Resisting Sin

By Wendy Morical

My church home has always been a UCC congregation, from infant baptism to the current day. Over the years, I’ve occasionally had discussions with people who have turned away from church, actively put off or damaged by practices in a church. When I’ve described why I find church-going a positive act of self-care, I’ve found myself asserting that “we don’t talk about sin” in the UCC. This is likely the position I have taken when speaking to those who were made to confess their sinfulness regularly and feel bad about themselves constantly, ultimately deciding they had no place for organized religion in their lives.

I have always known that God loves all of us, as we are, and didn’t understand why some felt they needed to earn back God’s favor, or that they must work to earn a positive judgment at their life’s end. God does love, God IS love!

Therefore, this past Sunday, I braced myself when sin, evil, repentance and even Satan were topics of the sermon. Pastor Laura opened by acknowledging that these are problematical and even abused aspects of Christianity, but in keeping with our search for the constant of God’s love in all places, she tackled the experience of temptations in the desert.

One of the most helpful touchstones in her sermon was a concrete way to reframe sin as, “that which separates us from the love and grace of God.” She spoke about resisting the “evils” that separate us from God. That was something that I could wrap my head around – and something that deepened my understanding of the experience of Lent.

To repent, we were told, is to change your way of thinking in order to cast off that which is evil. Jesus, though tempted mightily, resisted those things that would get in the way of His relationship with God. Pastor Laura called on us this week to be “resisters of evil.” Can we have the courage to resist the small evils that drive a wedge between us and our relationship with a loving God? Might we recommit during this Lenten season to check our impulses toward pettiness, cynicism, judgment, self-service, and other small but sinful habits that separate us from the love God offers us so freely?

Let us praise God not only with our lips but with our living; let us use this season of Lent to reassess what that might mean.

Road To Nowhere

By Kerry Williams

I’ve never felt that January 1st was the start of a new year. Maybe it’s because I was a dedicated student and orient to September as the annual time of change and transition. Or maybe it’s because I’ve always lived in a northern climate and celebrate New Year’s in the middle of the longest season of the year. Or maybe it’s because my birthday is in June, which means I myself turn a new page exactly halfway around the calendar from the day I hang it on the wall. Whatever the reason, I am not refreshed by the changing of the year. I don’t make resolutions because I feel no pull of a reset in my life. I don’t feel nostalgia nor a sense of possibility, sentiments I clearly see in those around me.

In fact, the past couple of years my main feeling in the month of January has been of burnout. The job that I’m currently in reinforces this sense of being stuck. I am in charge of bookkeeping in a nonprofit office that chooses to do a yearly audit. This means that the month of December I am churning out donation acknowledgments during the busy giving season, then roll straight into January wrapping up annual financials to set everything in order, only to then drop right back into the previous year to dig up all the random pieces of information needed for the accountants. It is overwhelmingly busy yet the work is circular.

I hear The Talking Heads singing “Road to Nowhere” on a loop in my head all month long. I spend the month of December tending to others’ needs, whether that’s getting a stranger a tax donation receipt or making sure that those I’m closest to receive meaningful holiday gifts, food, and memories, and the month of January cleaning up and prepping for others’ success at both work and at home. Emerging into February feels like a relief, though not a renewal. I am tired. I think the definition of burnout, at least to me, is knowing that you are depleted but not knowing how to fill your bucket back up. I keep asking myself, “What do I need?” and finding no clear answer. I might think peace and quiet would be good, but when I find myself alone in my cozy house I just walk around in circles, doing random chores instead of settling in and finding rest. I might think social engagement will cheer me up, but then I get stressed just trying to make plans to get together with others. All of this is to say that if you are in a cycle of your life that feels both overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time, you’re not alone.

I am grateful for the years I’ve spent on this planet (coming up on 50 now that it's 2023) that have given me the wisdom that “this too shall pass.” I know that it’s impossible to maintain a perfect “whelmed” state for very long, but I also know that I have the strength to get through this time. That and the fact that February brings lots of chocolate. It feels like my personal road to nowhere might end up having a destination after all in the very near future, and I’m thankful for all of you fellow travelers who make it enjoyable along the way, even when I’m driving in circles.

Maggie's Take

By Carolyn Pinet

The thirteenth bird

flies in on a wing and a prayer.

She's a magpie my granddaughter,

who likes euphony,

calls Maggie.

Her black and white feathers

plump up and glisten.

Something bad happened

to her whacky tail,

but she flutters

and improvises a two-step.

The number thirteen could

really bring you down,

but Maggie, imperturbable,

dances among our crumbs.

She knows a large crow

could beat her to them,

but she shares my granddaughter's

optimism about

the giddy generosity of life,

even when guns go off again

and Covid rises like a tide.

How unlucky could thirteen actually be?

Maggie spreads her wings and they splay

like big black kisses.

My granddaughter calls to her as,

sated, she takes off into the wide-open blue.

