at Camp all summer, and meet everyone who comes up there. People who are at all stages in the journey of their life. And seeing them eat and enjoy the food that I make for them is a special feeling. There are connections made sitting around a table eating a meal together. Food is the fuel you need to go out and find your happiness. This is my joy to witness during the summer. There are so many moments that can take your breath away or make your heart sing. All of these things add up and heal the tiny fractures in my heart, and I begin again.

When the Bough Breaks

By Rev. Danielle Rogers

I often imagine myself at the helm of a rickety ship, as it crashes against rough waters while Jesus sits soundly at the stern. I imagine how I would have reacted and find myself identifying with the disciples in Mark 4:35-41. Just like them, I feel I would have awakened Jesus in extreme distress and asked him if he cared if I were to drown on the open sea. I see myself in their desperation and questioning of God’s protection. Even now, as I sit firmly in the fortieth plus decade of my life, I fall back on that story and ask God, “Are you here? Will you let us drown?”

Nowadays, I don’t ask God this question on an individual level but as a societal question. Every day there seems to be another catastrophe, a taking of life through war or gunfire, the questioning over our bodily rights, or senseless violence through words and actions that hurt deeply and leave the most optimistic people puzzled and in quiet contemplation. I watch and see our society split further into factions, as discussions become heated or worse, non-existent.

For the last several years, our news media has stated our country is in the thrust of a culture war. As our society becomes more progressive, a challenge to once firmly held beliefs that are disintegrating around us, and for many who cling to the old guard, they are desperate to hold onto a changing nation that is more diverse, less religious and more educated then ever before.

I often use the metaphor of childbirth to describe this situation. America is in a constant state of childbirth, and the process is long and painful. The bough of our nation is quickly strained, and the old mantle is falling apart just like an old limb on a worn out tree. For many, this analogy of a never ending childbirth may seem depressing, and you are not wrong. For with great change there often is an element of pain, sadness and grief, yet in the midst of a new life, a new future hangs overhead.

I can not predict what will become of our future, but I do know God’s grace and love is with us sitting at the helm of the ship, and laying gently on the ground as padding for a tired old bough. Just like the disciples, while I may show fear, I still hold a firm belief in the eternal goodness of a God who profoundly loves us. Through that love, we as a society are tasked with sharing and teaching that love to one another, even through the midst of a culture war or the continuous birthing of America.

What Are You Waiting For?

By Mindy Misener

People love to talk about hope. More to the point, they love to tell you to not give up hope. It’s the one thing we have, they claim, when times are rough.

But hope can hurt more than it helps. In fact, there’s evidence that the POWs in Vietnam who survived tended to be pessimists, not optimists. The optimists kept thinking they’d be released next month—or at least by the end of summer—or surely by the end of the year. Over time, the accumulation of disappointment was spirit-crushing.

To be clear, in their shoes I’d think the exact same way. When the unthinkable happens, all we crave is for it to stop happening. We decide how long we think we can hold out for resolution, and then we put a mental flag on the calendar right before we’re sure we’ll lose our marbles.

But doing so gives us little more than a false sense of control. Sometimes the problem is resolved, the pain lessened, by our hoped-for date. Sometimes, though, it doesn’t. And it’s still there at the next invented deadline, and at the one after that. What do we do then?

*

The problem is that we often conflate hoping and waiting. Waiting is when you anticipate something that is almost sure to happen. Waiting is standing at a bus stop, squinting at the corner where the bus is supposed to appear. Even if the bus is late—even if it broke down on the other side of town—it (or its replacement) will come to this stop eventually.

Hope, though, is the opposite of tapping our foot waiting for the bus to arrive. In fact, I would argue that real hope is not anticipating a specific outcome at all. Real hope is about living the life that we have today and acknowledging that the thing we desperately want may never come to us.

Real hope may look a lot like pessimism, then, because it imagines unwanted scenarios as possible, or even likely, outcomes. The difference is that hope assumes that life is still valuable, that love is still accessible, that God is still with us, even when the worst happens. The Apostle Paul, after all, writes that “hope that is seen is no hope at all.”

Today finds me waiting for plenty of things—like Spring! (Remember Spring?) Some of the things I’m waiting for, though, are not as sure as Spring. This means I need to sit a little more with my desire for them and with the real possibility of disappointment. Then I need to discern the hope that lies behind my longing. This hidden hope is bound to be both essential and abstract—something like connection, forgiveness, peace, joy, or love.

And then—and this is the critical part—I need to live in a way that invites that hope to flourish. Not because I’ve imagined exactly how it fits into my life, but precisely because I haven’t.

Reflection on Psalm 23: 1-3

By Jeanne Smith 

Long ago and far away in a particularly challenging passage in my life, 3 AM became the bewitching hour. Wide awake with thoughts churning, I reached for the 23rd Psalm. It became my mantra and companion in the dark times. Because the whole Psalm is the subject of a sermon, I will reflect on verses 1, 2, and 3.  

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul. 

