Angels Unaware

Angels Unaware

Today’s Word from Pastor Tom…

I was dumbfounded. He didn’t remember. It was his decision that altered the course of my life and he didn’t remember.

“Tom, it was so nice of you to take the time to search me out. After all these years this is indeed a fine gesture but to be perfectly honest, I don’t remember the event.”

The curious erudite drawl was still evident. I remember his gentle smile.

It was the 20th anniversary of my ordination and as a part of my sabbatical I had returned to Berkeley for several weeks of classes. Dr. Goeser had previously retired from Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary. His Reformation lectures were legendary. He would start out neatly attired in a suit and end, as one former student described, somewhat disheveled in a cloud of chalk dust. Often with a standing ovation. He was the one who intervened with the faculty on my behalf to give me a second chance. He was the reason I was able to become a pastor, and he didn’t remember the event.

Dr. Goeser died in 2012. Simply one of the most inspiring teachers I have ever been blessed with. I smile now when I think of our conversation. Gracious to the end, we had a pleasant visit. He was genuinely interested in my professional journey, finding it significant that I found myself in Canada for the first ten years after leaving seminary. He thanked me for taking the time to search him out.

This was such a curious event for me. The 9th Step of AA is about making amends whenever possible. I had wondered at first if that was what motivated me to search him out? Maybe, a little. Mostly though, I just wanted Dr. Goeser to know he had made a difference. His very significant act on my behalf, twenty plus years previous, had been, I believe, a blessing to the church as well as profound gift to me personally. And he didn’t remember the event.

Isn’t that just exactly how it is for all of us? We do something that in the scheme of things we view as inconsequential, yet to someone else it can be a life-shaping moment. Maybe it’s a God thing. Maybe it’s the other side of welcoming the stranger, Hebrews 13:2, “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels unaware.”

Sometimes, without realizing it, you and I can be the angel in someone else’s life. Dr. Goeser certainly was in mine, so totally unaware was he. I would simply like to remind us that our lives matter. Our lives are sanctified. That is, they have been made holy by Christ’s Spirit. Christ is active in our life, looking to use even the most common moment to His glory. And we will undoubtedly be totally unaware of the difference we may have made in someone else’s life. But in the economy of God’s plan, something holy has happened. Pretty cool, “eh?” (Thought I would end with a little Canadian speak).

Go have fun today. Do your day knowing God’s going to use it. God is good… God’s gift of joy be upon you,

Pastor Tom

Compassion Camp

Compassion Camp

Today’s Word from Deacon Amy…

Our theme at Vacation Bible School last week was all about Compassion. That’s a pretty big concept for kids! We talked about kindness and love and taking care of each other. Our chant for the week was: I see your hurt, I feel your hurt, I help to ease your hurt. Overall, this is a pretty good way to define compassion. It goes beyond just helping, as it requires an element of empathy; we must be able to identify with the need that is being experienced by the other, in order to adequately help them.

The Bible verse that we chose to go with this theme was 1 John 4:19, “We love because God first loved us.” What an absolutely beautiful verse – and so simple, really. God filled the world with goodness and love; it is our job to share that goodness and love with everyone that we come into contact with. Just love. That’s all.

I chose the compassion theme for VBS this year because I feel that we could all use a reminder about compassion, kindness, and love. Too many times we see examples or hear stories about people being rude, selfish, and downright mean. We hear about adults being kicked out of kids’ soccer games because they’re fighting with the referees. We hear increasing stories of road rage and dangerous driving. We see people cutting into the middle of the ferry line. Rudeness and poor behavior are all around us.

I think it’s time to change that. It’s time to be good examples for our kids, and for everyone around us. We need to remember the love that God poured into this world, and turn to share that love with our neighbors.

At Compassion Camp, we saw older kids helping younger kids with craft projects, we saw kids taking turns and cheering each other on in games, we saw kids raising their hands and joining in conversations at the Bible Story station. Kids were complimenting others on their artwork, they were saying “thank you” when snacks were served, and they were helping to put supplies away at the end of the day. They cheerfully brought in food donations to add to our collection.

All week long, these kids reminded me that compassion is all around us. They reminded me that they can serve, share, and love together. Perhaps it is we adults who need to be reminded.

Keep seeing, feeling, and helping. We need more compassion in this world.

Click here to see a photo montage of our week at Compassion Camp.