For Mimi who loves Maggie.

Sacrificial Love

By Liz Miller

 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant. - 1 Corinthians 13:4 (NRSVUE)

Last summer I toured Saint John’s Abbey Woodworking where a small team of craftsmen (mostly monks) build furniture they describe as sustainable, long-lasting, and utilitarian. I think their designs are better described as artistic, sublimely gorgeous, and eat-your-heart-out-Ikea minimalist.

On the tour, a woodworker explained that they had long outgrown their workshop. Soon they would be tearing down their buildings and creating a new, expansive workshop with space for all their tools, projects, and room still to grow. There was great anticipation about this long-dreamed-of woodworking shop.

The final stop on the tour was the lumber shed, where high above planks of red oak and maple was a loft soaked in natural light, sunbeams beckoning for a passerby to climb up and explore. For over 50 years this loft was the studio of a monk who is a prolific painter. Nestled above the woodworkers he births vibrant works of art that end up in the Vatican and Parisian galleries alike. When the old workshop is demolished, his sacred space will also be torn down.

The community helped the painter set up a new studio nearby. They assisted him in packing his canvases and brushes and gently unpacked his tools in the new space. They recognized that in the midst of the exciting growth for the rest of the community came this deeply personal loss for one among them. They grieved with him. They named and honored his sacrifice, just as the painter named and honored the need for a new woodworking shop.

This is the commandment to love one another. To accompany each other rather than insist on our own way. To tell truthful, tender stories rather than keep a record of wrongs.

Prayer

Together may we bear all things and endure all things. May Christ’s love never end. May we love one another as Christ loved us.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Liz Miller serves as the pastor of Edgewood United Church (UCC) in East Lansing, Michigan. This reflection was originally posted on the United Church of Christ’s website as a Daily Devotional from the StillSpeaking Writers’ Group: https://www.ucc.org/daily-devotional/ and accessed on February 8, 2023. Used with permission.

Rolling Through Life

By Rev. Danielle Rogers

Last Friday night I stepped into rainbow sparkly roller skates with bright turquoise glitter shoelaces and glided into a dark room at the Gallatin Valley Fairgrounds illuminated by strobe lights, while the sounds of Abba and other 70’s jams blared in the background.

Lots of little feet on wobbly legs skated by me while parents tried to keep the smallest from falling. Meanwhile experienced adults flew by on skates with lighted wheels , exuding confidence and style.

I hadn’t put on Roller Skates since 1995. The last time I wore them was at my High School Graduation afterparty for Seniors. The dark room, filled with advanced confident adults and overzealous children made me nervous. I was more then nervous, I was terrified.

I skated recreationally as a child. I loved the freedom of gliding through my hometown of NYC, and the joy I felt. I was an experienced skater, confident, assured with no fear of falling. I received my first pair of fisher price skates at 3, and by ten had a nice pair of leather semi-professional skates. I skated every day for a whole summer in our building’s backyard, I wore them to the bodega corner store, and they substituted my usual tennis shoes that year. I wore them in so badly, I broke the brake on one of the skates and had it repaired.

All my previous experience escaped me, as I took a trepidatious step into the dark room and gathered my courage. Slowly, I took one step gliding to the right and then the left, trying to find a rhythm while keeping my core engaged. I made it around the room and tried for another lap. Again, gliding to the right, then releasing to my left foot, and little by little I remembered an emotion I hadn’t felt in thirty years. Childhood exhilaration. All the memories of skating rushed back, every part of my body remembered the old sensation of skating and the joy it brought me. It took me back to memories with my mom and the knee pads I wore as a toddler. I remembered being 11 and feeling independent at the ability to travel short distances on my skates by myself to run an errand. More importantly, I felt Joy! Real joy.

As I made my way to my husband who was watching from the side of the room, I decided to try stopping by breaking, a maneuver done by lifting up your foot and applying pressure on the hard peg on the front of the boot. My beautiful skates were brand new and I had forgotten the breaks needed to be broken in. They were vinyl, shiny, glittery plastic. As I braked, down I went. I landed on my hip and extended my elbow falling on my wrist. My phone dropped and the screen broke. Instant pain radiated into my hip as I lay stunned and kind of embarrassed. I quickly got up skated over to my husband and had to make a decision. Should I go home, ice my middle-aged ego and leave this sport for the young people, or should I stay, as another fun song by Olivia Newton John played loudly. I stayed for another two hours.

Later that night I was mad at myself for falling and wished I had stayed home as the realization of buying a new phone and a trip to Urgent Care waited for me in the morning, then I remembered the feeling of freedom and joy. For those moments it was blissful movement, swaying to fun, methodic, music and exuding childhood joy. I praise God for roller skates, and the joy it brings to the world. If you are wondering if I will go back, the answer is yes and I hope you will too. Find your old joy, live in it for awhile and praise God for the ability to find it.