Lord, you are my shepherd; that means I am one of your sheep, part of your flock. When I stay close to you, listening to your voice, I am at peace, safe. But, I am me, at times your stubborn black sheep, wandering off, getting lost, on the brink of disaster. You always find me and bring me home. 

I lack nothing. How can I have so much food, so many things to wear: warm coats, boots and mittens for our long Montana winters, and sandals in so many colors for our brief, but lovely summers. You love me no more than Harry, my homeless friend, the child who goes to school hungry, or the Ukrainian refugee. I think you are asking me to share and share some more. Gandhi said, “Earth provides enough for every man’s needs, but not for every man’s greed.” 

You make me lie down in green pastures. As a hiker, you have led me to some exquisite places in your creation: mountain tops decorated in wildflowers of every color. There I see butterflies, discover animal tracks, hear bird song, and smell the exotic fragrances of the earth. In your creation I find peace. 

You lead me beside still waters, creeks and babbling brooks, ponds and lakes, streams and rivers, and the seashore, where I can sink my toes in the sand and marvel at the expanse of the ocean. Each speaks to me in its own way. 

And lastly, you restore my soul. Regularly I need to be renewed, repaired, recovered, revived, and healed. You, the great physician, are there to make me whole again.

Make a Joyful (Silly) Noise

By: Wendy Morical

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. 1 Corinthians 1:18 (NIV)

Last Sunday, the sound of Tom and Quinn’s tubulum, a home-made musical instrument created from various lengths of PVC pipe mounted in a particle board frame, resonated through Pilgrim’s sanctuary. While singing, we were guided by Quinn and Tom’s spirited playing as they thwacked out a familiar refrain: “joyful music leads us onward in the triumph song of life.” It was joyful! From my vantage point, I could see broad smiles on faces all around the Sanctuary as the tubulum played. It was a little silly, too.

Our Palm Sunday service was designed to go “from silly to somber,” according to Pastor Laura, and it did, indeed, end on a somber note. The beginning of the service was lively, though. If you watch the recording, you can see and hear people passing the windows in a procession and then entering the Sanctuary with shouts of Hosanna, hosanna! During the sermon, we were reminded that our “odd parade” was an echo of Christ’s followers long ago who unashamedly and illogically stepped up and recognized Jesus, a humble man, as the Son of God. Pastor Laura called us to join the “ancient procession of bravery and hope” in our words and actions – even those that sometime seem a little silly.

The Apostle Paul writes about being fools for Christ. He countered and challenged the self-satisfaction of the people of Corinth; people who derived power from their wisdom and righteousness and boasted of their spiritual attainments. Early Christians were definitely ‘out there’, speaking boldly about ideas that were unpopular, suffering ridicule from all sides. They were willing, however, to suffer the insults because of their conviction. We continue this tradition of joyful, hope-filled foolishness, following a Teacher who taught that weakness is power and giving is receiving. Silly stuff! As Pastor Laura said on Palm Sunday, “We do silly things together for God.”

Early Easter morning, as the full moon set in the western sky, 37 ridiculously silly people gathered around Terry Deal’s fire in the Memorial Garden. Marci’s beautiful Easter frock gracefully flowed over her snow pants and pac boots. Terry and Kate offered lovely music, shaped by fingers stiff with cold. We sang, read, prayed, sat together in silence, and, ultimately, we paraded. We made a bundled-up, boot-shuffling odd parade through the snow into the building, calling out, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed!

Join in the ancient procession of bravery and hope. Sing out with the silly, bold, awkward, or whimsical voice God gave you. Live each day foolishly trusting in the love that created us and surrounds us – with foolish faith. Make a joyful noise!

Spring is Sprung

By Susan Wordal

Easter season has been celebrated, but if you live in Montana, you wouldn’t know it by the weather this year. I keep seeing white stuff falling from the sky and get pictures from my FB friends with snow up to their knees and/or hips (depending on their height), and think “Winter in Montana, wait 5 minutes…the weather will change”!

But really, Montana weather has always been unpredictable. And right now, we could use a little more of the white stuff in the mountains to carry us through the summer months and the dreaded “fire season”. I find it odd that I have been praying for snow when everyone else seems to be praying for sunshine.

I miss the flowers that usually begin to poke their heads out of the ground this time of year (despite my lack of anything approaching a green thumb). The color is something which brightens the mood and lifts the spirit. I think that’s why we look forward to Spring and green grass. It’s the indicator that the light has come and new life is with us. The lengthening days and the blue of the sky, the white, fluffy clouds and the sound of birds signal new beginnings after the slumber of winter.

Those clear, sunny days, and the bird song which fills the air is still on the horizon. I am seeing more birds in the back yard these days. I hear more than just the sound of the doves and the magpies I’ve seen. And the last two quail hens are still visiting, and sometimes digging down through the snow to find the grass and stay warm. Of course, we are tossing out bird seed for all to share, so it’s no surprise that we have feathered visitors in our yard. I find myself looking forward to seeing what types of birds have come to visit. Just today, I saw some black birds with a streak of yellow/orange on their wings. I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen that type before, and I’m no ornithologist, so I’m not even sure what they are. But they were pretty. My kind of colors, you know?

