Ok, so that phrase might be a cliche around here by now. But I've been obsessed with Christmas lights since I was a kid. Not just looking at them. I remember taking strands of lights apart and putting them back together, learning how the wiring worked, how I could work around the burnt out lights if they took out a whole string. I remember learning the hard way that incandescent lights that were designed to work in a circuit of 35 lights were not happy if you cut the same circuit down to just one bulb plugged into a 110v jack. I learned how to flip a circuit breaker when I was ten years old. Don't tell my mom.

I was excited when people started syncing light shows with music. One year I did all my research and ordered all the circuit boards, resisters, transistors, diodes, and IC chips I would need to solder together my own technology to build my own light show at home. By November I realized that since my job revolves around Christmas, I don't really have time to put something like that together at home. My box of parts has been sitting there for about 12 years now, and technology has changed quite a bit since then. 

Enter 2020. I'm busy, but not the same kind of busy I would normally be because I don't have any ensembles to rehearse. The church is under construction and I'm looking forward to a time when our lighting technology is integrated with our video and cameras. We're streaming our services, and I'm desperate to find a way to make our online experience more special. And here I am with my soldering iron, a christmas light obsession, and a little extra time on my hands.

I'm not going to give away all the extra features we may have built into our worship moving forward. Some of them are permanent, and some of them we will feature for Christmas and then move back to my own holiday light bins. It certainly doesn't replace getting to see you all in person during the Christmas season, but I hope it adds just a few more special moments that we can experience online together.

Merry Christmas,

John

A poem from Kaitlin Hardy Shetler

“Sometimes I wonder
if Mary breastfed Jesus.
if she cried out when he bit her
or if she sobbed when he would not latch.
and sometimes I wonder
if this is all too vulgar
to ask in a church
full of men
without milk stains on their shirts
or coconut oil on their breasts
preaching from pulpits off limits to the Mother of God.
but then i think of feeding Jesus,
birthing Jesus,
the expulsion of blood
and smell of sweat,
the salt of a mother’s tears
onto the soft head of the Salt of the Earth,
feeling lonely
and tired
hungry
annoyed
overwhelmed
loving
and i think,
if the vulgarity of birth is not
honestly preached
by men who carry power but not burden,
who carry privilege but not labor,
who carry authority but not submission,
then it should not be preached at all.
because the real scandal of the Birth of God
lies in the cracked nipples of a
14 year old
and not in the sermons of ministers
who say women
are too delicate
to lead.''

Earlier this week I was scrolling through Facebook and I discovered this poem. The words caught me off guard as I was not prepared to dwell in meaningful thought before bed, rather, I was mentally prepared for memes before nodding off to sleep. Nonetheless, I was stopped in my tracks.

The entrance of God into our world was not simply human, as God became man. God’s entrance was enveloped in the feminine, as the Mother of God screamed in labor and almost broke Joseph’s hand with her tight grip - and when Mary held Christ in her bosom and rocked him to sleep - and when she cried out because he bit her, or sobbed because he would not latch. 

The mothering of Christ has been a fascination. An entire song, Mary Did You Know?, plays into the importance of Mary and in a few lines the song captures her motherhood, “This child that you've delivered, will soon deliver you,” “When you kiss your little baby, you kiss the face of God.” Yet, despite acknowledging Christ’s entrance being feminine as he was birthed into our world, and the reality of motherhood being present in the gospel, we often do not give credence to womanhood in Scripture, nor do we allow such mothering to impact our understanding of God.

The creator of Heaven and Earth creates through women in a way men cannot claim, and it certainly isn’t “dirty,” rather the sacredness of birth is front and center in the Nativity Story. Pregnancy, birthing, and mothering give us a glimpse of our God, as it is seen by Gabriel’s message to Mary in the first chapter of Luke, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.” There is God in womanhood.

Your sibling in Christ,

Alec Brock (he/him/his)
Seminary Intern

After an already long Thanksgiving weekend, I was hopeful that my kids could extend their break one more day with a Snow Day, this past Monday. The temperatures were falling and the forecast predicted a 80-100% chance of snow for most of the day, but there were no closures in our region of the Tri-state.

I mentioned this to my 9^th grader during the dark, morning commute to school that day and he said, “No way! Snow Days are a thing of the past. Now that so many districts are able to do stuff online, rumor is that it will just be a virtual learning day for everyone. No more Snow Days.”

The news stunned me. How could there be no option for hearing those most coveted winter words – equally beautiful to child and teen alike – blessed words heard in a sleepy haze even before the morning alarm went off: “It’s a Snow Day. No school, today. Roll back over”?