This Is the Day the Lord Has Made

By Bruce Smith

Significant

Back when I was much younger, our family became friends with Reverend Walter Reasoner. Reverend Reasoner left a successful early career on Wall Street to become a pastor. Besides ministering to a church some miles from us, he became a meaningful influence on us. I remember his resonant voice beginning a church service with the words, “This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Over the years that verse has remained with me and even sits on my desk. For this week, I thought I’d share a couple thoughts about it.

First, I’ll admit that I have not followed that instruction on many days over the years. And probably I’ve missed some opportunities for more happiness by doing so. But, as we know, life can sometimes be trying. But let’s think about what beginning each day with this verse in mind might mean. The first recognition is that it is a gift from God with which we are blessed. God’s love is first in foremost in providing this unique 24 hours open to life’s experiences. He is the founder and grounder of our existence and he is looking out for us in providing this day.

That recognition may inspire us to a moment of thankfulness. We are blessed with a new day and new opportunities. We can appreciate the blessing of this day and so much else comes from God, a God who is happy to give us our lives and so much in them. That, itself, is enough to add comfort and hope to our morning.

There is the encouragement to approach this new day with an attitude of joy and expectation. Given the onslaught of negativity we so often find around us, what a different attitude this can engender! Rather than dwelling on the usual litany of problems, dangers, and dire predictions we can approach this new day with a smile and a bounce in our step. And isn’t it often said that your attitude and smile can be a positive on those around you? We can take our sense of appreciation and joy and pass it along to those around us.

We can also rejoice in the wonder that is our life. That in the endless universe we exist with our incredibly intricate bodies and their interactions of chemicals, nerves, muscles and, even now we learn, the host of bacteria that comprise our existence. Each day can start with the recognition of the wonder that we are and appreciation for the God that produced us.

And, when it comes down to it, this is the only day that we’re sure that we have. So why not fill it with rejoicing, thankfulness and as much happiness as we can?

I’ll try to do better by starting my day with a moment to think of this verse and hope that you can benefit from it as well.

Let Your Light Shine

By Wendy Morical

During an appearance on Stephen Colbert’s talk show a few weeks ago, RuPaul described his present practice when watching television: “I can’t take meanness anymore. After the past five years, if, like, there’s a movie or something on television where they’re starting to be mean, I have to look away. I only can do lovely, kind, sweet things.”

In the comments following this clip, many respondents said they were also “burned out on hate, anger, and violence,” including one person who commended RuPaul for his perspective, saying, “He allows his love and light to permeate the atmosphere and lift the spirits of all who come near. That is a gift straight from God.”

Yesterday, in our Epiphany service, Rev. Danielle guided us to pray to a God of light and love “who shines in our hearts”, and we sang together the upbeat hymn asserting that we were each going to let “this little light of mine” shine. Yes, please!

Like RuPaul, I have felt overwhelmed by the toxicity of discourse in our country over the past few years and paralyzed by my limited ability to address social injustices. We are traversing a painful stretch in our country’s life. Rifts in our society, laid bare by events in recent years, have been parlayed by the media into a never-ending stream of humankind’s least attractive attributes: violence, greed, divisiveness, dishonesty, vulgarity. What passes for entertainment often echoes these same themes. I have chosen to tune out, too.

So where do we find the “little light” of God’s still, small voice?

Well, there is something I have noticed recently, framed by the fact that nothing seems to run smoothly or efficiently these days. Last week, I was in the Post Office for over a half an hour to conduct a small task. The counter was understaffed, and the line exceeded 20 people. A few cheery children, unaware that standing in the Post Office for 30 minutes isn’t acceptable or normal, were playing and chattering, bringing smiles to the faces of some of the line members. Several people visited with those near them. Slowly, slowly we approached the counter – and as people arrived, not one person grumbled or complained but instead all greeted the postal workers pleasantly, even thanking them for their hard work. I realized I had been on alert, anticipating an episode of rudeness or disrespect, and it was a relief to witness goodness.

Likewise, in the grocery store, funneling slowly through the lone open checkout lane, people around me were pleasant in their resignation to the situation and each person was kind to the cashier in their turn.

Could it be that a groundswell of kindness and respect may be our national reaction to “meanness burnout”? What if, in years to come, historians look at this current ugly climate as a small blip and write about the years of goodwill that were ushered in as a nationwide reaction to behavior that was not acceptable to the good people of America…

That may not ultimately be our shared reality, but what is real is that each of us can gratefully receive the gift of God’s love and let it shine through our actions every day. At the conclusion of a long-ago yoga class, my instructor shared a focusing intention that I copied and have used as a touchstone when I am feeling put-upon, discouraged, or overwhelmed by events out of my control: Love is my gift to the world. I fill myself with love and I sent that love out into the world. How others treat me is their path; how I react is mine.

