Habitat of Humanity

Central team: Pr Ron M, me and Dave H.

For members of Central who actually read the church newsletter (God bless you), you already heard about my recent day at a Habitat for Humanity build. As I mentioned in the newsletter, I spent a week one summer working on a Habitat house in East Waterloo. I was a summer camp counselor, leading a group of high school kids on the week of work, play and reflection.

I needed the reflection, too. We were working in a part of Waterloo (population 75,000) that I'd seen only while driving through quickly with my doors locked. I grew up about an hour's drive from Waterloo and spent time there in malls and theaters. But I'd never dared or thought to stop by the neighborhoods where I worked on that Habitat house.

At the end of the week, we shared worship at a local Baptist church. The warm welcome we received was overwhelming for us Scandinavian types. There were hugs and handshakes and hallelujahs. We were put in the front row and the preacher went on for quite some time about how we had served the Lord through Habitat of Humanity. We giggled at his error but in the end, we were touched by the experience of being thanked so much for doing what seemed like so little.

Fast-forward a few years to this past week. I spent a day working on a Habitat build in Mountain View, here in Anchorage, at 4th and Oklahoma. I worked on the Thrivent Build house, sponsored by Lutherans and, coincidentally, promised to a Lutheran family from St. Mark's. I was there last Friday with a couple of folks from Central; Pastor Glenn was there this past Wednesday with others from our parish.

As a pastor, I get a lot of these "do good" opportunities. Sometimes I look forward to them, sometimes I'm just tired and want some time to myself. I might have felt a little weary when I showed up last week at 4th and Oklahoma and put on my belt and hard hat.

But, you know how it is, you pick up a hammer, climb some scaffolding, learn how to put some snow and ice shield on the roof, and everything feels a little better. You see how you are a part of something bigger than yourself. You see how the little bit that you are doing is contributing to a greater whole. You see how one person really can make a difference. You see how we are all connected in this city and this planet and how much we really need each other.

It really is a Habitat of Humanity.

Want to volunteer? People are still needed to get this house done by Thanksgiving (or maybe Christmas!) Indoor work available. Check out the Anchorage Habitat website to volunteer.

Grenades, Crosses and Who you Really Are, Sermon 9.16.12

Sermon preached at Central Lutheran, September 16, 2012, Pentecost 16B

Caesarea Philippi sits at the northern edge of modern Israel in what is now the Golan Heights. Today, it's an archaeological ruin. In Jesus' time, it was an iconic Roman city, built to honor the emperor, and home of a temple to the Roman god Pan. Before that, it was the northernmost limit to the nation of ancient Israel. It was a border land, the end of the known world, and the place where Jesus chooses to reveal his true plan and true fate to his disciples.

Not too far south, near the ancient city of Bethsaida, is a place I spent two weeks in college on an archaeological dig. My religion professor at Wartburg College, who now serves a church in Jerusalem, took students there each year to experience Israel and Palestine, religion and history, conflict and beauty. Archaeology isn't all that glamorous. We spent long, hot days digging in sand and dirt, carefully picking around ruins of house foundations, and sifting bucket after bucket of sand and soil, looking for fragments of pottery and artifacts. One day while I was digging with a small shovel, I heard a “clink.” We had been warned about this. Years of warfare in the area had left land mines and grenades strewn about. I'd hit a grenade. It was spent, but to be sure, the whole area was closed off for the rest of the day and weapons expert was brought in. I thought about it then and I still think about it: so much trouble, distraction, and worry over something that could do no more damage. Of course that grenade probably had done damage; if not that one, certainly many others had. One small piece of metal, so much suffering.

The text from James for today talks about a similarly powerful weapon: the tongue. The writer compares the tongue to a bridle that guides a horse or a rudder that steers a ship. The tongue may be small but it can wound deeply. It's like a fire. It's a restless evil. It's a deadly poison. With it we bless and curse. With it we love and hate. With it we empower and devastate. With it we share our worries and concerns. With it we share our hopes and dreams. With it we share rumors and half-truths.

I'm going to speak very plainly. As you might have noticed, we are trying a new worship schedule this fall, brought to you by your church council and worship committee. Tongues have been used in full force to plan, discuss, debate, dream and criticize this new format. There were a lot of rumors flying around. Many of them weren't accurate and weren't helpful. These words caused confusion. The words were grenades, still live and able to fracture the body of Christ.

I confess we as pastors and church leaders didn't always give you enough information. We didn't find the opportunity to listen to everyone and sometimes we didn't listen well or listened to some people more than others. I am sorry. Change can make us all anxious, even pastors.

Let me be clear. We are trying a new worship schedule primarily because tongues over the last several years have been asking for changes in the number of services and service format. You do not have to like everything that we do here at Central and it's certainly not perfect. But I am asking you to stay open and be careful what you say.

Words are powerful in the gospel lesson from Mark. Jesus chooses the borderland of Caesarea Philippi to have “the talk” with his disciples. This section of Mark, scholars say, is the heart and center of the gospel, the point where everything changes. Before this, Jesus was healing all over the place and demonstrating his power in that way. Now, Jesus makes what is the first of three passion predictions and begins his journey to the cross, the place of ultimate powerlessness.

Jesus speaks the truth about who he is and the disciples cannot accept it. It's understandable. As Jewish men, they had heard about the Messiah, the anointed one who was to come to save Israel. Jesus admits he is the Messiah (Christ in Greek) and but then everything he says he will do (suffering, rejection, death) doesn't sound very Christ-like to Peter.

Jesus has spent the first part of Mark's gospel in ministry to the sick and outcast. Now he reveals who he really is and extends and invitation. An offer you might want to refuse. If any want to be my disciples, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. But self-denial in the walk of faith isn't about delayed gratification or the latest diet trend. Self-denial isn't about self-annihilation. It's about re-definition.

When early Christians, like Mark's audience, began to follow the Way, they gave up everything. They separated from their families, jobs, culture and way of life. They redefined themselves as part of the family of Christ. They claimed a new identity, a new way of understanding themselves. And so must we.

Jesus tells his disciples that when they re-define themselves as part of the family of Christ, they end up letting go of something. For those who want to save their life will lose it, but those who lose their lives for my sake and for the sake of the gospel, will save it, Jesus says. It's human nature to cling to things. What are you clinging to? Power, position, wealth, possessions, status, reputation, the way we used to do church? What is Jesus asking you to do? What happens when we let go? Studies show one of the few ways money makes people happy is when they give it away. We receive love and friendship when we give it away. We receive happiness by making others happy. What are we afraid to lose? What do we have to gain?

This Sunday is the 16^th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19 and Ordinary Time 24. Are you still awake? There's no major church festival today, but it's a significant time in our cultural calendar. It's fall; we feel the chill at nights and watch the snow creep down the Chugach. Fall is when students and teachers of all ages head back to school. Fall is a time to put away our summer play toys and get back to our routines and rituals. Fall is a time when churches launch fall programming (Ahem.) Fall is a time to get things accomplished, to start new projects and get down to business. Fall is a time when our cultural context lifts up anew the values of rewards, advancement, attainment, security and self-interest. Many things make a claim on your identity; none of them defines who you really are. You are a child of God; that is the good news. What if wefocused on receiving our identity as beloved children instead of trying to earn it?

Part of me wants to tell you that you must deny yourself, take up your cross and embrace the new fall worship and education schedule. Perhaps that is so. But even more, I want to tell you that now, today, is an exciting time for us as a congregation to ask ourselves questions about our corporate identity. As a church, who do we say that Jesus is? How do we live our faith in a world that makes claims on our identity? What is our mission at Central? What is our calling as a congregation?