Deacon Amy

Should I Stop Praying?

Should I Stop Praying?

Today’s Word from Pastor Jim…

“As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God? My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘Where is your God?’” Psalm 42

She came to see me at my office. Her smile and pleasant demeanor layered like strata, hiding her broken and fragile spirit underneath. We talked of old times and distant memories. She joked with me, telling me that someone told her when she was young that the only thing golden about the golden years was the color of your urine. The joke created a breach in the dam, the emotions began to seep through the seemingly impervious shell she had constructed; the flow soon became a torrent. Her disease was advancing, each sunrise brought more challenges, the simple details of daily living were lost in a fog of forgetfulness.

“Should I stop praying? I pray every day that God will take this disease from me, make me whole again. Am I offending God to keep asking? Can you tell me why God does not answer my prayers?”

The desperate pleading of frail creatures continues to echo through the dangerous and cavernous valleys of the shadow of death. Three thousand years later we still look to heaven saying, “My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘Where is your God?’”

For 35 years I have held the hands of the dying, dried the tears of the grief-stricken, and raised my fist to heaven expressing the frustration of a child who lacks the capacity to understand the big picture. “Can you tell me why God does not answer my prayers?” “My best guess is that God is too busy not answering MY prayers to get to yours right now.”

If we understood, we would not need faith. If we controlled God with our prayers, then God would be weak and small. If we controlled God, God would not be God, but simply a genie in a bottle.

As painful as it is, we will never comprehend the greater mysteries of life, death, suffering, and loss. I cannot tell why old people sit year after year in nursing homes waiting to die, while children’s hospitals are full of innocent children struggling to live. One day at a time, each day an act of faith, a kind act, the appreciation of a colorful sunset, a tender embrace in my office with a woman who won’t remember that embrace tomorrow.

Welcome to the human race my friends! Can we perhaps, be a little more kind, a little more patient, a little less arrogant, less judgmental, and a whole lot more compassionate as we interact with those who construct protective shells while carrying heavy burdens?

I don’t have the answers. I am just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.

My love to you,
Pastor Jim

Home is in the Heart

Home is in the Heart

Today’s Word from Sheila Weidendorf…

If early 20th century writer, Thomas Wolfe, was correct, “you/we can never go home again.” Of course, we can—geographically-speaking—go anywhere we wish these days, even into the reaches of space itself if we’ve sufficient billions! This oft-quipped adage is taken from a posthumously-published novel that was actually a publisher-edited redaction of another manuscript. Wolfe was not speaking about travel, though. Instead, he was pointing out the limits of memory, of the nostalgic cementing in place of moments past, of the glorification of “the good old days.”

But there are no “good old days;” every age has had its boons AND its banes, its advances and ridiculous stagnations, its contributions to the expansion of our consciousness and the eclipsing of the same. So too in any life: We all can no doubt recall moments sweet and sour in our own trajectories, times of sorrow and times of grace.

And yes, it is altogether too easy in our dualistic minds to cement our perceptions and recollections into the simplistic categories of Good and Bad. It is too easy to either long to return to what we remember as being those Good Old Days or, conversely, to want to throw the proverbial baby out with the bathwater if our Days were Not So Good.

I just spent a week in my native Minnesota, mostly visiting my four Minneapolitan adult children as well as a few good friends from my Minneapolis years. I also went to visit my mother who lives in a special dementia care facility not too far from the small north central Minnesota town where I grew up—so I almost went “home” again….

I wasn’t sure if my mother would recognize me. I haven’t seen her since quite some time before Covid. She spends her waking time wandering mentally in and out of her own childhood—sometimes aware in the present moment and sometimes rather mercifully relieved of awareness. A walking bundle of compacted trauma, I am actually thankful in a way that her Alzheimer’s has taken away some of her memories—the ones that kept her locked for most of her life in a cage of trauma and pain and shame.

And what is trauma? To a great degree, trauma is simply the interpretation of an event—an interpretation that becomes prescriptive rather than descriptive. And unhealed trauma has a pernicious way of getting into our neurons, into our unconscious thought patterns and even into our DNA and is carried through generations unless we can stop it in its path and create new circuitry in our awareness, our self-perception, establish new behaviors and thus new stories NOT originating from the old trauma trails running amuck in our subconscious.