I see spirits lifting as the quintessential signal of Spring, Easter Sunday, is celebrated. It was good to see more familiar faces in church, and see smiles and laughing eyes glancing around the room to see who was there. We are getting back into the groove of “Passing the Peace” or greeting our fellow congregants by getting up and moving during the service. Life is “getting back to normal” for some of us. It’s a good sign.

Spring has sprung, even if not literally in the flowers outside. But it has opened in our minds and our hearts and for that, we are truly blessed. The flowers will come, the grass will rise and green up again. Then I get to complain about how I’m allergic to fresh-mown grass whenever I mow the lawn. So, join me in welcoming the … “achoo!” … blessings of Spring.

Can I get an Alleluia?

Alleluia!

Community

by Kerry Williams

Lately I’ve been struggling with how large a circle to draw around myself of my connections and relationships. When my community is tight I feel so much love and support, not only directed toward me, but in the general sense that people are good and kind and take care of each other. I imagine that these close circles of relationships are replicated all over the world, and that bit by bit we are bringing peace and understanding to the planet, and growing spiritually as human beings. Even in the slightly wider circle of the Gallatin Valley, every person that I have a face-to-face conversation with seems to want to make the world a better place, whether we agree on the details of how to go about that or not. It is a good space for me to be in, to stay local and focus on personal interaction. But then I wonder whether I am willfully ignoring larger forces that can and do have a strong effect on the community that I care about, such as the situation that my coworker finds herself in as a single mom with unreliable childcare. I was in that industry as a new graduate, working toward high quality universal childcare, convinced that one more push in Congress and we’d have the issue solved, and yet here we are, 20 years on and after a pandemic that showed the gaping holes in that system, and nothing has changed. Should I be focusing on the bigger picture and making change at the state and national level? Am I being selfish by surrounding myself with the people and work and hobbies that bring me joy and give me hope? Because taking on the country’s social issues sounds exhausting and quite discouraging. And also confusing. I marvel at the fact that polls show the majority of U.S. citizens want to see changes in parental leave and childcare, in gun law safety, in environmental policy, in civil rights - and yet the news that surrounds us wants us to believe that there are divisions too wide to bridge. There are a few loud voices who shout down ideas that most of us support, and I wonder if spending my time enjoying my family and friends and neighbors enables those voices to go unchecked. If I’m at a backyard barbecue and not at the School Board meeting or the Capitol, am I betraying my priorities? And then I look even wider, at the global situation, and my sense of hope comes back. Seeing how the citizens of the world have responded to the invasion of Ukraine, sending support to those who need it and sending clear messages to their governments to stand up to this injustice, makes me feel that we are on the right track and that we can make a difference. Knowing that all the Ukrainians want is the chance to fill their backyards with those they love and chat around a hot grill makes me proud for the life I have built here in my own community. I am someone who cares for others and gives what I can to help when needed, and I am hopefully raising my kids to do the same. So here we are, back again, cherishing the tight circle. Are the daily activities that life throws our way (bad - doing taxes, going grocery shopping, cleaning the toilet - or good - getting a pedicure, having wine with a friend, playing with puppies) distractions that take us away from what we’re here to do, or are they the whole point of being here in the first place? I struggle with this daily, while doing my best to be there for the people and issues that I can help. Right now, I relish time with people that help me stay hopeful for the future and I pray that everyone finds their own supportive community, because that is my vision of a wonderful world. I hope this is enough.

No Easter Sunday without Good Friday

by Rev. Laura Folkwein

“Rainbows only come after the rain,” “Finish your dinner before you enjoy dessert,” “Finish your chores and then you can play.” I usually shrug through these sayings, so familiar that they fail to mean much. The general theme is that we often have to endure hard times to get back to good, or that slogging through some “yuck” is necessary before you get to enjoy the “yum” of life. A running buddy of mine used to remind me when I started to lag, “you will feel so good when it’s over.” It is true. The pride of accomplishment after hard work is worth the struggle. Sometimes, however, the hard stuff seems to pile up. Sometimes the suffering is distributed very unevenly and unfairly and there is no rainbow in sight.

The Christian practice of Holy Week--walking with Jesus through Jerusalem to the cross, is a time to remember our own griefs and to acknowledge all suffering as real and worthy of our care. Even if it is uncomfortable. I have heard some folks, especially those who are struggling mightily, say that they are grateful for Lent and Good Friday in church. Communal remembrances of our mortality and sorrow allow us to ALL feel sad and lost TOGETHER. No false cheerfulness or attunement to social norms of politeness are required as we experience the distress of the cross together. Sinking into the darkness of “Tenebrae” (Latin for darkness), in church can be a relief for some of us who are already there in the dark and usually feeling incredibly alone.