This past year, we claimed our identity as a welcoming church to homeless families through our shelter program. The past month, we claimed our identity as the largest congregation in this synod as we hosted the bishop installation. As several pastors in the synod have told me, smaller congregations look to us as role model. When we are healthy, so is the synod. In the coming months, we'll claim our identity as a place that uses technology in a way that welcomes others, enhances our worship and yet keeps us true to our Lutheran roots. Perhaps we'll claim our identity as the congregation who listened to each other, worked together, used our tongues for good, stuck with it, compromised and found a way to worship together that supported the long-timers and graciously welcomed the new-comers. Perhaps we will do that, and more. We ask God to help and guide us. Amen.

Letter to a Young Pastor

My Dear Friend,

Congratulations on your ordination! I received the invitation in the mail several weeks ago and didn't get a card sent on time. I thought about you on your ordination day -- the parade of red stoles, the exhortations, the weight of the hands on your head and shoulders. You'll be a fine pastor; I knew it ever since the days we worked together in campus ministry at Wartburg College.

I've thought of you many times as you start your work at your new parish on the East Coast. I know what it's like to move halfway across the country to a place with no family and friends. I think about your first days, weeks and months at your new church. I think of my own first days at my first call. There are so many things you already know and so many things that your people will teach you. They will teach you how to be their pastor.

Your congregation will be curious about you, your husband and your children. You may think this will end, but it will not. They will want to know who you are, where you are from, what you like to do and where you have been. They will invite you to their homes. They will bring you small gifts from time to time. You will be grateful. Sometimes they will ask you questions you don't want to answer. You will smile and say, "Why do you ask?" They want to know who you are but they also want to know if you will love them.

You will love your congregation, of this I am sure. You will love them all, though you will love some of them differently than others. You will love them but you will sometimes need a break. You will love them but sometimes they will break your heart. You will love them but some of them will leave and some of them will die. You will preside at their baptisms, confirmations, weddings and funerals. When you stand beside them at the funeral home over the bodies of their loved ones (or over their bodies) you will weep, on the inside or the outside. This will not get easier the longer you are with them; it will get harder.

Some things will get easier. You will get better at preaching, leading worship, making home and hospital visits and leading Bible studies. Some of these things you will be able to do in your sleep. Some of these will still make you nervous, but they will get easier. You will feel like you were born for such a time as this. You will feel like God has called you to be right here, right now, with these people.

Some things will get harder. There will be conflict around money, no matter if you have too much or too little. There will be conflict with staff, other pastors and with church members. Someone will be unhappy with something that you do. This will probably happen more than you know but you will not always hear about. You will have to work very hard at avoiding triangulation. You will remind people again and again that if they have a problem with another person, they should go to that person, not vent to everyone else about that person.

Some of them will not like each other. Some of them will carry grudges against each other that last for decades. Some of them are still wounded from a previous pastor. Some of them are still deeply attached to a previous pastor. Many of them are grieving over the church that used to be. Many of them do not know they are grieving for the church that used to be. Many of them want to know that the church will be okay and you will not be able to make any promises.

You will hear people's stories. You will learn about their lives, upbringings, faith stories, memories, regrets, confessions, joys and sorrows. You will be astounded at their deep faith in times of trial. You will be shocked at some of what you hear. You will say, "Hmm," and "I see" or "Tell me more" but inside you will be quaking. You will walk into hospital rooms where the news is all bad and you will sit with people while chemo pours into their veins. You will be the non-anxious presence. You will watch someone die. You make the sign of the cross on the foreheads of those who have just dead. You will think you cannot bear it but you will, and with grace.

You will make changes in the parish. You will make some changes based on logistics. You will make some changes based on theology. You will make some changes after deep and careful listening to concerns over a period of many months. It doesn't matter why you made the changes or how many people you consulted. Your people (whom you love) will hate the changes immediately and lament the sorry future of this church. Months later they will tell you how much they love the changes or forget how it used to be. You will love your people anyway.

You will make mistakes. You will put off visiting someone and they will die. You will forget to acknowledge a death in someone's family and they will be hurt. You will say something unkind and someone will hear it. You will complain. You will mess up something in worship. You will blow up. You will melt down. You will be human. You will have to ask for forgiveness. You will be forgiven.

You will worry about the future of your church and the future of the Lutheran church. You will wonder if you did the right thing with your life and wonder if you should have been an English teacher like your mother always told you. You will wonder if you are leading your people in the right way. You will wonder if you are doing what God wants. You will wonder if your sermons are proclaiming a word that people can hear. You will wonder if your people will stick around when there are changes in the parish or when times get tough. You will wonder if the message of grace that you proclaim comes with it an equal measure of responsibility. You will wonder if you should ask more of people.

You will wonder, but you will rest on God's promises. Sometimes you will be the last person out of the church building and you will look at the cross and think about Jesus. You will think about His promises to never leave us alone, to never leave us abandoned. You will think about the power of love that is stronger than death. You will think about the Word of God that cannot be silenced. You will think about the power that is hidden in weakness, the weakness of suffering, cross and grave. You will think about that empty tomb.

My dear friend, you will be a wonderful pastor. God will use all of your strengths and all of your weaknesses. God is holding you. I am praying for you. I can't wait to hear all about it.

Your friend in Christ,
Lisa

My grandmother's faith and the bread of life

The following is the sermon I gave Aug. 19, 2012, at Central Lutheran. It's the story of my grandmother's life and faith, combined with the text for that day, John 6:51-58, where Jesus says that he is the true bread from heaven. Those who abide in him, eat and drink of him, will have eternal life.

Grandma and I in 2006, with a prayer shawl from Central Lutheran

Before my sabbatical earlier this year, I knew very little about the life and faith story of my paternal grandmother, Janina Smith. I knew she was a survivor of a Soviet work camp during World War II and that she was separated from most of her family at a very young age. I knew she was a kind and loving grandmother who baked cookies, showed up at our concerts and sporting events and encouraged us to follow the path in life that would make us truly happy. I never asked her about her life or faith because my parents told me not to bother her. She died five years ago. On sabbatical, I finally viewed a video of my grandmother talking about her life and her faith. I also did an extensive interview with my aunt Barb, her daughter. Here's what I learned.

She was born in Jasna, Poland, which is now in the Ukraine, in 1926, the youngest of six children, five girls and one boy. In September of 1939, Nazi Germany invaded Poland from the West and the Soviet army invaded from the East. During the years of 1939-1941, as many as 1 million Polish people were either killed or deported to work camps in Siberia. In 1940, my grandmother and her family were taken. She was 14 years old.

Her family lived on a small farm. On the night the soldiers came, only her father, three sisters and one brother were home. Her mother was staying with her older sister, husband and family and helping look after the little ones. It was winter. Her father work them up one morning saying, “Children, wake up, there are soldiers coming.” A dog was barking. They watched the soldiers coming closer. They knocked and came in without waiting for an invitation. They searched her father and brother for guns, found nothing and ordered them to start packing. A soldier stood over them with a gun. They packed – bedding, clothes, food. The rest was left behind. My grandma remembers crying and being so confused what was happening. Then the bobsleds started coming and took them to the train depot, where they were loaded into boxcars, four families to a car.

It was a plain wooden boxcar, with some wooden bunks for sleeping. The train was headed for the next town, Lwow, where my grandma's older sister lived. One of their neighbors had escaped, Grandma doesn't know how, and was able to go to her sister's house, tell them what happened and tell them to meet up at the train station.

When they stopped at Lwow, my grandma's mother, older sister and her family met them there. They saw them through cracks in the windows. They screamed for each other. Soldiers opened the door. The ones outside of the train begged to join their family. The soldiers said no, and slammed the door. My grandmother said, “It was a terrible thing. There was not a thing we could do. It was a terrible day.” She never saw her mother again.