My mother DID recognize me, even though she is legally—if not completely—blind. Her face lit up as she called me by my name. Then she fell into sobbing as her mind retreated into other spaces for a time. I held her, just as I have held each of my children when disconsolate. She would return to the present moment, then retreat. It was beautiful, and terrible, all at the same time.

I realize that my task here is generally to explore music in these missives—to bring music and meaning and maybe a little grace to the present moment. As I write tonight, I am weary from traveling, weary from the journey and from the emotionally-charged content of my trip. I am perhaps too weary to connect the musical and personal and theological dots in a sufficiently cogent way this week!

But I do want to convey this: We cannot really go home, as what WAS home does not exist. Home is where we are in this moment. Home is in the heart—wherever we go, there we are and that place, that experience, that holy moment must be our home. Where we gather in love—that place is home. Where we see God in one another—that place is home. Where we remember to be thankful for our many blessings—that place is home. Even where and when we deeply acknowledge our sorrows and perhaps learn to lay those burdens down—that place is home. And in as much as we are part and parcel of the hand and heart and mind of God—we are ALWAYS home, no matter where we go, no matter our circumstances, no matter our victories OR our follies.

My musical offering this week might seem out of place here. The song is Dolly Parton’s “Wildflowers,” a personal favorite of mine. It is an anthem of finding one’s self wherever one goes, like a wildflower sowed in some distant field by the wind, rather than a special varietal cultivated on purpose in a formal garden. Home isn’t a house, after all. Home is found in the wilderness of the heart that longs for God, that reveals the love of God.

Click here to listen to Dolly Parton’s “Wildflowers”

Sheila

Sabbatical Update

Sabbatical Update

Today’s Word from Pastor Jim…

Sabbaticals in the church, and in higher education, have a long history. For six years I served as the Chair of Academic Affairs at Luther Seminary and our committee regularly reviewed and approved sabbatical proposals. In the ELCA sabbaticals are recommended for clergy every seven years. The word “sabbatical” comes from the same root as “sabbath.” In the creation story, God rested on the seventh day of creation. The idea of resting one day a week came from God and became more commonplace after the 10 Commandments came down off Mount Sinai.

This past week the Church Council surprised me by honoring the 35th anniversary of my ordination. On July 27,1986 I stood at the altar in DeKalb, Illinois and took vows. The vows were taken in the same church, and in the same spot, where four years earlier Felicia and I had exchanged marriage vows. In both cases we had no idea what we were signing on for.

We learned very early that we could not take time off and stay home. The demands of parish ministry made that nearly impossible. If someone dies it is not permissible to say, “Sorry, it is my day off.” If a crisis arises among the 1,300 people that we serve, or their neighbors, cousins, grandchildren, pets, or computers, the calling of God is to offer them compassion and assistance. If you are on the island you are working, and it is an absolute privilege to live in a small community and to be in service to others.

My first sabbatical came after 15 years of ministry in the Fall of 2001. In the years that followed the parish continued to grow, calling and retaining staff was a real challenge, my children went to college and grew up, I served 15 years at Luther Seminary, and was called to help Trinity College in Everett close her doors after 72 years of service.

The Church Council approved a sabbatical for 2015. That sabbatical will be happening this fall. Felicia and I will be getting off the island, reconnecting with each other, taking time off from crisis, leadership, pandemic politics, and the seven-day-a-week grind of parish ministry.

“And I hereby decree that until what time, if any, that I return, the scarecrow, by virtue of his superior brain, shall rule in my stead.” Could not help myself — a Wizard of Oz quote.

We will be coming back! We will leave the island around the first of October, and we will be returning in early January. When we are gone the TLC staff and Church Council will continue to lead. A group of strong preachers will bring God’s word to you on Sunday mornings. Our Bishop and our Assistant to the Bishop will each take a turn preaching as they visit TLC.

We will continue to be the church together.

On the seventh day God rested. Rest is good for all of us. Rest allows us time to recharge our batteries for continued service.

Rally Day is Sunday, September 12, this year. On Sunday, September 19, we will gather at the M Bar C Ranch in Freeland for an all-church hoe down picnic.

We are in this together as we move forward in faith.

Keep smiling!
Pastor Jim

What a Ride!

What a Ride!