In this new year, and embracing our Epiphany celebration confirming Christ’s light in the world, let us all commit to sharing our gift of love, to letting our light shine.

Numbering Graces

By Carolyn Pinet

I have no idea why

my mother always ended

her notes and cards

with 13 kisses.

Was she defying "unlucky"

or simply convinced,

against all odds,

that she could magic a negative

into a positive?

During the war she sat with me

on a beach in Wales,

while bombs pounded near and far,

and she waited for my flying father

to return home.

She sang to me, two in 1945,

about blackbirds in a pie,

all twenty-four of them,

alive and twittering away,

when it was cut open

and set before the king.

Numbers are funny, remarkable things.

Stevenson immortalized 13 in one whole poem,

the Bible conjures Three in One,

and, all these years later,

each of my mother's letters

still sports 13 exes

It's intriguing what figures and crosses can do,

how birds and kisses can elude us,

spread wings and fly away,

then come back down to earth,

break into song

and simply astonish us.

Ring In The Year

By: Susan Wordal

It’s a New Year! 2023 rolled in on Sunday with a delightful story read by Carolyn Pinet. We were so cozy in the Boyd Room, but probably a little startled to see more people on a Sunday after a night spent “ringing in the new” or spent comforting our canine and other furry friends or our dear ones who do not handle all that popping and banging from fireworks. We sang lovely hymns with Chris Fastnow, who wore a sparkly jacket and looked ready for the season. We shared hot beverages and lovely cookies and left feeling we’d started off the next adventure in the company of those we love and with a look forward rather than back.

But looking back can also be a good thing. The Advent Season is so full of wonderful things and we get so busy plotting the surprises under the tree and enjoying the hustle and bustle that we sometimes forget to reflect on the year coming to a close.

The one thing I realized I was missing this year was playing with the handbell choir at church. Odd how when you don’t do something for a time, you realize other things have filled in for that activity. Not always with the same level of enjoyment, but there it is. We adjust. We’ve done a crazy amount of adjusting the last couple years with Covid and social distancing and figuring out new ways to communicate. But despite our ability to do many things through electronic means, there is just something about being part of a group creating music. But people are continuing to share their inspirations on that front, as well.

Then I had an invitation from M.A. Bellingham, our Bell Choir Director, to join in a concert with Bells of the Bridgers and play chimes. I was excited! And, it was fun to see familiar faces (when we weren’t covering up with masks to protect everyone) and join in this collective musical endeavor.

As I listened to the concert both nights, I realized how much I’ve missed this collective experience. It’s truly a unique one. Imagine standing at a piano and knowing you are only responsible for hitting a total of 3 or 4 notes (depending on whether you need to play the white keys, the black keys, or some combination of them). Talk about a crowd around a piano. But with bells, you can stand in a line, or 2 lines if you have enough bells and ringers, and you can strike your individual notes and collectively you play the music. It’s not like an orchestra where each instrument layers over another to create the piece. In this case, it’s truly a collaborative effort. And the sound….! It has such richness to it. The chimes add such a dimension, somewhat like the changing tonalities of an organ without all of the “noise” as some people view it. It’s softer and richer in some ways. [Sorry Grandma Norma, but I never could get the hang of the organ, even though you played one for YEARS!!]

There’s a sense, as we head into this new year, that we need to begin to find ways to start picking up things we have left off doing. With Covid still rearing its ugly head, doing that can be a little interesting. Singing is difficult while wearing a mask, but it can be done. Bell playing, on the other hand, can be done with masks! Some of our ringers at Pilgrim will not be returning for one reason or another. But, if there are some folks out there who can count, and can follow directions, and maybe have a little appreciation for music, maybe it’s time to begin to “ring in the year”. I’m hoping that this year will see that dream come alive and the music flow.

Care to “ring” with me? Come on……let’s RING!

"Tell it slant" - What Emily Knew

By Carolyn Pinet

What was Noah waiting for anyway?

Isn't it preposterous to cram a whole zoo

into a small space, and float about?

But here we are, the first Sunday of Advent,

asking ourselves what should we really be doing?

Should we be making lists and dashing ahead,

panic stricken that we'll never get it all done?

Still, Emily speaks to us of feathers and hope,

and I'm picturing a rainbow above the ark,

it hangs, a slide of promising, radiant colors.

Here we sit, pilgrims at rest, and time stretches out,

with poinsettias gleaming in a field of red,

while a mother and daughter, on keys and strings,

conjure "Le Cygne" -

a swan glides softly, slowly over water

and we fall in love with a concave, shining mirror.

But listen, now we are raised ever higher:

a glorious organ Toccata buoys us up -

together we float, feathers among blond rafters.