When the train crossed the Polish/Soviet border, everyone cried. People were praying and singing Polish religious songs. But the train kept going. They were cold. There was no privacy, though some Polish ladies had set up a curtained area in one of the boxcars for a bathroom. They were served a thin soup that smelled like fish and shared what little food they had brought along. Babies would cry. Some people died on the train. The soldiers would open the boxcar and haul out the bodies. They asked if there would be a funeral and the soldiers said, no, they would just put them all in one big hole. “It was very scary,” my grandma said. They were on that train for over a month. Then they arrived in Siberia.

They were assigned a small house, and several families shared it. My grandma said the only thing they could see was timber, timber and sky. Everyone went to work, except my grandmother, who was deemed too young, and another sister, Agnescia, who was sick with a kidney infection. Even so, it fell to Agnescia and my grandmother to do the cooking. They got one piece of bread about six inches long that was supposed to last for the whole week. They got a little bit of rice, barley and a few potatoes. Agnescia made a thin soup. It wasn't enough.

Grandma said: “It was pretty rough. We didn't know how long it was going to be or how many of us were going to survive. But we all Polish people stuck together and tried to help one another. And prayed that someday will come some kind of relief. Somebody will ask for us.”

After work, they went to meetings. Attendance was mandatory and the agenda was propaganda. The Soviets told them how lucky they were and how good they had it at the camp. They told them there was no God, that Stalin was a god. They told them that whenever they saw hair grow on their palms, that's the day they would see Poland again. Grandma said they just looked at each other and hoped it wasn't true.

Grandma got by one year without working, but the next year she was deemed old enough. She worked from sunup to sundown, picking up brush and burning it and collecting sap from trees. They got a lot of cheap labor out of us, she said. Her family was there for more than two years. At some point along the way, her sister Agnescia died. She doesn't go into detail about it.

Finally, relief came. Grandma credits Winston Churchill and FDR for their liberation. They were sent somewhere in Asia first, Grandma doesn't say where, then the family was sent to Iran, where the Red Cross provided for them. Unfortunately, Grandma wasn't strong enough to go on to Iran right away; she was held back because she was too sick. She could barely move her legs; she was skin and bones. She was starving to death. When she was finally nursed back to health, she was sent to Iran, but her family was gone. The Red Cross sent people wherever there was room – Argentina, Brazil and Africa. Her sisters Marie and Honia and their father were sent to Kenya. Her brother volunteered for the British Army and later died in the D-Day invasion. One of my cousins found his grave in Loreto, Italy. My grandma's father didn't want to stay in Africa and eventually set out for Poland, where his wife and oldest daughter still lived. He got as far as London, where he died of pneumonia. No one in my family knows where he is buried.

Meanwhile, my grandmother was alone in Iran, though there were other Polish refugees there. She signed up to work as a waitress in a US Army mess hall for officers. There she met a young technical sergeant from Iowa there who was in charge of the warehouse of food and supplies. They fell in love and had to cross the border into Iraq to get married because that was the nearest US embassy. The date was June 15, 1946. When they both finally got back to Iowa (traveling separately), they started their new life together in rural Northeast Iowa. They farmed 240 acres and had four children. I am the eldest daughter of their eldest son, and I was raised on that same 240 acres and in the same house. My grandmother would return to Poland four times as an adult, but she didn't make it while her mother was still alive. Those were the days of the Cold War and travel to Poland was forbidden. My grandma wrote letters to her mother and her eldest sister in Poland, sending money and gifts. They later found out the money never made it. My grandmother did reunite with the three sisters who survived the war, but they all preceded her in death. She also remained close with her nieces and nephews, who live in Toronto, Chicago and Australia. Someday, I hope to visit them where they live.

My grandparents were very much in love. When my grandmother was dying of pancreatic cancer in 2007, she took my grandfather by the shoulders and said, “make sure you eat good and don't go down those basement steps.” She died in 2007; my grandfather followed in 2008, still carrying a picture of her in his wallet and telling everyone that she was the most beautiful girl and the most wonderful wife.

These past few weeks we've been focusing on the bread of life text from John 6. We've heard about Jesus feeding the 5,000 and about the throngs of people who follow him, looking for bread but missing the sign that Jesus himself is God incarnate and that Jesus will feed them with his own self. This week, Jesus makes the shocking statement that moves us from bread and fish to flesh and blood. He's not just a magician who multiplies, but he is the one who feeds us by getting into us in a real and tangible way.

John 6:56 may be the heart of the whole thing: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” John uses the word “abide” 40 times in his gospel, though sometimes it's translated “remain” or “stay.” The body and blood of Jesus reminds us in a tangible way that Jesus abides in us. Maybe the harder thing to realize is that we also abide in God. Abiding goes both ways and it lasts forever. You belong to God and you abide in God. That is the good news.

You can never really know another person's faith. You can only hear their stories and see the fruit that is their life's work. I never asked my grandma about her faith; I sure wish I had. But my aunt Barb did and she said that my grandmother was never bitter. Raised, Catholic, Grandma kept the picture of the Virgin Mary up in her bedroom and a rosary on her dresser, even though she and Grandpa attended the Methodist church near their home. Though they attended for years, it wasn't until my grandmother was sick that my grandfather finally decided to get baptized. He was 87 years old. Grandma said that her faith helped her survive the ordeal in Siberia. The one thing the Soviets couldn't take from them was their faith. My grandmother forgave the soldiers and chose not to be angry with God. She said that God didn't take them to Siberia. I would add: God was abiding with her from Siberia to Iran to Iowa.

Someone once said that Christianity is the most incarnational religion. We have a God who came down to earth and was incarnate, born, of woman. He lived, breathed, ate, laughed, cried, suffered and died. Now we eat of this bread and drink of this cup, as a way of getting Jesus inside of us. Then we go out, and serve as as Jesus' hands and feet in this world. As my Grandma learned, when God is in you this deeply and you are in God, there is no one and no thing that can pull you away from the safe place where you truly abide. Amen.

Grandma's story: Coming August 19

I'm not a fan of shameless self-promotion, but since many of you have asked, I'm letting you know that I'll be telling my grandmother's faith story as part of the sermon on Sunday, Aug. 19, at Central Lutheran. The service starts at 9:30 AM. I'll also be speaking about the texts of the day, from Proverbs, Ephesians and John 6.

Victory Bible Camp, Day 5

We're gathered.

Casta, Karen and our blueberry haul.

Today's theme at Bible camp was unity in Christ. That's unity, not uniformity. Since I was the only pastor left standing (read: here) I did the message at morning worship. I told two true stories about times when people helped me who were "unlikely suspects." Then I told the story of the Good Samaritan. We talked about how God made us different and that's a good thing. We all have different gifts, which is something to celebrate instead of fear.

I was tired this morning, since I was up late last night with some drama in the middle school girls cabin. A couple of girls were fighting and pulled others into it. When two of the counselors came over to find me (it was almost 11 pm), I walked back with them into a cabin FILLED with girls in a circle. I said a few words, prayed and dismissed everyone except the original two. We talked, they apologized, we all prayed and then went to bed (or at least I did). Whew. I thought about when I was in middle school. Everything was SO IMPORTANT and conflicts were TRAGIC. Whew.

This morning, another tragedy, but of the real kind. I got a Facebook message this morning from a member of Central to tell me this news: a woman in our congregation lost two sisters in a canoe accident in Eagle River yesterday. The husband of one of the sisters survived. I can't imagine the shock and sorrow. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. I talked to her today and there are no words.

I also spent time on the phone today following up with one of the parents from the bullying situation yesterday.

Today was the last full day at camp. The weather was gorgeous, again! Campers spent their free time down at the waterfront on the boats and others bounced around in the gym on inflatables. I took another hike today on the ridge line above camp. Karen, Casta and I picked enough blueberries to fill Karen's hat; she promised to make jam enough to share.

Donovan in a skit at campfire tonight.

