Last night we had another wonderful Lenten Soup Supper, with Split Pea Soup and Minestrone this time, and with homemade bread and cookies—thank you to all who have contributed on any of the nights, whether through food or labor!  And thank you for your conversation with each other in the small groups:  whether you answer the questions directly or simply speak about an adjacent subject, it’s an exercise in holy community.  We have two more weeks of this time together, and I’m looking forward to spending it with you!

And speaking of community, our preschool is currently working on an Easter bulletin board, so soon we will be able to celebrate those children in our midst.  There’s a fresh energy to children’s art, where you can see them experiencing and experimenting with all their senses—I’m really looking forward to seeing it with you in our front hall. 

As it begins to feel more and more like spring, and we begin more and more to anticipate Easter, I am treasuring this Lenten journey with you.  I appreciate that so many of you are coming to the Lenten Soup Suppers, and that your response has been so warm.  I think community—behaving as a body—is one of McKnight’s strongest gifts, and I am very happy to live into that with you, even as we reflect together each week on themes having to do with Lent. 

While we’re talking about the soup suppers, I want to thank the people who have put extra effort into setting up, making soup, making or bringing bread, and cleaning up afterward.  I’d also like to thank Kay, for leading on the 5th when I was down with this virus, and Craig for leading the service this past Sunday.  To all of you:  your time and energy is much appreciated, and we see your love for your church! 

As I write this, we’ve just had our first Lenten Soup Supper, and it was a success!  This first time I brought two soups, Carla brought homemade bread, and Kay brought a baguette, and some people set up and other people cleaned up.  We ate well and had good fellowship and then a short time of thinking together about Lent and about wilderness—about what wilderness can show us about ourselves and about God.  It was good to be the church together!

We’ll be doing Soup Suppers each Tuesday through Lent, and we’ve already got our next three cooks lined up, so even though it’s a simple dinner of soup and bread, it’s sure to be delicious— we’d love to see you there!

It’s so strange that Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday fall on the same day this year—celebration and mortality, all in the same day.  But I’d like to invite you to consider that it’s not actually a bad combination. 

Part of remembering that we’re mortal is about knowing that we are finite—that we are not God.  And yes, (this) life does have a period at the end.  We are fragile beings, entirely dependent on God and God’s creation.  But there’s something about the awareness of that fragility that invites us into better love:  we only have so much time, so let’s pay attention while we’re here. 

Greetings! 

As we approach Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent, I’d like to highlight a few things: 

1.       Our upcoming Soup Suppers, on Tuesday nights at 6:00.  I’ll be doing the meditations each week of Lent, and I’ll bring the first soups and some bread or crackers.  I’ve already got some people lined up for cooking on some of the other days but have a couple days left, so if this is your thing, we’d love to have you sign up for soup!  This will be a simple time of food, meditation or learning, and Christian Fellowship—a good way to observe Lent together. 

A possible personal practice for you:  if you read a chapter of the Gospel of John each day starting after Ash Wednesday, you’ll finish just before Palm Sunday. 

Grace and peace to you on this sunny, warm day!

Believe it or not, Lent is already coming soon, and we are going to try something new this year. We are going to do a Lenten Soup Supper on Tuesday nights at 6:00, starting on February 20th. I’ll lead a short meditation each week and we’ll have a simple dinner, with bread or crackers.

The first night I’ll make a soup, and we’ll have some bread or some crackers alongside, for an easy dinner for everyone. I’m hoping that others will volunteer for some of the other Tuesdays. These evenings will allow us some fellowship and a little extra time to rest and to pay attention to our faith and to our faith community during this season leading up to Easter.

This month is a little bit of a respite, liturgically speaking.  We’re between the major holidays and seasons of Advent/Christmas and Lent/Easter, which gives us an opportunity to savor our time in Mark’s gospel.  We get to learn about what makes this gospel unique, as each of the gospels has a certain flavor, and we get to revisit once again some of the beloved stories of Jesus. 

I’ve been talking recently about how we are continually learning, continually discipling.  Knowing who Jesus is and what salvation is still leaves plenty of room for growth, and how we spend our time shapes us.  Together or alone, we worship, we pray, we study, we think and meditate.  Both together and alone are important.