This season, I have found myself quite adamant, maybe even looking forward to observing Palm/Passion Sunday. I don’t want too many of us to skip from one high point of Palm Sunday with Jesus entering Jerusalem in a parade of his friends and followers, to the next high point of trumpets, lilies (floral trumpets) and the celebration of Easter. We must travel through the lonesome valley between palms and the empty tomb. The relief of good health or the pleasure of a sorrow-free moment is made all the sweeter for having been through a hard time. Though suffering is no requirement for our redemption or joy, the pain of this life is real and very necessary to attend to. We cannot thoroughly enjoy Easter morning without the depths of unknowing and sorrow that come with Good Friday. A somber Good Friday reminds us how to be together with one another in our pain. The hope and joy of Easter are even brighter because we have been to the cross. May you have a blessed Holy Week, beloveds.

Bozeman a City for the Elimination of Discrimination against Women and Girls

by Danielle Rogers

Over the last four years there has been a task force of individuals working diligently to pass a CEDAW Resolution in the City of Bozeman that would address issues impacting women and non-binary people in our community. This resolution would acknowledge the challenges women face in society and make a collective effort to declare Bozeman a city of CEDAW

Through the wonderful work of Jan Strout, Lei-anna Bertelsen, Carson Taylor and a group of volunteers of which I am a part of, our community has an opportunity to see the resolution passed in April through the Bozeman City Commissioners.

CEDAW ( The Center for the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women) began in the 1970’s and was introduced at the United Nations as a way for countries to recognize the various inequalities women face, and asked for countries to declare a resolution to address the needs of all women.

The United States was one of the only industrialized nations to not sign the resolution. In the last few years women and men all over the country have chosen to enact a resolution on the municipal level. Many cities and towns have successfully implemented resolutions and now our town has the chance to see one adopted on April 5th.

I am so proud of our community, and I am encouraged by this important stance. As a Biracial African American and South Asian woman, I feel safer knowing our town is setting a precedent in stating it recognizes the specific cultural experiences of others, and wants to create a safer community where all women are safe, and feel welcome.

I pray for God’s wisdom and grace to be with us all, as this resolution goes before the Bozeman City Commissioners. I am a bit trepidatious as I have seen where recent conversations regarding diversity equity and inclusion have become a political way to divide us further and not a unifier. I pray God will work through the fear others may have and open the realization that we are all made in God’s image.

My Mother use to tell me God created her beautiful brown skin color with delight, just as God created all of our skin colors with purpose and delight. Recognizing the hardships a segment of the population faces does not create victims, it creates survivors. It allows us as a community to understand the real stories of women struggling to afford food, pay rent, and raise a family. It gives a voice to women currently living in violence, and lets them know they are not alone; we as a community see you and care about your protection. It embraces our transgender community and says, you have a place here, and your leadership is needed and valued.

At the heart of every tribe and community is a feeling of belonging, a longing for connection and feeling valued for the gifts you were given. As we enter further into this season of lent, I ask you to remember the women in your life for whom this resolution will bring comfort and for the many women in the future who will never know what it was like to live without one.

All the Sights I Did Not See

by Kirke Elsass

I’ve just returned from my first visit to the Kansas City area. The trip differed from how I acquaint myself with a new place when traveling alone, which I was not. The reason for the visit was introducing our toddler to my wife’s grandmother, the only living great-grandparent. Also in the KC metro were my wife’s great aunt and uncle, a retired Presbyterian minister, and their daughter as well as some family acquaintances.

I view travel as a way of expanding and renewing myself, and when solo I load my schedule with as many novel experiences as possible. In advance, I search Google Maps literally ad nauseum to identify foods, activities, and scenery as well as potential routes and modes of transportation from one to another. My independence allows this all to work out such that I do feel fuller after days of newness crammed into every half-hour.

Early in our visit, people suggested we do this or that unique to the area. We needed to see the Plaza; I might enjoy the National World War I Museum or the historic Union Station; our daughter might be just old enough to love Science City. We saw none of those places. We did squeeze in a barbecue date as a couple and a family trip to the Kansas City Zoo, both unlike anything in Bozeman. But mostly we either visited in living rooms or rested in a hotel built to the mold of hundreds others across the country, and getting from place to place meant driving wide highways lined with all the national chains you know well.

It might surprise you that I nonetheless came away from this trip feeling expanded. For one thing, having never previously met Mindy’s great aunt and uncle I was struck by their genuine love and hospitality. My sense of family grew immediately. But the other expansion became most apparent on our ride back to the KC airport, when Mindy’s great aunt and uncle made clear their profoundly open-minded ideas about faith and ministry. Despite a career of leading congregations, they exhibited a humble and generous vision of what Christianity can be.

Feel free to ask me what downtown Kansas City looks like. I won’t have an answer, but I also won’t resent the reminder of what the trip did not entail. The constraints on my travel that prevented seeing the sights opened other opportunities for witnessing love, decency, and growth in the people right around me. That was worth the trip.

On Living Truth (Sometimes)

by Mindy Misener

There is a difference between believing something to be true and being invaded by Truth, capital T. Believing in truth is like learning a beautiful dance, even being able to perform it well. Being invaded by Truth means you’ve forgotten that what you are doing is called dancing. Now each shift of your body is holy. You feel the blessing of space to move in. And you are sure that your movement blesses the space in return.