We had our last campfire this evening. Along with the usual songs and silliness, we also did a serious skit called "The Body Shop." It's the one where a person complains about not being happy with their body so they go to a "body shop" to try on a new one. Others are standing in various poses (athletic, musical, academic) and the person goes from one to another, "trying" them on. In the end, she decides her own one is the best. It's a good lesson, for all of us really, when we get distracted and wished we had someone else's gift, talent or ability.

Counselor Kevin and his duct tape shoes.

Now I'm sitting in Spruce Lodge, gathering place of the middle schoolers, for a talent show. Calvin just did a Justin Bieber impression and we're in the middle of a skit about goats that I don't understand. It's obvious the kids are having a blast, which is probably about all that matters.

Molly and Hanna Irish dancing at the talent show.

Victory Bible Camp, Day 3 and 4

The view from camp

We're Forgiven.
We're Loved.

Those were themes for yesterday and today, respectively, at Lutheran Summer Camp at Victory.

Matanuska Glacier

I didn't write last night because I was too exhausted. It's the middle of the week now, and things start to fray a little at the edges. The kids are getting tired. Some bicker and fight with each other. The big one happened yesterday and I can't talk too much about it on a public blog. Let's just say this: one middle school kid accused another of some pretty serious bullying. Investigation ensued, complete with conversations with parents. It was pretty exhausting. Meanwhile, I was dealing with a couple of things back home with very poor cell phone service, "Can you hear me now?" What does God's love and forgiveness mean in all of this? I'm consistently shocked at how mean kids can be to each other. We spend the morning and night singing songs about God's love. I hope someone is listening.

Hiking to the fossil fields with Karen, Kathy and Casta

On a brighter note, the weather yesterday (Tuesday) was incredible. Kathy Freeman and I offered to take kids and adults on a hike up to the fossil beds above camp. We got mostly adult takers and it was a wonderful time. Karen Emmel, who was a geologist in a former life, joined us and gave us great background in rock formations and glacial actions. We talked a lot on the hike about how our faith is big enough to believe in God and evolution, the constant presence of God in our lives and the slow-moving shift of the earth's crust as mountains and valleys are slowly made over millions of years. It's all part of the great mystery.

I'm amazed every year at the beauty of the valley where the camp rests. I went running this afternoon on a ridge line above camp. Below me, the Matanuska River flowed by and I could see the ribbon of the Glenn Highway below.  Across from me and much higher, there was another mountain range, with snow on its farthest reaches. It's all so big and any problems in my life seem pretty small.

Even though we may wonder if the kids are paying attention, worship time is becoming more and more rich. Kids are getting to know the songs and the belt them out. Our high school counselors are great at participating and getting the kids to do the same. I watched one high school counselor gently squeeze between a few misbehaving kids at campfire last night. I watched another counselor volunteer quickly during Bible study to participate in Bible readings and acting out a skit. We tell these high school that camp isn't about them, it's about the kids. It's true, in a way, but there's also some incredible formation and leadership that's being learned here. 

Lutheran Summer Camp, Day 2

We're gifted.

That was the theme of the day here at Lutheran Summer Camp, here at Victory Bible Camp, somewhere along the Glenn Highway between Palmer and Glenallen. Did I mention it's gorgeous here?

In case you've never been to Lutheran Summer Camp, here's what we do all day.

Breakfast
Morning worship (lots of camp songs, skit by counselors, message by a pastor, prayers, more songs)
Bible study
Small groups
Games
Lunch
Free time (more on that later)
Dinner
Counselor staff meeting
Games (again)
Campfire
A little bit of of free time
Lights out

Ladies and gentlemen, we're here all week.

As camp pastor, I lead the Bible study. I do the Middle School, which is great because I really like middle school students. They're smart, they can think abstractly, they're discovering things and questioning things and they're not quite adults but not quite kids.

Bible study today went well. We read John 14, where Jesus tells the disciples he's going away but sending them the Advocate. We talked about how God is our advocate and when they have seen someone advocating for them or they have advocated for someone else. We talked about what advocacy is and how even kids can do it. I had them write in their prayer journals about these questions. The kids listened during Bible study, participated and then kept mostly quiet during journal time.

During free time, kids have a lot of options. They can visit the snack shop, go swimming in the lake, play games or play in the gym. On certain days we have special activities, like hiking, horseback rides and inflatables (last year it was sumo suits, not sure what this year has in store).

This year, I took the swim test, which is mandatory if one wants to swim in the lake (burr!) or use any of the boats or kayaks. This is no small feat (for me) since the water is FREEZING and I'm a below-average swimmer. For some reason, I decided this is the summer I'm doing things that previously scared me (see Crow Pass), so I took the plunge.

I watched two girls from Central take the test before me, then I did it. It was darn cold. I had to swim back and forth and tread water. As I got close to the end, my muscles really started shutting down and I had to force myself to keep moving. I can see how people drown in Alaska waters. It's very cold and sobering. I'm pretty excited about the plastic bracelet on my wrist, though. And I got to paddle around on the "funyaks."

We had some rain today, but it cleared up as evening came on. By the time we had campfire, the sun was peaking out a bit and the clouds were moving off the mountains nearby. On one of the taller peaks, there was a little termination dust. The mountains reflect in the lake that we can see from the campfire site. It's God's glory, all over the place.

At campfire, we sing more camp songs, see a silly skit and hear another message. I'm up there playing guitar with a couple other adult leaders. I can see the mountains reflected in the lake, feel the warmth of the fire on my side and hear the kids singing praise songs at the top of their lungs. This is why I come to camp. This is why we all come to camp. We're gifted.

Lutheran Summer Camp, The First Day

Just off Mile 95 of the Glenn Highway, past Palmer, Sutton and Chickaloon, and out in the middle of a range of gorgeous mountains, sits Victory Bible Camp. For most of the summer, the non-denominational camp runs its own programs. For one week of the summer, the Lutherans take over. It's Lutheran Summer Camp week, people!

I'm writing from Victory Bible Camp now, where the Wifi is great but the cell service is not. This is my fourth (I think) summer at camp.

I never went to Bible Camp as a kid, but I did go to 4-H Camp. I remember that I was terribly homesick and cried a lot. Then, as a college student, I worked at a Lutheran Bible Camp in Eastern Iowa (EWALU). I was a counselor and a program coordinator for three summers. It was a transformational time. I fell in love with hiking and camping. I learned to play guitar, find God in outdoor worship and how to improvise in front of a group of kids.

Now I'm the camp pastor. There are other youth directors and adult volunteers, too. We have about 40 campers from Lutheran churches across Anchorage. We also have about 12 high school youth serving as counselors.

The theme for this week is "Spirit Life." We're using the curriculum from the ELCA's national office. It's decent curriculum, though it's a little hard to teach about the Holy Spirit. I mean, it's pretty abstract for kids to get their brains around. It's hard for adults, too.

Here's the theme verse: "There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all." -- Ephesians 4:4-6

Here are the themes for each day: We're Gifted; We're Forgiven; We're Loved; We're Gathered; We're Sent. There are corresponding Bible verses for each day. I wish they were action-packed stories, but most are just reflections on the aspects of the Holy Spirit. I'll try to jazz it up a bit in Bible study.

I hope the kids have a good week. I always wonder about them as they arrive. Are they nervous? Excited? Intimidated? Do they know anything about God? Do they think church stuff is boring? I don't know what goes on inside their heads, but I do know they usually have a blast here. They laugh a lot. They sing songs and do hand motions. They splash around in the lake. They run and play games. They learn, I hope, that God loves them and so do we. They learn, I hope, that worship can be fun, that you can praise God outside and that God is with them, here and everywhere.

Crossing through the arena

I've been a regular runner for about 20 years. I started in Junior High, ran track through high school, ran a year a Wartburg College (D-III) and then ran my way through numerous 5K, 10K, 15K, half marathon and marathon races. I have more race T-shirts than I'll ever use. I've made and met a number of running goals, some still remain.