I’m writing this on Tuesday, with all of that beautiful snow outside!  I hope you’re able to enjoy it—I always appreciate the extra reflected light. 

I was glad on Sunday that some of you were able to come to worship, and I was glad that some of you took care of yourselves on a cold, snowy day by worshiping from home.  We have the Zoom link, so you can participate either way. 

Given the upcoming Martin Luther King, Jr Day, I have been thinking about love and action, and the church’s place in all of it.  There have been in the past few decades many pressures on the church and on Christians to “contain ourselves,” to limit our faith to personal religion, something abstract and internal.  This approach to Christianity is undeniably socially more comfortable, and allows us to fit in to our larger culture more seamlessly—with very little friction. 

The problem with that mode of living is that it is not a biblical form of faith.  Biblical faith has always included a way of life, and that includes how we live with others.  Micah 6:8 says, “He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?”  Justice and kindness are at the core of who we are called to be, right alongside our relationship with God—maybe even a natural and intrinsic part of our relationship with God.

Happy New Year!

Some of us have already put all of the Christmas decorations away, and some of us are waiting for Epiphany (January 6th), but for all of us the holiday bustle is slowing.  The snow a few days ago was lovely, but has already melted.  I can’t help hoping for more—I love the way it reflects the light and helps winter to be a little brighter. 

Maybe you’re a resolution person and maybe you aren’t—I’m usually not—but I read something the other day that suggested that a yearly goal is too big for most people, that we’re more successful if we set shorter term goals (say, a month) and let one success move us to the next.  Or we might simply be happy that we had that month.  Another piece I read reminded us that maybe some years we could pick a fun goal:  you might, for instance, resolve to eat as many different pasta shapes as possible this year.  Or to try a new cookie recipe once a month until summer. 

However you choose to organize your new year, consider adding a new faith practice, even for the short term. 

Merry Christmas!

We’ve just celebrated Christmas Eve, and paid attention together to the wonder of the Incarnation, in which God chose to embrace the limits of a human body in order to show us how much we are beloved—how much God wants to be with us throughout our lives.  And the celebration was truly beautiful.  I felt lucky to be with you, together in our community, coming before God together and celebrating our faith with our fellow Christians. 

After all of these weeks of waiting, of Advent preparation and feeling the needs and darkness of the world, we are almost there!  The long-anticipated nativity is just around the corner. 

Many thanks to Kathy Smith, who collected photos and stories about the different nativities used as part of the Christmas preparations and celebrations within our church community.  The stories and images were posted on Facebook, giving us a sense of each other’s journeys and stories.  If you haven’t yet had a chance to see them, please find your way to the church Facebook page and scroll through the different ones—they are a loving window into our church members’ faith as shown in our own homes. 

In this midst of Advent, as we are learning again to listen and anticipate, and feeling our world’s very real need for a Savior, I hope that you a finding a few moments here and there to take a quiet breath and give thanks.  Among other things, we are thankful that we have already been told the good news:  that Jesus has come and that Jesus will come again.  In a world that often feels overshadowed by human neglect and disregard and power games, we’re the lucky ones:  we already know that the Light is here and that it will someday fill the earth, and everything beyond. 

Accepting God’s timing is very hard.  We have our own work to do, to be sure, but we cannot control all of the variables around us, however much we (I) wish we could.  Waiting is hard, especially in the face of pain and grief.  And knowing our limits is also very hard.  Which brings us back to trust—to faith.  We don’t understand why things unfold the way they do, why God doesn’t intervene in every situation.  And we can bring our anger and frustration to God—the psalmists do.

As I write this letter this week, I’m up at Olmstead Manor, a beautiful Methodist property in Ludlow, Pennsylvania. I’m here for part of the training for my provisional residency, as I continue my ordination process. We’ve had two days of communication and conflict utilization, and we’re about to have two days on diversity and inclusion.

While the timing could be better (in this middle of Advent?!), the training is rich and informative and the fellowship with other clergy is very restorative. It’s a fitting prelude to this Sunday’s Advent theme of Peace. I have a room to myself, meals are provided, and I have no one to take care of. I even get walks in the snow and an evening or two by the fireside. The peace here only reemphasizes that seasonal sense of waiting, of anticipating a big event.