I’m writing all of this because just this morning I went from holding a truth in my head to living it with my whole self. I don’t need to tell you what this truth was. Better yet, it could have been any of the following: There is hope. Life is painful. We are loved. Darkness is not the enemy. Attention yields clarity. Everything connects. Everything passes away. Mercy is better than judgment.

I could go on, but you get the gist. You could even add your own examples. The thing is, I know I would agree with you on your list and then go on with my day, more or less unchanged. This is the default: to think that understanding a truth on an intellectual level is the same as really, really knowing it, deep in our bones.

It isn’t. Intellectual understanding isn’t bad, but it’s not the whole deal. It’s more of a stopgap—or better yet a signpost appearing out of the fog when there’s not much else to see.

I use the word “invaded” to describe the arrival of Truth because I want to emphasize that we cannot summon, demand, entice, or manufacture such encounters. We can’t even earn them! Infuriatingly, figures like the good-for-nothing Prodigal Son embraced by his father on the road home are just as likely, if not more likely, to encounter Truth as is the respectable man next door.

I didn’t deserve the peace Truth gave me today. Actually, I’m already sure this peace won’t last. I’ve never had Truth take up permanent residence in my soul. The journey is a cycle of forgetting and re-learning, not a steady march toward perfection. There are far more hours of muddle and muck than there are moments of glory.

This, though, is where faith comes in. See, I don’t need faith this morning. I don’t need a poem or sermon or song to see me through.

Tomorrow morning, though, will be different. Tomorrow morning I’ll have to hoist what faith I can muster and continue on again. Tomorrow morning I’ll need that poem or sermon or song to remind me of what doesn’t even need saying today.

The Image of God

by Bruce Smith

Genesis 1: 27 So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.

A recent Guideposts article included a reference to a Jewish proverb, “Before every person there marches an angel proclaiming, ‘Behold, the image of God’”. I was struck by this since, dare I admit, it’s sometimes a bit difficult for me to see that image. While discussing just such an instance with a Jewish friend, he introduced the concept of Mussar, a Jewish spiritual practice with guidance to live a meaningful and ethical life. This practice includes the recognition that we each have unique spiritual challenges that need effort to overcome.

Thinking about that conversation I realized how easily we can fall into the habit of seeing less than the image of God in people around us; people we don’t like, folks who think differently from us, those that make us uneasy. Yours truly being guilty more than he’d like to admit. But thinking about our calling as Christians, I realize that meeting that challenge may entail practicing a bit more of mussar effort.

Our guidance is pretty clear. We are told to love our neighbor as ourselves. Jesus’ actions repeatedly highlighted this. And those actions were pretty remarkable! He responds to a raging madman, assists a blatantly fallen woman, offers salvation to a despicable (as viewed in His day) Samaritan woman alien, calls Matthew, a tax collector, to be a disciple and heals outcast lepers. He surely saw the image of God in those which His society easily dismissed or even rejected.

You may wish to join me in my mussar effort to practice seeing the image of God in all people I meet. Perhaps we all need to use the greeting namaste, the spirit in me greets the spirit in you, with the people around us. In doing so we’d recognize that everyone is an image of God and has His Spirit within.

White Days

by Wendy Morical

I’m writing on a deeply cold and snowy February day, a day where retreat into a cozy corner with a blanket and book seems the only logical thing to do. The view from my desk is as white and black as an Ansel Adams photograph. Even the sky is white. The black bits take several stark forms: a power pole, fenceposts, a cluster of bare aspen trees. It is a bleak landscape.

I have been reading Wintering by Katherine May, a richly evocative exploration of weathering difficulty, illness, and darkness which has the subtitle The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. In this lovely book, May writes of the cycle of deciduous trees and describes the process of abscission as “part of an arc of growth, maturity, and renewal.” Abscission is the scientific term for the natural detachment of leaves. My very last undergraduate college class was a botany class, taken by necessity to meet a science requirement, but that was a long time ago. I haven’t thought much about the inner workings of trees in the intervening years, but May’s words have caused me to look at them with new awareness.

Leaves drop and we see bare branches, what we perceive as a skeleton of the living tree, a dormant and non-vital aspect of the winter landscape. In reality, as May describes, the buds of next spring’s leaves have been formed during the growing season and are already present along the “bare” branches. These buds contain the tiny beginnings of leaves, shoots, or flowers. The trees are prepared for winter but at the same time, anticipating their spring.

The abscission of leaves in autumn exposes these buds, the furled promise of next summer’s green canopy. Additionally, fallen leaves on the ground and tree bark provide mulch, food, and shelter for animal and insect life. At our home, we pile our raked aspen leaves in the field behind our house and delight in the day when the deer first discover this surprise bounty under the snow. The area becomes a gathering place for our gentle friends.

Deep within the heart of the tree, life goes on. It is waiting and weathering, toward that day when the sun brings forth its leaves and flowers and the pollen of renewal is carried on spring breezes.