I thought about this yesterday as Erik drove me down the Seward Highway to the Crow Pass trail head for the start of the Crow Pass Crossing, an annual mountain race described by the Anchorage Daily News as "arduous and unpredictable." True.

The backcountry race covers 24 miles of wilderness, from Girdwood to the Eagle River Nature Center. There are a number of obstacles, from scary to life-threatening. First, runners ascend 2,200 feet in less than one hour (or be disqualified). Then, descending through rock, scree and snowfield to the Eagle River. Cross the glacial Eagle River (thigh-high or higher) then run another 12 miles to the nature center, trails covered in rocks, roots and brushy Cow Parsnip. The trail is not always obvious. People get lost, encounter bears and take serious slips and falls. There are no aid stations, no water and cell phones don't work. Racers must finish in 6 hours to be an official finisher.

The Crow Pass race has intrigued and terrified me ever since I learned of it. I'd day-hiked it with two friends several years ago, when I was a new Alaskan. I was unprepared for the speed and chill of the river. It was high that year, to my waist, and I truly believe I would have just sat down and abandoned hope if not for my hiking partner literally pulling me through it. I have never been so scared. Did I mention I'm kind of afraid of water?

Over the years, I've wavered back and forth about the race. Here's the other catch: you have to qualify to enter. You must be either a Crow Pass race veteran, or run a sub-4:00 marathon or a sub 1:45 half marathon or a sub 2:30 Lost Lake race. I've run several qualifying marathons over the years. Last fall when I completed the Twin Cities Marathon under 4:00 I thought about Crow Pass.

I signed up this year because a friend said she'd run it with me, helping me cross the river and sticking together if we got lost. Then she pulled a hamstring. And then there was one.

My fears were all over the place. I worried I'd encounter bear, get lost, be unable to cross the river, or not make it to the pass by the 1-hour time cut off. I also worried about taking a nasty fall and breaking something, like my head.

I showed up at the mandatory pre-race meeting. I'd heard the race director was merciless and tried to scare people out of doing the race. He wasn't so bad and I even met another girl who didn't have a running partner and we pledged to look for each other the next day.

I barely slept Friday night. As I woke up, stretched, ate and dressed, I felt like Katniss Everdeen in the Hunger Games, getting ready for the arena. As we drove down the highway to Girdwood, the wind picked up. It blew hard. It rained.

The scene at the starting line was subdued. Everyone looked very, very fit. People were jumping and jogging to stay warm. It was raining. I was panicking about last-minute gear decisions. I kissed Erik goodbye and the race started before I could think too much.

The scenery as we ran/hiked up the pass was incredible. Snow dappled the mountains and the valleys glistened with waterfalls. I barely noticed, though, intent as I was on making the top of the pass in one hour. About 2 miles into the uphill slog, the wind started up again and the rain intensified. Suddenly, there was someone yelling out  my number, 87, and writing it down. I had made the first checkpoint with five minutes to spare. A few spectators cheered and one yelled out, "Pastor Lisa!" It was Karen Williams, from Central. I'd never been so glad for a friendly voice in my life. Because then it started to hail. Beads of ice fell from the sky. I was wearing shorts. My legs were turning red. I had the mandatory gear in my backpack (wind pants, long underwear) but I was too cold to stop so I kept moving.



I descended rocky slopes and snow fields. There were amazing views of Raven Glacier, bright blue with the cloudy and dark sky. It was so beautiful. I thought about the wonder of God's creation, the kindness of people I know, the way I've seen the love of Jesus in so many people's faith. I thought about the people of God crossing the Red Sea and how God always makes a way, even when we can't see it. Still, I made sure there were several people just ahead and several people just beyond me. I did not want to cross that river alone. You know, pray like it depends on God, but act like it depends on you!

I was doing fine until I had to cross the descending snowfields. I could see that most other racers slid down on their feet or bottoms. I am no fan of glissading; it scares me to go downhill fast. So I picked my way down, crab-walking and spiderman style. The runners behind me passed me and disappeared. I wasn't sure if anyone was behind me.

So I just kept going, taking care not to fall. About 5 miles into the race, I saw a vision: a man ahead of me stopped briefly to pick his way through a creek. He pointed out the best way to go and then we started talking. His name was Thomas, a veteran of the race. He knew the way! As far as I was concerned, he was a gift from God. I followed him through brush higher than my head, trail littered with obstacles, and we safely crossed the river together.

Our biggest snafu (which may have cost me a timely finish) was that when we arrived at the river to ford it, we couldn't find the race officials who were supposed to be there to ensure we had crossed and who would give us a bracelet. We walked up and down the river banks yelling for them for a good 5-10 minutes, gave up and finally crossed on our own. We found the "bracelet people" a ways down the trail, telling us they'd left the river bank after 3 hours. We'd arrived at the bank in 3 hours and 8 minutes. Apparently, this was one of the policies that didn't make it into the race instructions.

We continued along the rocky trail, through brush, spotting bear scat, using ladders and ropes at times to help us navigate the rough terrain. I was getting tired, but pushed along to make the 6-hour time limit. I was worried but Thomas, my new running partner, was confident we'd just make it. But the rain kept falling, the brushy trail was hard to navigate, and once when the trail wound really close to the Eagle River, I slipped and fell into the river, up to my waist.

About 5 hours and 30 minutes into the race, I had to stop and eat. Thomas kept going. I found out later he finished in 6 hours and 50 seconds. Thankfully, the race director gave him credit and he was an official finisher. I wasn't so lucky. I pushed until the end, crossing the finish line in a triumphant yet disappointing 6 hours and 5 minutes. I woofed down the Snickers bar they handed me.

Today's paper has a great article about the race. The list of finishers doesn't have my name in it. I'm a little sad about it, but it was good to face a fear and come safely through the arena, whole and in one piece. Maybe more whole, in a way, for doing something I didn't know I could think I could, relying on strangers and seeing again the wonder of the world God made.

PS: I didn't think to have some photos taken until I was safely inside at the Eagle River Nature Center. It was still raining and my lips were turning blue.

Brevig Mission Wrap-up

Our team of 8 members and friends of Central Lutheran returned safely from Brevig Mission this past Saturday. I know from talking to other members of the team that they were as moved by the experiences of the week as I was.

It was my turn to preach this past Sunday but when I sat down to write, my mind was flooded with images and emotions of the week. Then I thought about a brief exchange I'd had with Gilbert Oxeroek, the lay pastor in Wales, when we were both in Nome this past week. He had been at a pastor's gathering. When I asked him how it was, he commented that a lot of pastors wanted to talk about what they'd read in books. Gilbert said he'd rather talk about things the Eskimo way. When I asked what that meant he responded, "We begin with our own experience." (See below!)

So that's what I did on Sunday. Instead of writing a manuscript, I preached from my own experience. I told four stories from Brevig Mission. The stories were: the body, the whale, the fire and the banquet. The first three you can read about in previous blog posts. The fourth, the banquet, is the story of our Vacation Bible School program that we held in Brevig, where children sang with delight and shared their memorized Bible verse. The banquet included a meal, too, as we served spaghetti for the whole community. I mean that almost literally; we went through at least 200 plates (before we lost count) in this village of less than 400 souls. We ran out of spaghetti noodles several times (I tried praying over them to no avail-- kidding) but managed to cook more. People were in good spirits even though they were waiting in line. We shared a lot of conversation with our table fellowship.