Many thanks to Ilse-Mari & Elizabeth Lee and for Pastor Laura's Sacred Time

"Hope is a thing with feathers..." Emily Dickinson

Le Cygne, Saint-Saens

Festival Toccata, Fletcher

Pilgrim CC, Bozeman, November 27, 2022, Advent

Imagining Gutsy Mary

Mary said, “My soul magnifies my God; for you have looked with favor on the lowliness of your servant. You have brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; you have filled the hungry, and sent the rich away empty.” – Luke 1:47-48 & 52-53 (NRSV, adapted)

In this song, Mary calls herself “lowly.” Which doesn’t mean “humble” or “meek.” It means “poor.” It’s not a metaphor. Mary was poor, dirt poor. She sings about God’s new world in the way poor people always have, in the midst of life’s hard grief. She feels its joy while up to her neck in privation, which is, perhaps, the only place where such imagination is even possible.

It takes imagination to sing about a new world in the midst of the violence and pain of the old. No matter when or where, it also takes guts to sing of the powerful dethroned, of poor bellies filled. It’s like a raised fist. Try doing it in the boardroom of Amazon. The gift is not welcome everywhere.

Mary’s got guts, and she’s pregnant with imagination. Pregnant with a Child. And like pregnant women, she dares to believe that it’s God’s new world growing in her womb, that her child will one day make all the difference.

You don’t have to be pregnant to imagine like Mary. But we can’t imagine at all if we won’t relinquish our privilege and confess that things aren’t the way God intends, and that we’re part of the problem. If we can’t contain our avarice to receive the dream with uncluttered hearts. If we never find true solidarity with the dirt poor, with Marys everywhere.

And if we can’t imagine, we can’t hope. And if we can’t hope, we’ll only fear. And if there’s only fear, we know what that does to us and where it leaves us, where it’s always left the world.

Prayer: We want to hope. We want a new world. Give the church, give me, the guts and imagination of Mary.

Discussion Questions

1. What hinders (or perhaps tames) your imagination of God’s new world?

2. How do you practice confession during Advent? When are you tempted to practice denial instead?

3. What lessons of joy, persistence, and resistance do you learn from Mary?

About the Author: Mary Luti is a long time seminary educator and pastor, author of Teresa of Avila’s Way and numerous articles, and founding member of The Daughters of Abraham, a national network of interfaith women’s book groups. This reflection was originally posted on the United Church of Christ’s website as a Daily Devotional from the StillSpeaking Writers’ Group: https://www.ucc.org/daily-devotional/ and accessed on December 20, 2022. Used with permission.

Christmas Waxwing

By: Carolyn Pinet

Hosts of Bohemians

flock from tree to tree,

swarm and gather

in dense communion,

a chanting, chattering

crowd of pilgrims.

The red wine of berries

drops from their beaks and

they coast, heady on the season.

A Christmas chorus,

raised in cold and snow

in ascent, descent,

cheers us

and caresses the air:

a caroling lustily sung

at windows and doors.

Blessed be the birds

at the manger

and under the Star,

a thousand throats

twittering in glistening Hosannas.

Volunteer

by Dilynn Wise

From Oxford dictionary the definition of volunteer is as follows:

volunteer noun /ˌvɒlənˈtɪə(r) /ˌvɑːlənˈtɪr/

​ 1. a person who does a job without being paid for it

Schools need volunteers to help children to read. Volunteer helpers/carers

2.​ a person who offers to do something without being forced to do it.

Are there any volunteers to help clear up?

volunteer verb /ˌvɒlənˈtɪə(r) /ˌvɑːlənˈtɪr/

​ [intransitive, transitive] to offer to do something without being forced to do it or without getting paid for it

This definition comes to mind often, frequently, repeatedly when a project or task arises. This word is important to the daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly function of our lives. Things don’t really just magically happen all by themselves. If you want a party, someone will have to organize it or plan it. If decorations need to be put up there will also need to be people (hopefully many people) to get them out of storage, and set them all up, many hands make light work.

There are so many things that rely on the support of volunteers to step up and lend a helping hand, to accomplish a task, and get the job done. Without these people coming forward, those tasks/jobs will not happen. And expecting it to happen just because someone always has in the past, doesn’t mean they will all the time.

“As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands — one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.” — Audrey Hepburn.

If there is something you enjoy doing or seeing, find out how it “magically happens”. Be apart of that magic. Perhaps you will feel the happiness from others fill your whole body in a way just watching never has. Volunteering rewards your soul in a manner that is intangible and can never be given a monetary equivalent.

CHANGE

By Bruce Smith

Pastor Laura recently concluded a sermon series on change. Intrigued by her thoughts, I began reflecting on another aspect of change. What do we do when unwanted change happens? As we know all too well, difficult things happen to friends, family and acquaintances. Health and circumstances can change quickly to become difficult and serious. And, at other times, it is a slow decline over which we have no control as in aging or dementia. These are all changes but present a serious need for adjustment and response. Why and how to respond are questions that challenge us sooner or later. I don’t pretend to have the answer to a question that has challenged philosophers and theologians. But I did want to share a few thoughts and just hope they don’t sound preachy.