May says that “transformation is the business of winter.” Amid the loss and depredations of the pandemic year, despite the challenges of living our days from dark to dark in deepest winter, amid the political clamor and social unrest of these times, perhaps we can offer ourselves permission to winter. We can use these white days to find a quiet place of self-care, rest, compassion. We can step back from fighting against our difficulties and conserve our energies until the natural cycle of life bring us to our next beautiful season, always growing, maturing, and renewing.

“We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.” (Katherine May)

Remembering that long-ago botany class, I recall that part of our final exam was identifying trees by looking at sticks laid on the lab tables. Even in the barest branch of the tree, its identity was visible; we could know the tree by examining a twig! At the time, this seemed miraculous to me – and I maintain that opinion still.

What a miracle. No matter how stripped bare we may feel, we can trust our springtime will come, nurtured by these snowy times of rest and renewal. Thanks be to God for winter.

Hope for the Future

by, Kerry Williams

Life is going by in a blur for me right now. There are too many big things and way too many small things grasping for my attention at all times. But I managed to slow down just enough to soak in some Olympics action over the weekend, and it’s really sticking with me. My family and I decided to watch the men’s snowboard half-pipe final, just because it stood out that it would be Shaun White’s final Olympic appearance. We took in the rounds of first and second runs of all the riders and loved hearing more about the athletes and seeing what they could do. It turned into a study of how four people can live under one roof and experience life in just as many disparate ways. The number one seeded rider was a 23-year-old from Japan who attempted and landed a trick that had never before been performed in the Olympic Games. He executed it perfectly but ended up with a score that put him in second place.

The commentators were aghast. Just at that moment we realized that we needed to leave the house and wouldn’t be able to finish watching to see if the final round of runs would change the outcome. We promised each other that we wouldn’t google what happened so that we could come back to watch it together. Over the course of the day, however, we not only couldn’t stop talking about the situation, we began to drift into different camps about whether we even wanted to find out who eventually won. Emotions were high and the dilemma got complicated. Between the four of us, some felt crushed for the top seeded boarder who was robbed of a higher score, but some were more worried about the athlete sitting in first place who may have to live with the world feeling his victory was undeserved. Some of us were chomping at the bit to get back to the coverage and see what shook out, and some wanted to never find out. Some were cherishing the surprise and suspense, while some were threatening to look up the scores because the tension was too much, and still others were putting ultimatums on whether they would watch the rest of the competition unless they knew the story had a happy ending. It was the kind of stress that made us realize that we have different responses and also helped us appreciate our different perspectives. It was just the right level of stress to bring us together, and what a wonderful feeling that was. In the end, I brokered a solution in which I peeked at the final standing so that I could tell the one who refused to watch without knowing the result that it would be safe, but reminded him that his dad really loves surprises so we agreed that he would play off his change of heart as a reluctant “okay you dragged me into it” moment instead of an acknowledgement that he was secure in the outcome.

In the end, the final runs were so much more than we could have dreamed, with a 16-year-old phenom knocking our collective socks off and bringing us joy with his huge smile, to the moment of retirement for 35-year-old Shaun White who had nothing but gratitude for his time as a snowboarder on the world stage, with not a shred of disappointment for not having gone out on the podium. And justice being set to rights when the Japanese rider completed another perfect run for the score he needed to win Gold. We were laughing, we were crying (some more than others), and everything was right with the world for a few moments. My boys are coming of age during a time when information is overwhelming and untrustworthy, and justice seems elusive, so this feeling of being together for an outcome that made sense will stick with me for a long time to come. It gives me hope for the future to see these athletes striving to reach the next level of greatness and supporting each other in their quest. Can we apply that ideal to rest of the world’s problems? Maybe. But for now seeing one snowboarder get the recognition he deserved is enough to keep me going.

Change is hard, but that’s not all

by Rev. Laura Folkwein

I will be the first person to tell you that I don’t like change. I prefer to drink my coffee out of the same green cup each morning, and I hate rearranging my furniture. Sometimes while traveling, though I love the adventure, a part of me wishes I could spend more time in the cozy, cocooned, in-between-place of a car, plane, or train. Change can be disorienting, tiring, sad, and lonely. Times of transition also offer opportunity, creativity, and grace.

Change really is all around us. I know I am a fool to resist. But I do need help. I find that nature is a generous teacher for those of us who may be a bit “change-averse.” Spring and Fall are my favorite seasons because they comfort and ease me through my stubbornness (which, let’s be honest, is a thin cover for grief and fear). Springtime brings welcome change from winter, when the first crocus and buttercups bloom, and we human animals begin to shed our own hat and jacket layers. Those first warm days of spring are a joy every year–a welcome change. In the fall, deciduous trees show us courage as they face their final transition. Blazing leaves give one final hurrah before floating to the ground and turning into compost to feed their mother tree for the winter (or our yards, or the forest floor). You don’t see snowdrifts hanging on and refusing to melt as the temps warm, nor do many leaves refuse to fall, even though they each let go at their own pace. Nature’s changes remind me that I too am part of a cycle of give and take, life and death, melting, falling, growing, grace, and nurture. That doesn’t seem so bad, does it?