Is it true? Will there be no more hunkering down, loafing in pjs for the day (which some have already perfected during this season of COVID)? No sledding hill with friends for an exhausting afternoon and then arriving home, numb, ready to sip on a warm drink to thaw you out? Have our online and virtual capabilities relegated the Snow Day to be a thing of the past? I can’t imagine.

For centuries, and often even today, humanity thought they had God figured out. Everything they did was only to stay in God’s good favor. Worship, sacrifice, and obedience in daily living was to appease a God who could become angry if people wavered from the demands and commands of The Almighty.

God promises otherwise. God creates out of love and joy, declaring “It is good!” over critters, creatures, and creation. God comforts through compassion and restoration. God leads with justice and equity. These are some of the attributes of God we especially witness during these weeks leading up to Christmas.

Advent is a season of waiting and hope. Like a child, longing for the gift of a Snow Day, we watch and wait with eager anticipation for the arrival of Jesus – and he doesn’t disappoint. With the arrival of Emmanuel, God with us, Jesus created a seismic shift which would change the course of history for all time.

In their video about hope (www.bibleproject.com/videos/yakhal-hope/), the Bible Project declares, “Christian hope looks back to the risen Jesus to look forward!” Jesus’ birth, life, death, and resurrection give us a forecast which pull us into the realities of God.

We hear it from the opening chapter of Luke, when Mary declares,

“I’m bursting with God-news; I’m dancing the song of my Savior God…
His mercy flows in wave after wave on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength, scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses, pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet; the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel; he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It’s exactly what he promised, beginning with Abraham and right up to now.

(Luke 1:46-55, The Message)

God doesn’t make empty promises or speculative forecasts. Instead, God moves into the neighborhood and gets to work instilling hope, creating joy, waging peace, and revealing love. With Christ, life will never be the same.

Watching and waiting with you,

Pastor Lowell

I’ve always loved Thanksgiving. In recent years, I’ve learned that much of what we know about the roots of the holiday are problematic or inaccurate. I don’t need all of the lore about pilgrims to enjoy the holiday, but instead, just like to gather together and express gratitude. 

I’ve been hosting Thanksgiving dinner for over 20 years. Throughout that time, the menu hasn’t changed much: there’s always turkey, dressing and stuffing, mashed and sweet potatoes, two kinds of cranberries, and lots of pie. Sometimes a guest will bring an unusual side dish or appetizer (chocolate brie anyone?). Since I’m hosting, I invite my husband Greg’s family who live here in town and my parents usually come from Pennsylvania. This allows us to squeeze in an ‘extra’ holiday with both, since we usually alternate where we spend time on the holidays. 

In addition to our immediate family, I always tell my guests to keep an eye out for anyone who doesn’t have plans; there’s always room for one more at the table. I decorate my house with fall foliage, pumpkins, and those retro fan-fold turkeys. I’ll get out my pine wreaths and twinkly lights on Friday, but not a moment sooner. 

This Thanksgiving, like the rest of 2020, will be different. I will cook the same food, but it will only be my immediate family around my dining room table. My father-in-law will unpack his dinner from the bag we set on his doormat. My parents will stay home, and so will the rest of my family and friends. I will miss the hugs, the laughter, and all the help washing dishes afterward. 

Intellectually, I know that one Thanksgiving apart isn’t a big deal. Emotionally and spiritually, I’m a little depleted by it and it’s hard to get past it. Do you know that feeling? It’s as if you’re reading a book or watching a movie, and the emotion is so strong, and you just need to read ahead or fast forward to get some relief.

This Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent. We will light the first candle on the Advent wreath for hope. We will acknowledge that there is a lot in this world that can be discouraging, debilitating, and stressful. We will sing “O Come Emmanuel.” Emmanuel, declaring that God is with us. We celebrate that we may be apart, but we are never alone. This year, along with serving up turkey and gratitude on Thanksgiving, I’ll look ahead to Sunday and light a candle for hope.

In hope,

Cara

For most of us, entrance into the church was marked by the waters of baptism, as a priest or pastor took you as an infant, poured water over your head and said, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” And from then onward, you were a new creation in Christ. Sealed by the power of the Holy Spirit, thenceforward, nothing of this world could separate you from the love of God in Jesus Christ.

Similarly, yet different, you were born into this world, and likely from then onward, nothing of this world could separate from the love of your parents, loving community, or simply your place in humanity.

For us Lutherans, new birth in the waters of baptism marks the beginning of a faith journey with Jesus Christ, just as our physical birth is an entrance into the world as a human being created in the image of God. What unravels from there is not so different, either.