After the meal and program, there was a wedding. Or at least a renewal of vows. Chris and Bruce, from Central, were celebrating their 10-year wedding anniversary this year. They never had a church wedding, so they asked if Pr Brian and I would do it in Brevig. So we did. Chris asked the oldest man in the room (he wasn't that old!) to walk her down the aisle and the couple stood before Pr Brian and I, who were decked in kuspucks. We took turns praying, I did the vows and Brian preached a good and short sermon. The children watched closely and then hooted with delight when Bruce kissed his bride.

In the sermon, I contrasted this banquet with the gospel lesson for July 15, which was the story of Herod's feast where John the Baptist ends up without a head, literally. Then I contrasted Herod's feast with the very next story in Mark's gospel: the feeding of the 5000. At Herod's feast, only the elite are invited and manipulation and violence rules. At Jesus' feast, all are welcome and even though there's only 5 loaves and 2 fish, everyone gets enough.

When I was in seminary, a professor told me that sometimes the gospel isn't in the assigned reading for the day. That was true for me this past Sunday. Instead, I found the Gospel in the Eskimo way. I found it in my experiences in Brevig Mission. I found it in the stories people there told me about how their faith helped them through tough times. I found it in conversations with members of our group and with Pr. Brian. I found it by sharing in the joys and sorrows crammed into one week in Brevig and Teller. I found it, or, to be exact, the Gospel found me.

Fire and Leaving Brevig

Brevig Mission: departure date, July 13. I just have a few minutes to write a quick reflection before we boat across Port Clarence to Teller, then drive the gravel road to Nome. We fly to Anchorage tomorrow morning. I just drove a few loads of luggage down to the beach and helped Brian load the boat and the first round of people went across to Teller. Of all the things we've seen here this week, now there's one more: fire damage in Teller from a blaze last night.

Yesterday morning we awoke to huge billowing smoke from Teller. I thought it was a garbage fire but a man I met while running yesterday said it was way too big for that. Turns out, some kids were playing around and set off a fire that destroyed three buildings and the city's loader tractor. Teller doesn't have water and sewer, except at the washeteria and school. Apparently, there was some pumping equipment to put out fires, but who knows where that is or how it's been re-appropriated. We heard the fire was tackled by locals with a bucket brigade of sea water.

Then the Nome fire department showed up, but by then the three buildings, at least one historic, was gone. The Catholic and Lutheran churches were saved. No one was injured. That's about all we know.

Yesterday was also the big finale for VBS. We had a bigger class yesterday, then a VBS program and community meal. Usually we serve hot dogs and invite the whole village. This time, we still invited the whole village but we served spaghetti. Well, apparently that was a hit, because we ran through at least 200 plates, ran out of noodles several times and had to scramble. I think we literally fed more than half the town. People were so gracious and I saw many familiar faces. One highlight was that elder Daisy Rock helped me lead the Doxology in Inupiat, because Brian wasn't back from Teller yet.

When he did return, we did our VBS program, the kids singing with gusto. Then, we had a wedding! Brian and I shared officiant duties. Well, it wasn't exactly a wedding but it sure was exciting. Here's the story: Chris and Bruce were married hastily in a courthouse 10 years ago because he was sick. They never had a church wedding. So they decided to do it here. They put on kuspuks and a man from the village walked Chris down the aisle. Brian did the sermon, I did the prayers and the vows. We all sang "Surely Goodness and Mercy," and Bruce gave his bride a big kiss. Brian talked about how marriage is about helping each other, no matter what. The kids were rapt with attention and hooted when Bruce kissed his bride.

After the wedding, we cleaned up and headed over to the traditional office for some Eskimo dancing. The crowd was small but the dancers and drummers are so talented. I've seen it many times but the music still enters my heart and captivates my attention in a very special way.

Better get down to the beach with some more loads of luggage. Brian will be back with the boat soon and we'll be on our way.

Everybody Loves Whales

Day 3 here at Vacation Bible School, Brevig Mission, Alaska (July 11). Somehow, the weather is still holding, and all around is the beauty of the water, mountains and sky. I saw kids swimming in the Bering Sea today; the water didn't even seem cold to my touch. The sun is blazing down through a blue sky at all hours (though mauve, orange and pink ran through the sky at 2 am this morning) and I think I got a little sunburn on my cheeks today.

With the weather so beautiful and the fish so plentiful, we knew our attendance at VBS might be a bit lower. It was: about 20 kids. But the ones that came had a good time. They listened during story time (the woman at the well) and sang with gusto at songs like "Father Abraham" and "This Little Light of Mine." We made bookmarks during craft time and then the kids wrote down what they've liked best about VBS so far and threw their "wishes" down our "well" that we'd made from boxes from the store.

At about 3:45 pm, just before we planned to go outside for games, someone came in and said, "They got a whale!" All the kids rushed to the window, where we could see maybe two small dots on the horizon. People had spotted a Minke whale the last day or so in the bay. They'd been chasing it. And they got it. Since they were so far away, we had the kids quiet down, finish their snack, and go outside for games. After a quick round of "Red Light, Green Light," we sent them home and told them we'd see them on the beach soon.

We watched out the window of the upstairs parsonage until the boats got closer. We watched 4-wheelers, people, kids and bikes stream down to the beach. We went too. The atmosphere was electric. Kids were swimming in the sea. People were watching the boat, telling stories and eating. Depending on who you asked, it had been somewhere between 8-20 years since they'd gotten a whale here. Villages farther north get them, but usually not Brevig Mission.

The boat got closer to shore and so we followed it farther down the beach, where even more people were waiting. Finally, the whale appeared, its dorsal fin black and shark-like, drug behind two boats. Suddenly, men and boys came from everywhere, attached ropes and started pulling. They pulled for awhile, until someone came down the beach with a backhoe and finally, the back of the shiny white and gray whale landed on the beach. As soon as they let go of the ropes, the children flocked to the whale. People touched it, stroked its leathery skin. Cameras and phones flashed everywhere; there was so much talking and energy.

Then, like a symphony, the men and boys started cutting. No one argued or bossed anyone around. Even though the village hadn't taken a whale for almost two decades, they seemed to know just what they were doing. They cut the whale from the tale, cutting chunks about 12-inches wide. Using the ropes, the peeled the blubber off first, then put it aside, glistening white in the sun. Whale blubber is called "muktuk" and is eaten raw with salt or boiled. Then they cut the meat off the bone, red and heavy. People sat on the beach and watched as the men and boys cut and carried the meat. The organ meats came next, the intestines white like so many sausages and the stomach puffed up like a giant balloon. The last thing I saw them cut off was the baleen, pure and white. It wasn't clear to me (or the little kids I asked) if anyone was going to eat the organ meats, though one teenager told me she'd eaten whale brain before.

The entire process, from landing the whale to cutting most of it up, took about two hours. When I left around 7 pm, there was basically just a carcass. Pastor Brian told me the dogs will get their share, though our group wondered if the bones will be harvested later for carving.

I've heard before that bringing in a whale can be a spiritual experience. I had wondered if Pastor Brian was expected to say a prayer of blessing or thanksgiving for the gift of this whale. He was over in Teller for a church meeting when the whale landed. People had stopped by to ask if Brian knew there was a whale. So I called him, thinking in my head about a whale blessing, and told him people were asking for him. He just said, "That's because I like muktuk."

Being part of this experience was very special for our group. It's already been such an adventurous week, what with the body washing up on shore, the beautiful weather and some of our group sighting a musk ox herd with a brown bear in pursuit. A whale just made it so much more interesting. Even though no one said a prayer (aloud) for the whale, I think most of us were saying one in our heads and hearts, not just for the whale but for the experience of being here, and being present, in this place.

Bush Bible School, Day 1

The clock in the kitchen here in Brevig Mission says 1:18 pm, which means we have less than 45 minutes until Day Two of Vacation Bible School. The view from this computer is still brilliant blue skies and still bluer seas. I can see multiple mountain ranges in the distance and people are still catching fish after fish.