The first was that those unwelcome changes provide an opportunity for us to express love and concern for someone experiencing them. As a Christian community we are called to minister to each other in times of need. Paul writes in Galatians 6:2 “Share each other’s troubles and problems, and so obey our Lord’s command.” Whether it’s a note, a phone call or a listening ear, we have an opportunity and perhaps even a mission to minister to those affected. In some cases, we may be able to do even more by way of helping.

A second thought is that we need to be aware of what others are going through. With busy, often over committed lives, we may not always be as sensitive as we might. Cultivating that awareness may be a beneficial practice in response to others’ difficult changes. Our Called to Care group is a fine example of this. However, we’re not limited to that group. It may be our turn to do some of that caring. Our weekly newsletter makes this easier by highlighting those we know to be having a difficult time. Personal caveat - It’s so easy to let someone else do it and I’ve been there, done that! But I know I can do better.

Be courageous. We may not be closely connected to the people experiencing change and responding at a trying time is not always easy. But responding can be rewarding and in most cases is highly appreciated. I remember a time when I was asked to take communion to a man who was dying. I didn’t know him very well but found him eminently engaging. His acceptance of his situation and hope for the afterlife were inspiring. In taking a step you may find a new rewarding relationship that ends up enriching your life.

Be sensitive. Unwanted changes can be very difficult and different people have different needs. One person may want to unload on you while another is embarrassed and private. Giving attention is important but so is moderating that attention with sensitivity.

Prayer is powerful. It is one of the special ministries that sets us apart from other groups. We have access to more than ourselves when going to prayer. And think, how many times have we heard how our prayers and congregational support have helped people through a tough time?

And then there are those times when we are the ones experiencing a difficult change. At those times we may need to share our need and be willing to accept the care and support of other people. I haven’t yet had that experience but through conversations with others, understand that it’s not easy. After years of being the provider, it’s difficult to transition by becoming the gracious recipient of support. My guess is that it takes a humble spirit, acceptance, and a certain reluctant courage to graciously accept a helping hand and/or an attentive ear.

In such times, there is also a need for that most difficult of virtues – patience. Recovery or acceptance takes time and that time is not easy. I have a good friend recovering, slowly, from hip surgery. During a recent chat we agreed, with some laughter, that it required a skill in which neither of us excelled.

Paul may sum up how we might handle unwelcome change in our own lives with these words, “Rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation and continuing in constant prayer.”

And through all of the above there is a need for faith that we are loved and supported by a caring God. We may need that faith to take the next step (or dare I say change) to minister to someone and we’ll certainly need it when our own circumstance changes for the worse. I’ll close with words from Paul in Colossians 3:12, that would seem to apply to changes in whatever shape they come. “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” Wise words for dealing with those unwelcome changes!

Yearning For a Soft Life

By Rev. Danielle Rogers

Last week I turned to my husband and sighed. I attended two meetings on affordable housing and poverty and proclaimed, “I want people to live a soft life.” He looked confused and with his eyebrows raised, leaned in and asked, “What’s that?” I hadn’t heard the term before that moment, but the feeling was pervasive of wanting calmness, of imagining a society where people’s needs were met. What would that look like? Could our society delve into discussions of work life balance, could every child be provided safe day care, and schooling regardless of their parent’s income? Could food be provided to the hungry and shelter to the unhoused universally. Could people earn a living wage that provided adequate shelter for all? Is this even an option in our current climate? Is society ready to move in this direction?

For the past two years I’ve become engaged in several committees pertaining to women’s rights and economic insecurity and at times, it’s exhausting. Although I have seen triumphs, the work is never done. It feels like the game “Wack a Mole.” Just when you hit the target another need jumps to fruition. It’s maddening and discouraging.

As we head into thanksgiving, a time for reflection and expressing gratitude, I am led to action. Being grateful and thankful is important for our self-care, but on this holiday, I am led to dream of what could be.

I have always looked at Jesus as being a wonderful social worker. He provided concrete resources and met people’s physical needs before engaging their spiritual ones. He fed them physically before feeding them spiritually. As we prepare for our own feast, what could we be feeding ourselves eternally. Living a soft life ultimately is a gift of foresight and optimism for society to reach it’s full potential. I know my ideals may seem unrealistic, but, as I look to Jesus’ teachings, so were His. Yet here we are, still learning and praising a Christian message. Perhaps it’s love that creates softness, and love is eternal. May you find a Soft Place to land and dream of what can be.

Like The First Morning...

By Carolyn Pinet

Like the first morning

so glorious it breaks your heart.

Reasons I come to sit here are many:

fall mimics summer,

the trees scintillate with color

under a flawless sky,

we shed our layers and

let the heat enter each pore,

perhaps for the last time,

or the next-to-last time,

no-one can be sure

how much our globe is warming

or how long we will spin

recklessly, gloriously,

among the stars.