I once read a brilliant little book called “How to Survive the Loss of a Love” by Peter McWilliams, which reminded me that transition includes grieving what is no more and gratitude for what has been. McWilliams reminds us bereft ones to enjoy and celebrate what our lost loves taught us (like an appreciation for bluegrass tunes, the family recipe for kimchi, or how to set clear boundaries). He is also generous with who these “loves” are: romantic partners, jobs, physical abilities, loved ones passed on, children grown up and moved on, or shifting friendships. Sometimes forgiveness and ritual for intentional letting go are in order. Is it time to throw rocks in the river, have a bonfire, or write a letter that will never be sent? Eventually, openness, energy, and hope for what is to come will arrive in the space we create for them with our remembering and our bonfires.

I am gently preparing myself for the day my green mug breaks. With a promise of chocolate and a few day’s notice, I can even consider moving furniture. Winter trees, naked of leaves, have their own kind of stark beauty (and it is easier to see the nuthatches and sparrows perched inside). What is it that helps you weather changes, big and small?

If you would like to ponder the topic of transition with me a little more, I invite you to Pilgrim’s Transitions Retreat, titled There is no small change, on Saturday February 12th, 8:30 a.m.-12:30 p.m. online or in person. Contact the church office or sign up online, here: https://forms.gle/9iFtzsaPXsTbLsrAA

Laura Folkwein (she/her) is our current pastor at Pilgrim Congregational UCC. Laura is currently working on a writing project with her family to re-story her family’s western pioneer narratives alongside local Indigenous histories.

Hurry up and Wait

By Susan Wordal

Have you ever noticed how some people seem to be in a real hurry, no matter what they are doing, while others are content to just move at the pace they want? Both types can be equally frustrating at times. I guess it just depends on how it strikes you at any given moment.

Funny thing, but there seem to be more phrases regarding the pitfalls of being fast rather than slow.

• The hurrier I go, the behinder I get

• Act (Marry) in haste, repent in leisure

• Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast (Wm. Shakespeare)

• Unreasonable haste is the direct road to error (Moliere)

• Take time for all things: great haste makes great waste (Benjamin Franklin)

Consider the old tale of the Tortoise and the Hare. Aesop had a way of telling a story that stands the test of time. We can be like the Hare and hurry forward, rushing to get there, but maybe being distracted along the way, or thinking we’re so far ahead because of our speed that there’s no way we can lose. Then we take a little nap and OOPS!, we’re behind. Sometimes, it is those who plod along, slow and steady, not rushing, but being careful and knowing the goal, who “win the race”.

This story strikes me these days when I think about how people behave. When I was a kid, the speedy thing was making a phone call…if you had a pushbutton phone. But when I was visiting my grandparents, I had to contend with the old rotary dial phone. So, to use the phone, you had to slow down while you waited for the dial to finish its rotation. And, you had to know the number or you had to look it up in the phone book. As you watched shows like “Star Trek”, you wished you could just say the number, or the name of the person, and the phone would dial it for you.

TA-DAH! Today we can do many of those things that seemed so impossible on those old sci-fi tv shows. (Except the transporter, they still need to figure that one out!) Everything is faster. You don’t have to wait for a letter when a fax or email will do. In fact, you don’t have to deal with faxes much at all, since email works every bit as well and you can save paper, or not deal with the old fax paper which smudged and would get creased and marked up if you folded it or drew a fingernail across it. Photos are digital and you don’t have to wait a week to get them developed in order to share them.

The down side? Yep, there’s a down side. We have come to expect that information is at our fingers and we can have everything done yesterday. We’ve come to expect everyone has a cell phone and they should pick up when we call! We get exasperated when we get voicemail (what we used to call the answering machine) and have to leave a message. We’ve become rude when an item we want isn’t available in the store and it will take a week to get it in. We don’t want to stand in line to mail a package. People think it’s great fun to manipulate photos to alter the truth of the camera lens. And just because we can send it out as soon as it’s finished on the computer doesn’t mean we should. Once you push that send button, it’s difficult if not impossible to recall it when you realize you sent that to your Uncle or your best friend and you didn’t mean to, or it had an attachment you DON’T want your mother or grandmother to see.

I think maybe we need to slow it down just a notch. We need to think about whether we did the job fast or we did the job right. We need to think about whether our haste will mean we have to re-do all that work because of an initial error or the initial idea was flawed in some way. How will we feel if the email we typed in anger is being sent to the wrong person or the text message we send is saying No when we meant Yes or vice versa? And how will you feel if that photo you know should be private gets attached to something and goes out into the electronic universe.....and your mother or your grandmother sees it?

Speed isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes slower gets it done right.

An Update on Pilgrim COVID protocols: Omicron Variant

Dear Friends,

I know that many of you are concerned about the omicron variant’s arrival and rapid spread in Gallatin County and across the country. I want to share some of the things we are doing at Pilgrim to keep each other and our neighbors safe and healthy.