Last week, I was being amused as I was thinking of how my siblings and I are so different from each other. We were raised by the same parents, and my sister and I are virtually twins (we are eight months apart as I was born at 27 weeks) and yet we have almost nothing in common, despite being inseparable in our early youth. I love politics and one of my siblings is not registered to vote. My brother loves sports, but I simply cheer for whatever team my family is cheering for so I can share in that common identity. We were raised in the suburbs, but when I returned from college I moved into the heart of Louisville, as I grew up going to school in the heart of Louisville. My sister, on the other hand, hates the city, does not know how to get around Louisville, and now lives in the country.

But my sister has my mother’s love for the countryside, along with her threatening grit attitude. My dad was a political science major in college but had to quit in order to raise three kids. I like to think that he gave me a baton in a relay race and I crossed the finish line thanks to his work. My brother’s love for sports comes from my dad, and now they participate in each other's fantasy football leagues and obsess over UK basketball and the Tampa Bay Bucs.

The church is not much different from my family. Though we are all claimed by Christ in the waters of baptism, all reconciled to God, all filled by the power of the Holy Spirit, we are not the same. That is one of the many beauties of the church. Just as my siblings and I are nothing alike, we each have our parent’s image shining through us. Though none of us are alike, the image of God is in all of us. And just as being family brings my siblings and I together, being the church, the baptized body of believers, brings us together.

Soon, we will be gathering around Thanksgiving dinner tables, whether virtually or in-person. You may notice that despite coming from the same tree, none of y’all are alike. Take comfort in the knowledge that not only your family draws people of differences together. The waters of baptism do the same as we are bound together and called God’s children.

Your Sibling in Christ,

Pastor Alec Brock, he/him/his
Seminary Intern

I recently rewatched Raiders of the Lost Ark with my youngest. What a thrill! Start to finish, this first film in the Indiana Jones series is packed with memorable, tense scenes which hold you on the edge of your seat as this adventurer/archeologist takes on the world one treasure and bad guy at a time.

The opening cave sequence, loaded with traps, remains stunning. According to Indiana Jones wiki, The Temple of the Chachapoyan Warriors was a dark, well-protected cave that housed a prized golden fertility idol [see photo]. The temple had many defenses, including spears, darts, a large boulder, and should the idol be disturbed, the collapse of the temple itself.” He knew that if you wanted the prize, all you could do was to grab the idol and run, letting the destruction fall in your wake.

These weeks have been – and continue to be – a treacherous path, littered with obstacles and challenges. This coronavirus, quarantine, election season has brought out the worst in many of us. Speaking for myself, I have been isolated and agitated more than usual, so my first response to a difficult conversation or tense situation isn’t always my best response. My words fall short of patience and grace.

James writes about the power of our words in the New Testament. “If we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we guide their whole bodies. Or look at ships: though they are so large that it takes strong winds to drive them, yet they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs. So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great exploits… With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so.” (James 3:3 ff).

As children, we are corrected when we snipe at others or tell lies. (I can still taste the soap in my mouth from my childhood.) We chant the playground refrain, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me,” without realizing that this couldn’t be further from the truth. Words have power. Words can break someone’s spirit, derail a dream, or end a friendship.

As adults, we no longer have regulators, so when we are angry, frustrated, or tired, we tend to lash out.

Do we have a right to say what we want? Yes. Should we speak up against injustice and falsehood? Yes. But it is crucial that we choose and use our words carefully, interpreting everything a friend or stranger does in the best possible light.

Martin Luther, in his Small Catechism notes about The Eighth Commandment, agrees saying, “We are to fear and love God, so that we do not tell lies about our neighbors, betray or slander them, or destroy their reputations. Instead we are to come to their defense, speak well of them, and interpret everything they do in the best possible light.” I need to read this a few more times and let it sink deep into my soul. Part of not bearing false witness against our neighbor is holding our tongue. We are called to do everything in our power to guard their reputations.

Radio host Bernard Melzer, paraphrasing the poet and scholar Rumi, liked to say, “Before you speak ask yourself if what you are going to say is true, is kind, is necessary, is helpful. If the answer is no, maybe what you are about to say should be left unsaid.” The apostle Paul preferred to say it this way, “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you.” (Ephesians 4:32).

This is a crucial and age-old message - for me, for you, for our nation, and for our world. May we be careful with our words. They not only have the power to hurt and harm, but also the muscle to encourage and empower. Let us continue to lead with hope, patience, and love. Will you join me?

Trying to choose love,

Pastor Lowell

image from Raiders of the Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg, 1981, Film.