Still, my little black dog, insatiable,

consumes dropped crumbs,

lives this moment

with neither future nor past.

My finished crossword

looks accomplished,

almost as Word perfect

as this morning,

brilliant

as a newly coined poem...

"Morning has broken..." Cat Stevens

"And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us." John, 1, 14

Gratitude With Attitude

By Kerry Williams

Here we are, circling back into November again! This November feels like many before it, but also seems like it could hold new possibilities. I’m sure that, like for many of us, there’s fatigue over entering flu and cold season with the threat of Covid over our heads, and yet it was only a short time ago that we were living with the helplessness that there was nothing we could do to prevent any illness at all. I do better when I know there’s some action I can take, even if there’s not a guaranteed outcome. I think times like these have led me to gratitude with attitude.

I used to worry that I was fooling myself into thankfulness when I compared one situation to another, like it was cheating to say, “well, at least it’s not as bad as it could be!” Living has brought the wisdom that it’s not only the perfect outcome that deserves praise. Micro-thanks along the way doesn’t mean I’ve taken my eye off the prize, in fact, it adds to the overall gratitude I feel about the process AND the end product! I used to hold back thanks from myself, from others, and from God until a task was complete, thinking that any positive acknowledgement would somehow derail the motivation to keep an effort going. I was much more likely to extend gratitude toward a life lesson that I learned through failure than allow myself and others to feel the buoying effect of thankfulness for small wins.

I used to send out a card each Thanksgiving to someone I felt had helped me get to where I am in life, and that’s a really nice gesture, to be sure. It wasn’t a real risk though, because what I was doing was taking the outcome I liked, giving it plenty of time to make sure everything turned out, and then praising an effort I appreciated. Now I work on finding the little sparks that could lead to something great, and give them their due in the moment, without needing to know whether or not they reach their potential. These days I try to approach gratitude as one of those actions I can take that feels like progress, rather than a precious gem I’m giving away because I wasn’t up to the task of doing something without help. I’m not always perfect at this new approach, but I do find myself tapping into the power of feeling grateful and sharing that with those around me more easily. There’s a zest for putting more gratitude into the world that I resisted before, and frankly I’m thankful for it!

Halloween is for Grown-Ups

John Edgerton

The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. - Isaiah 11:6 (NRSV)

I live on a very Halloween-y block. You know the kind of block I’m talking about, where every house has decorations up and a candy bowl that never runs dry. Where there’s always that one pair of dads locked in a spooky-season arms race with increasingly elaborate set-ups. The kind of street that the whisper network says might have full-sized candy bars.

When we moved onto the block, our neighbors told us to get at least 1,000 pieces of candy. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I am locked in an arms race over jack-o-lanterns. Namely, whose is the biggest and awesome-est. (Mine, in case you were wondering).

And as much as I enjoyed Halloween as a child, I enjoy it more as an adult than I ever did. The kids from the tony parts of town stand on level ground with the kids from the other side of the tracks. The tiny wobblers struggling to remember the words they’re supposed to say walk in the same line as the surly teenagers struggling to bring themselves to say it. The parents, dewy-eyed, take video as their kids brave the front steps of a stranger’s house, protected by nothing but a Paw Patrol costume. Everyone has a gift to give, good things are there for the asking, and the barriers between us fall for a night.

This holiday is supposedly for kids, but don’t you believe it. Halloween is there to remind us grown-ups about generosity, and fun, and mystery, and joy.

Prayer

God, thank you for children, they help us grown-ups remember the joy of living.

Discussion Questions

How do your childhood experiences of Halloween compare to your experiences of Halloween as an adult? How have the meanings of various holidays changed for you over the years?

Do you notice a similar spirit of equity among trick-or-treaters—and a spirit of competition among adults—as the author describes?

How might the childhood fun of Halloween lead the way of “wolves and lambs” finding peace together?

About the Author: John Edgerton is Lead Pastor at First United Church of Oak Park, Illinois. This reflection was originally posted on the United Church of Christ’s website as a Daily Devotional from the Still Speaking Writers’ Group: https://www.ucc.org/daily-devotional/ and accessed on October 31, 2022. Used with permission.

Ponderings: Winter & Love

By Susan Wordal

In June, I found myself torn by my desire to get on with Spring and Summer, and by my feeling that the cold, rainy days of what can only be described as Winter hanging on by his fingernails is indicative of my present mood when it comes to the current state of the law and politics. Being a lawyer, I’ve always believed in the law. It is supposed to be able to objectively look at things and keep us from imploding, settling disputes between parties or factions without regard to who you like or who has the most money. But of late, it seems to be nothing more than another avenue for division and rancor, persuaded by those with “power”. The law, of late, is not being seen in its finest new suit nor is it demonstrating its ability to be objective and fair. But then, fair is often in the eye of the beholder.