Today’s Word from Pastor Dennis…

“Here’s the church, here’s the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people.” Well, something like that. Eventually it gets to the people and thus the “church.” Luther once said – among a whole lot of other things
– that God works through Means; Word and Sacraments are God’s Means of Grace; how God gets to us. But it takes people to convey that Water, that Wine, that Bread, together with that Word which spells out the Gift of forgiveness, belonging, discipleship.

I write this to express to you, called people of Trinity Lutheran Church, my family’s Thank You for last Sunday’s Celebration. We went home overcome with wonder! (I did listen to the sermon. But I still wonder where my cell phone is). Back in seminary days Greek class I learned the word for the Holy Spirit is of the feminine gender. Remember Luther’s point; the Triune God works through people to get to us. I think of three women as the form of the feminine Holy Spirit at work in our life story.

First. The Call to Whitefish, Mt. in the fall of 1964. We were in Nevis at the time, hanging around sponging off our parents’ goodness, when the Call came in the mail. There was no interviewing in those days. The Bishop recommended to the Call Committee, they did a paper-shuffle and made a decision: Hanson. They had done this seven times with seven experienced pastors (I was a 28-year-old fresh seminary grad). Over the spring and summer each of those seven said “No thanks.” Now it was nearing fall, Sunday School was starting, they had one dice (lot) in their hand and it was mine. So, they mailed it to a box number in Nevis, MN. The president gave it three days to get there and then phoned my parents’ number asking for me. I was not there so he asked if I had gotten the Call in the mail. She said “Yes,” then added, “He’ll be there!” My Mother – Holy Spirit? – sent her last late-born son to Western Montana! Yes, she did!

Second time. After 12 years in Whitefish, the national church had gone business-like and instituted interviewing possible candidates for Call. Sandpoint, Idaho phoned (no cells yet) inviting me and Jeri to come and visit with them. We accepted. An interview did not mean being anxious to move. Mark and Karyn stayed with friends; they were in 4th and 5th grade. While Jeri was being hosted (sized up) by the wives, I met with the Call Committee in a comfortable library lounge off the kitchen of the church. When they had asked all their questions and I had my time, I was excused. I went into the kitchen for another coffee. An elderly woman was tidying up. She looked up, introduced herself and then said, “So you are our new Pastor!” I modestly replied, “No. I’m just finishing being interviewed in the library. I’m not your next pastor.” She looked at me and said, “That’s what you think. I’ll see you again when you move in,” turned and walked out. I thought, could she have been the feminine form of the Holy Spirit? Oh my. She was. We moved in May.

Third time. Nineteen plus years later, Anacortes was in a pastor-search mode. They had had some difficulties, as can happen, and thus were a bit discouraged and disheartened. A member of the Call Committee – a woman, right – was in Bellingham visiting a friend in the hospital. On the elevator she met a pastor of one of our churches. They talked a bit. She shared her worries about finding a pastor. He casually mentioned my name. He had served in Montana years ago. The elevator door opened and they separated. She went home and at the next Call Committee said, “I want to place Dennis Hanson of Sandpoint, Idaho on the candidate list. I don’t know anything about him.” They did. We were invited to an interview. When the couple came to show us around the town, I almost fainted; she was a twin of my sister Thelma – right down to the collection of assorted buttons on her coat. Two women – means of grace? – We moved in May. Common, ordinary people. And to top it off – each and every time that feminine expression of the Holy Spirit nudged Jeri to say, “Time to go…..”

Now the irony of Sunday morning, second service. We were passing the peace. I looked up and there stood a young woman in front of me. She whispered “Julie Leverson.” Whitefish days. She was about 4 years old when we moved there. Her dad was president of the congregation and chair of the Call committee – the one my mother told “he’ll be there.” Our first night was in their home for supper. The mover from Minnesota had arrived earlier with our stuff, couldn’t get into the house so dumped everything on the lawn and left town back to the safety of Minnesota. Mike got us moved in and said, “Come and eat with us.” Julie was there with her four older brothers and sister. Sunday she and her husband came here from their home in Olympia. It felt like our pastoral life had come full circle.

Here is the Church, the people. You. Another Greek lesson: the word “you” in the New Testament is usually, if not always, in the plural form; “you” together are the church and “you” together were a Means of God’s Grace in our continuing belonging, working, living, raising grandkids, loving our home and our place among you here at TLC, Pastor Jim and the whole bunch called “staff.” For those beautiful cards and kind thoughts; for all of that and more we thank you.

See you Sunday.
Dennis and Jeri