As we wait to celebrate Christ’s birth, we continue our gratitude practice.

The rest of our everyday world rushes to celebrate Christmas, but here in the church we are observing Advent.  Advent is a time of anticipation, yes, but it’s also a time of waiting.  It is a time of being aware of how badly our world needs saving. 

We can certainly see that need crying out this year, as we have a vivid awareness of desperation and death and destruction in Israel and Palestine.  We have hungry here in Pittsburgh, too, and homeless people—and people whose homes are warm enough but still broken.  We help as we can, and yet.  There is still so much need.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Many of us are anticipating a day of family time, football, and delicious food.  Some of us are buckling up for some intensive cooking, if we haven’t already started.  Others are buckling up for a day of encountering people who never fail to express strong opinions on topics that—they’ve already been told—aren’t a part of the day.  And some of us are thinking wistfully of other days, when someone was still present, or when the kids didn’t live too far away to come home for the holiday, or when the family was unbroken. 

Wherever you are and however you’re feeling that day, you’re in my prayers.  If it’s a lonely or difficult day, I wish you peace.  I hope that you can take a breath and allow yourself to feel, and that the day still offers some small blessing to you.  If you’re finding a way to celebrate despite a difficult year, I wish you kindness and sensitivity from those around you. 

We’re continuing our practice of gratitude this week, and I’m asking you to remember to share some of the things you notice that you’re grateful for, either on the tear-off sheet in the bulletin or via email, so that we might include them on our bulletin board as we participate together in thanking God for the gifts in our lives. 

It’s worth saying that practicing gratitude does not deny that life can be difficult—even very difficult.  It’s more of a both/and:  life is difficult AND we give thanks, because God is good.  Our lives are often stressful, and yesterday I got a call from a good friend.  I was late for an appointment, and my dog was overjoyed to see me at the end of the day.  It’s a practice that notices that God is at work in our lives even so.  It’s not denial to be thankful when life is stressful; it’s simply a practice that emphasizes that God is still good, and that life is many things, all at once. 

In fact, gratitude is especially important when life is stressful. 

As we move toward Thanksgiving and then into Advent, let’s take this opportunity to do a gratitude practice together as a community.  Just as we did with our Bible reading and putting verses and passages on the bulletin board in the front entry, let’s share the things we are grateful for.  This can be a daily practice, if you like, or weekly—either will be a way of strengthening our attention to God’s gifts. 

This practice can help us to live our lives with more attention to the blessings that we’ve been given, but in a way, this is a particular kind of prayer as well, as we specifically offer God thanks for these gifts.

Last night was Halloween, and I hope it was a great evening for everyone.  It’s about human encounter, and it’s also about play:  who can I be, for just one night?   But I love that Halloween is also about neighbors and neighborhoods and strangers handing out free gifts to anyone who comes to their door.  It’s not about exchange and markets—just openness and sharing. 

Today, the day after Halloween, is All Saints’ Day, when we Methodists join many other Christians in celebrating the ones who have gone before us.  We don’t necessarily mean the ones who reached perfection, or the people who are canonized in other traditions.  In the words of my friend Eric Park, on this day Methodists take time remember “friends, colleagues, mentors, and family members who, over the course of the journey, have consistently shown us what it means to love God, to hunger and thirst for righteousness, and to live the kind of life that shines brightly with integrity.” 

On Sunday we’ll be celebrating the saints of this particular church, specifically the ones who have died in this life this year. 

As we continue to see photos and hear about what’s happening overseas, I find myself sobered by the fragility of our lives.  Just as Covid did, the bombs and the rockets and the terror all remind us that our modern confidence—that we can always shoulder along happily enough toward progress—might be overly optimistic, based more on helpful technology than on real human optimism and steadfast cooperation. 

I find myself voicing my fear and my anger and frustration in my prayers—that all of this happened, that it keeps happening, that it doesn’t seem likely to stop anytime soon—and I’m protesting to God, and voicing my grief.  Like the Psalmists do:  “Hear the voice of my supplication, as I cry to you for help, as I lift up my hands toward your most holy sanctuary” (Ps 28:2).