Because the weather is so good, we worried we'd have a small attendance at Bible school. But they came. When it was all said and done, we had 49 kids who filled out attendance sheets. 49 kids and then 20 more at teen night, all in a village of maybe 350 people.

Bible school was the usual mix of stories, crafts, games and songs. The kids grow up fast and I struggle to remember their names because they look so mature since I last saw them. But all was well. Our theme for VBS this year is "God loves all people," and we're using several stories that show God's love for a diversity of folks. Yesterday, we did the Zacchaeus story and the kids hooted to see Karen Voris play Zaccheaus, jumping to see over a crowd a climbing a "tree" to see Jesus. After the skit, the kids stayed engaged for longer that I'd thought for singing time. We led them in a couple of songs and then Pr. Brian got on the guitar and they sang along. One of the highlights of the day for one of our volunteers was watching how some smaller boys were misbehaving and then seeing the teenage boys walk over and quietly and effectively admonishing the young ones.

Before we dismissed the kids, Chris Boehner passed out toothbrushes to every child, a gift from someone she knows who works in a dental office. We saw that toothbrushes are $4 apiece in the store here and kids' mouths are full of silver fillings.

After Bible school, Karen, Carol Petersen and I went over to visit Darla. She's a mom I know here and she had come by earlier and invited us to visit. So we went and were treated to a fine supper of BBQ fresh salmon, rice and corn fritters. I always feel humbled to be welcomed into homes here in Brevig.

At 7 pm, I went downstairs to welcome the teens to teen night. We'd forgotten to hang up signs announcing the event, though we'd told several kids about. I sat down there, alone, for about 30 minutes and no one came. Well, actually, two high school boys stopped by, but when they saw there were no others, they left, saying they were going to go talk to their friend Kevin. I was feeling really bummed. I thought they wouldn't come back. I was feeling bad that we hadn't hung up signs. I was mad at myself for not pushing hard enough to get teenagers to come on the trip.

And then, suddenly, there they were. Those first two boys came back, with a bunch of other guys. Then the girls slowly trickled in. We did some group games, then played cards and made friendship bracelets. I smiled to see the boys playing "I doubt it" with Carol and Jerene. They stayed until 9 and promised to come back tomorrow.

I plan for this trip every year and then I always feel like I lose some control as soon as I step off the plane in Nome. I always wonder how it will work out and if people will come and if they'll have fun. And somehow, it always works out.

Into the Bush

For the 8th time in 9 summers, I'm spending a week in Brevig Mission, a small Inupiat Eskimo village about 70 miles outside of Nome, Alaska. I'm here with a bunch of Lutherans and friends to lead Vacation Bible School in this village of about 350 people. It's one of my favorite weeks of the year.

I've blogged about this week before, but every year is different. The team is comprised of different people every year. Different kids come to Bible school. In fact, some of the kids who attended as middle school kids the first year are bringing their own kids now.  The weather is different every year. I'm different every year, too. I came first as an intern, now I come as a pastor almost seven years into my call....and also a wife.

As I write this from Pastor Brian's mac computer, I'm looking out at the impossibly blue waters of Port Clarence of the Bering Sea. The weather has been incredible since we arrived yesterday. The highs must be in the 60s and though it's almost midnight, the sky is brilliant blue and the sun is still shining. The fish are really running and the wooden racks up and down the beach are full of salmon, cut with horizontal marks and hung for weeks to dry. As we wandered about town today, inviting people to Bible school tomorrow, we heard that many people are at their fish camps away from the village, processing fish for colder times to come.

There is such incredible beauty here in the green, brown, red and gray hills and the sapphire sea that keeps changing shades. The people here are beautiful, too, welcoming us, visiting and church and offering us coffee when we visit in homes. There's plenty of pain, too. A young man took his life in November. A beloved elder died in June. Just today, we heard that a fisherman discovered a body washed up far down the beach. It belonged to a young man in Teller who died this winter. The body was decomposed. The hardest part: there were two young men who were lost from Teller in the icy sea this winter and the families wait to find out which body was just found.

We start Bible school tomorrow, at 2 pm, because folks who are up late in the sun tend to sleep in. We've asked some folks we know in Brevig if they'd help us lead Bible school. We wonder how many kids won't be able to come because they're putting up fish. We'll miss them, but we understand.

Bible school lasts for four days. We pick four Bible stories and lead crafts, story time, snacks and games. I always hope they hear something about a God that loves them no matter what. We're always talking cross-culturally, of course. Our theme this year is about God loving all people. For the first day, we're doing the Zacchaeus story. It's a great story about Jesus reaching out to someone that nobody liked. There is the slight problem that Zacchaeus climbed a tree to see Jesus and there's no trees for miles around here, but I guess we'll make do.

More tomorrow....

Broken engagments, spilled toothpaste

Not long ago, someone I know and love called off their engagement. They'd been together a couple of years and are employed, functional and thoughtful people. They just weren't the right match.

I'll spare the rest of the details, but suffice it to say it was significantly painful for all involved. The wedding day was pretty close. Now there are gifts to return, living arrangements to re-arrange and broken hearst to slowly mend, his and hers.

Still, you have to give them credit. It would have been worse if the wedding had happened and then they decided the relationship was over. Better not to get the lawyers invovled, one friend said.

As for the couple, I'd asked them before about pre-marital counseling. They did it, one said, but wished aloud the counseling could have started earlier. I wish we'd had counseling before we got engaged, one said.

As a pastor, I've led more than a dozen couples through pre-marital counseling using a curriculum called "Prepare-Enrich." It's pretty good, though when a couple comes in with an engagement ring and a white dress hanging in the closet, the counseling often feels like an after-thought.

I've often thought about doing "pre-engagement" counseling. Or maybe a class. It's over-looked and needed. Here's my question: who really teaches us, as young adults, how to have healthy relationships?

Some of us learn from our parents. Now I love my parents, but there are plenty of things I'm not about to copy (at least on purpose) in my own marriage. Marriage counseling helped me see this, but at that point I'd already decided to wed Erik, come hell or high water.

Perhaps we learn about marriage from watching other couples, from our extended families or from TV, movies and books. These may not be the most helpful places to learn about everlasting love. It's not all roses and champagne, as anyone who's been married for 10 seconds knows all too well.

Beyond marriage, how do we even learn how to have healthy dating relationships? Healthy friendships? Healthy boundaries? Healthy sexuality?

A few years ago, some Lutheran clergy in town decided this was important and tackled it on the middle school level. We held a middle school relationship retreat, which we've held every two years. The point isn't just to talk about sex (no condoms on bananas here) but to talk about what makes a relationship healthy. The topic of sex and bodies does come up, but it's in the context of healthy relationships. God wants us to be in healthy, mutual relationships, where we care for the other as part of the body of Christ. Not so easy to love one another as Christ loved you when you abuse someone or use them for sex! The ELCA's study on human sexuality and the use of Galatians (care for the neighbor) informed some of our work.

The retreats were good, but I keep wishing there was more we could do. I sometimes see high school youth and young adults from Central posting things on Facebook about relationships and I just want to take them under my wing and share something of what my faith and life has taught me. Like it's okay to set boundaries and you don't owe anyone anything, especially when it comes to your own body.

Sometimes, our own discomfort as adults with the topic of sex makes it hard to talk about. This has gotten easier for me. Of note: my first year at Central, I spent a week in Confirmation teaching about each of the 10 commandments. After my lecture on the 6th commandment (thou shalt not commit adultery) I was so vague that a young boy named Jack raised his hand and said, "Pastor Lisa, I have no idea what you are talking about."

Last year in Confirmation class, I borrowed an idea from a pastor friend: I pulled out a tube of toothpaste, squirted it into a cup and passed it around. Whilst doing this, I said, "This toothpaste is like your sexuality. (Every eye was glued on me now). How is toothpaste intended to be used? From the tube. Does it work when you scrape it out of the cup? Yes, but it's not the way it was intended. How is sexuality meant to be used, ideally? In a committed relationship? Does it work other ways? Sure, but it's not the way God intended."