First, we will continue to worship together in-person and online, to pray for healthcare providers and anyone dealing with Covid, and to “be the church,” in as many ways as we can.

Second, I have been consulting our church leadership, other faith community leaders, and the Gallatin County Health Department this week about what we can do to help slow omicron down. In my conversation with Brian on the Health Department Covid Hotline, (God bless my new friend Brian and all of his good work), he affirmed that we are doing nearly all we can to keep each other safe and keep our healthcare system and providers from overload and overwhelm. He also thanked us for supporting people spiritually through this difficult time. I felt really proud of us all, and I told Brian he would be in my prayers now too.

Two additional steps we can take right now, on a temporary basis are:

1-Take a break from treats and coffee after worship. Starting this week, we will put coffeehour on hold for at least 4-6 weeks (I know I could do with a break in my cookie consumption after the holidays…perhaps I am not the only one?). We can still visit in the narthex, outside in our coats and hats, and in the sanctuary after worship.

2-Encourage all of our church-related groups and committees to meet online for the next few weeks. (I think almost all of our groups are doing this anyway, including our weekly staff meeting.)

Here are the other steps we will be taking to continue to make Pilgrim a safe and positive place for us and our neighbors to gather during the ongoing challenges of Covid:

-Socially distance in the sanctuary during worship. Please leave 2-3 seats between yours and other households, or ask before you sit closer.

-We will stop passing the offering plate for a bit. There will be offering plates at the front and back of the church during worship. You can bring your offering up or back during the offertory, or drop it off as you enter or as you leave worship. Or you can give online on our website or set up an auto-bank withdrawal: 100% touchless and you don’t have to remember your wallet/purse/checkbook for church.

-Continue to allow readers, special musicians and other worship leaders to choose whether to keep or remove masks during their parts in the service.

-Keep the service as close to an hour (or less), as possible.

-Sing softly, or hum into our masks during hymns and congregational singing (or just listen).

-Make N95 and KN95 masks available to anyone who needs one (available in the church office and outside the sanctuary on Sundays). The blue medical masks remain available also. However, N95 and KN95’s are recommended to slow the spread of omicron.

-Send out a reminder to all of our renters about masking up in the building, and encourage them also to take a break on food/drink service for now (though they can still make their own decisions on this).

-Maintain high quality portable air filters and high quality HVAC system filters in the building, especially the sanctuary.

And, a reminder, in the spirit of love, health, and wholeness: Please stay home and participate in worship online, if you feel at all ill.

Let us know you’re under the weather, so we can pray for you, send a note, and ask you if you need soup (or anything at all). Seriously, please contact the church office if you would like a call, a visit, a meal, or other supports during this challenging time.

If there is one thing Covid has taught us in almost two years, it is that we can be and do church in a wider variety of ways than we ever imagined. Covid may be strong, but our spirit of love in Christ is stronger, and will last longer than this dang pandemic.

With you in love and faithfulness (and deep sighs too),

Pastor Laura

Letting Go, Holding On

"Parachute Games" by Tim Dennell is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

by Wendy Morical

When my child was small, he was timid in new environments. One day in Lindley Park, we saw an activity group from the Parks and Recreation department near the playground, lifting and lofting a brightly colored parachute in the air. Children squealed with the thrill of running into the space under the brilliant nylon and then darting back out from within the circle. Around the diameter of the parachute, adults and children gripped the handholds tightly, working together to move the massive fabric in smooth, billowing waves – up, down, up, down. My son, transfixed by the spectacle, hung back to watch the scene, not confident enough to run into the midst of the activity.

This memory came to me recently as I reflected on the conclusion of my term as congregational Moderator. Viscerally, I feel my hand releasing its hold on some of Pilgrim’s workings, but I am concretely aware of a circle of focused, joyful, and energetic people around me, ready to grip the handle as I release. In the past year and a half, some members of our Pilgrim family have really felt the effort required to tug the fabric of our church life upwards, and some have had to grip tightly to bring it back to Earth. Others of us have joyfully ducked in and out, taking pleasure from the beauty created by the lifters and adding our voices to the chorus of enthusiasm. Some, like my young son, have felt it more comfortable to sit at the side and enjoy the lifting and soaring from a safe distance.

Assuming a role in lay leadership over the past years exposed me to the many hands and hearts at work around Pilgrim. There is so much life in our church – even when our doors were shut and the search for our minister went on! Daily acts of support, both visible and behind the scenes, are performed by a vast number of Pilgrims: changing light bulb ballasts, delivering meatloaves, caring for our elderly members, writing poetry, trimming fallen branches, sweeping dead flies, shoveling the walks, cleaning the closets, reading scripture, collecting essentials for needy neighbors, writing blogs (!) and legal documents, planning, praying, and simply being present for one another.

What a joyful, colorful celebration this community is! Whether your hands are some that are doing the work of lifting and holding, ones that are moving with your body in the shelter of our circle, or ones in prayerful repose as you watch from a comfortable space, you are part of our wondrous, billowing, loving endeavor. May God bless us in our togetherness and our joy.