Curiously, an event I participated in at the end of May helped a little with my outlook. The Etiquette Dinner for the Youth at Pilgrim on May 27th was a good reminder of what the promise of Spring and Summer hold. Fresh faces entered the Boyd Room not really knowing what to expect. They weren’t sure what this Adulting Class was all about and they clung to their siblings or friends as they waited to see what this “etiquette” thing was all about. Meanwhile, members of Pilgrim had created a lovely environment, with gracefully set tables and a display of elegant desserts with a Parisian backdrop and music playing in the background. We added to it when I set up a more formal table setting with fine china and glassware for them to see a different example of a table setting from the one they would use that night. I took the time to explain the various glasses, silver and plates arrayed for their examination.

The youth varied in age and experience, but they were far more attentive and polite than our “Lindy”, the guest invited to do whatever was the opposite of proper and appropriate. The guests assumed their seats and attempted to learn how to properly hold their tableware, keep their napkins on their laps (slippery little things kept sliding off some laps!), and hold conversations. Given that the tables were set in a row, and I was the lone adult to teach them etiquette, those at the tables on either side of me found it necessary to ask questions which might have been better to ask as an aside, but they did well in asking intelligent questions and looking for answers for what may have been, for them, a first in dining in a more formal way. Few elbows made an appearance on the tables, and they all sought permission to leave the table and they spoke kindly to the servers as they were asked questions such as “May I take your plate?”.

These new generations are a blessing. As we teach what we know, and learn from them, too, we see that Spring is eternal, both in nature and in society. They are a reminder that we can give information, but we teach as much from what we do and how we interact with them, as we do with any lecture. They remind us we get more by listening and asking questions and challenging assumptions than we do by telling someone “how it is” or taking the “my way or the highway” attitude to something. We worry about our children in this age of instant gratification through social media coupled with guns and intolerance. But they see more than we know and they respond to what they instinctively know is “right”. While intolerance and hate can breed the same, more often, it repels and children seek what they lack. They seek the light, and they seek understanding and they seek peace. They want tolerance and judgment restrained by love. We can give them that every day by demonstrating our ability to listen, our ability to reason and our ability to see both sides and reach consensus without doing damage to either side.

Praise be for the children and for that tolerance and judgment we exert in dealing with our fellow man with love and not hate, with empathy and not scorn, with forgiveness for unintended slights. May it help us to weather the storms which may come and create a new vibrancy and light for our path in this season of change. We say “goodbye” to Mr. Winter every year with the advent of Spring/Summer. And we then welcome Fall/Winter back when the heat of Summer has fried our tempers and our tolerance. Politics again raises its arms, but we have good people to support and faith that calmer heads may prevail. May this Winter find us ready to brave the elements until those storms have, once again, blown themselves out.

To Arrive With Cake

By Mary Luti

Discussion Questions

1. If you could do only one act of kindness in your life, what would it be?

2. Are there norms, laws, or customs you think are worth breaking in order to relieve suffering? Have you ever broken any?

3. Does hearing about the lives of the saints help you live your own Christian discipleship?

Bring me out of prison, that I may give thanks to your name. The righteous will surround me, for you deal bountifully with me. – Psalm 142:7 (NRSV)

Francis of Assisi died overnight, October 3, 1226, just as the brothers were reciting the last verse of Psalm 142. He didn’t go easily. I’ll spare you the medieval details; suffice it to say it was unrelieved agony.

Well, almost unrelieved. For as he lay dying, a dear friend arrived, a noblewoman named Jacoba Settesoli. Francis used to stay at her estate when he was in Rome. He got sick there once, and she made him an almond confection. He loved it.

Francis had written her a note advising her to hurry if she wanted to say goodbye: time was running out. And would she please bring him some of that almond cake? Legend says she was on the road before he’d even finished writing.

When she arrived, the brothers didn’t know what to do with her. Francis was notoriously strict about boundaries with women. They were afraid to open the door. But for Jacoba, Francis made exceptions. He declared her a brother, and they let her in.

She’d brought a shroud and some candles for his burial. And the pastry. Francis could manage only a crumb. No matter. She’d come. With cake. For one shimmering moment, everything was sweet.

And if you could do only one thing in your life, wouldn’t you want it to be this? To sense a suffering somewhere, and hurry there? To arrive with cake? And with a vast affection, pass through some forbidden door to sweeten even death?

Prayer

For the sweetness you lend even to death, we thank you, O Christ. And for the example of Blessed Jacoba. Wherever there is pain, may we too arrive with cake.

About the Author: Mary Luti is a long time seminary educator and pastor, author of Teresa of Avila’s Way and numerous articles, and founding member of The Daughters of Abraham, a national network of interfaith women’s book groups. This reflection was originally posted on the United Church of Christ’s website as a Daily Devotional on October 3, 2022 from the Still Speaking Writers’ Group: https://www.ucc.org/daily-devotional/ and accessed on October 10, 2022. Used with permission.