At least 10 students were blushing by the time I'd finished. One told me the next week she couldn't look at toothpaste the same again. Okay, I might have blushed a little, too.

It's a start, anyway. But there's so much more to be taught and learned, throughout our lives.

Post-Sabbatical Wrap-up

Today at Central (6/24) we had a post-sabbatical forum, where I shared what I learned on sabbatical and some impressions and ideas for me and for Central for the future. There were almost 50 people there and we had some good brunch, too.

Here's the hand-out that I distributed. It was a way to report, share and be accountable for the time away. I also showed some slides (oooh, old lingo!) from some churches I visited and some of my adventures from Hawaii, New Zealand and Iowa, as well as Alaska adventures. If you've read the blog, you've heard some of this. But it's an interesting experience for me to process the experience now that more time has passed (almost three months) and it's time to think about what it means for our ministry at Central.

After the presentation, we had a time for small group discussion of the sabbatical themes and some brainstorming about mission, membership and vocation. It was a good time; thanks to all who attended!

Post-Sabbatical Presentation

June 24, 2012

The intention of sabbatical is to rest, re-new and re-charge for ministry. It is a time to reconnect to God and others. It's a time for new experiences and new ideas to re-fresh and inspire. The Lilly grant I received asked applicants to consider, “What makes your heart sing?” For me, it was slowing my pace of life, travel, time with Erik and my family, being outside and active, meeting new people, reading and learning new ideas.

Where I went:

Hawaii, yoga retreat

Byberg Preaching Conference, Issaquah, WA

New Zealand, vacation

Iowa, family visit

Resurrection Pass, ski trip

Churches I attended: St. Mary's Episopal and Trinity Presbyterian in Anchorage, Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity in Kona, St. John Lutheran in Iowa, Wartburg College Chapel in Iowa

Pastors I visited: Two in Hawaii, one in New Zealand, several at Wartburg College

Preaching: Byberg Preaching Conference, guest preacher; Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity, Kona; Wartburg College Chapel Service.

Books I read:

UnChristian, by David Kinnamon and Gabe Lyons

Several of the Harry Hole crime novels, by Jo Nesbo

Let Your Life Speak, by Parker Palmer

The Pastor, by Eugene Petersen

Theme: Faith stories, faith in daily life, vocation

Congregational activities: vocation study, Fall 2011; faith story project, Lent 2012; sabbatical forums, Spring 2012; Women's Retreat, April 2012.

How I ordered my days:

Each morning I started with yoga, meditation and centering prayer. Most days I spent time reading, journal-writing or blogging or writing sermons. Those three sermons gave me three Bible passages to sit with during the sabbatical. I thought a lot about vocation. I learned about my grandmother's faith story. I spent more time with Erik and matched my life to the rhythm of his schedule. I cooked a lot. I cleaned a lot. I did household projects.

What I learned about myself:

I am a busy person. For the most part, I like it and it's who I am. But I need to continue to learn to slow down, make space and rest. When my life slowed down on sabbatical, I felt like I was a kinder and gentler person. I had more time and energy for Erik and others. During sabbatical, I felt like I got quiet on the inside, a feeling I haven't had in some time. I felt like I was noticing the presence and work of God everywhere and inside me.

I really liked blogging more regularly. It was a good discipline and it helped me weave God into my daily life. I got good feedback from the blog, many people said they were reading it. It makes me think more about the blog as a ministry tool.

People have often told me they could feel the prayers of others. I had never felt it before, until sabbatical. I actually could feel the prayers from members of the congregation. I could feel the presence of their love, support and prayers. It's hard to explain, but I could definitely feel the prayers.

What I learned about sabbaticals:

Sabbatical really works! I went a little crazy at first, trying to downshift. I felt lost without a hectic schedule. It took about two weeks to let go and I spent the last two weeks ramping up again. The real magic of sabbatical happened in the eight or so weeks in between. A sabbatical of at least 12 weeks is essential. I could have taken 16 and it would not have been too much.

What I learned about the theme:

I appreciated Parker Palmer's book about vocation. It reminded me that you can't force your vocation or call based on an idea of what you think you “should” be doing. You have to listen to your life, let your life speak. One idea: look at what you did, what you were good at, and what brought you joy as a child. This is a clue to your true gifts and calling.

Vocation is not a goal to be achieved but a gift to be received. (Palmer)

Another idea from Palmer is the Quaker notion of “way will open.” The premise is that when trying to find your calling, a way will open. One way to discern is to see what ways have closed. When things just work out, that may be a sign. A pastor I met in Honolulu told me about how he took the call there and things just lined up. I felt the same way about the sabbatical. I wasn't going to take it, but then the congregation was accepting and welcoming, my husband agreed and then I won the grant.

What I learned about being a pastor:

Eugene Peterson introduced me to the phrase “the unbusy pastor.” I'm busy a lot and I'd like to be less so. I'd like to spend more time really being with and listening to people. I thought about how to be a present pastor rather than a busy one.

To write a good sermon, a pastor must be engaged in the life of the congregation, doing home visits and/or 1-1 visits. I read this first in Peterson's book and then it was reinforced and then heard it again at the Byberg conference. This might be the single most important thing I learned. It might sound simple, but it's easy to forget with programming and other busy-ness.

What I learned about preaching:

I got some great insights at the Byberg Preaching Conference. Here are a few of my favorites.

* Hearers want to know if we have seen and know the Risen Christ? People must trust that you have experienced and articulated grace before they will ever accept law from you.

* Visitation is key to sermon preparation.

* Getting congregation involved in the sermon (some ideas): email questions about the texts to people on Monday and weave their questions/ideas into Sundays sermon; lay people pray with pastor before worship; lay people give feedback about sermon.

What I learned about my call:

I felt re-affirmed in my call to pastor, in part by the affirmations after the three sermons I preached while on sabbatical. I also felt re-affirmed in my call as a wife. I feel more and more called to love and partner with Erik as if its my job. Because it is. It gives new meaning to the pot roast I learned how to cook and the time I spent organizing and cleaning.

What I learned about church:

We may need to re-think what it means to be a member of a church. I thought a lot about what my friend Pastor Marty does when people join his church. He reminds them there are four things members promise: to worship regularly, to find their talent and use it at church, to pray for the church and leaders and to be faithful in financial giving. Would this work here? Or should we go the other direction and “de-centralize Central?”

From the vocation study last fall, I thought a lot about how we can practice being church wherever we go. I still don't know what we could do in worship that would help people see that they are the church in the world. One problem I see is that we don't always know what each other does in daily life, whether work, family duties or volunteering. How could we learn about each other?

One thing I'd like to do is visit people at their places of work. It could be a tour of their job-site, lunch in the cafeteria, or coffee nearby.

What I learned about welcome

One church I visited smothered me with so much welcome that I ran into the bathroom to hide. At another church, just a few people greeted me and that was much better. Every church I visited followed up with an email. Two churches gave me a “visitor welcome packet” that included helpful information and some goodies. One announced that any interested visitor could hang out under a certain banner for a “two minute conversation” after worship, where someone was waiting with a little gift bag. I liked this.

Many of the churches I visited use a projector during worship. Some project the entire service. One church had a play area for kids in the corner of the sanctuary.

What's next for us as Central?

Is it time to re-do our vision statement? Re-consider our role as a church in Fairview? The homeless project was very energizing. What does this say about us?

What about marketing? Could we re-do our logo? What about getting T-shirts?

Are we using social media in the best way we could?

How will we utilize the new projector that's set to be installed later this summer?

How are we doing at greeting visitors? Following up with those who've been absent?