What do we think we are doing as pastors when we stand before a congregation at the end of a worship service and pronounce a benediction?

What do we think is being done to us when someone stands at the front at the end of a worship service and pronounces a benediction?

Is it a pious habit? A signal for people to leave? A formal spiritual cheerio? A liturgical redundancy? Or an essential act of pastoral care?

Here's what I think is happening pastorally, and to those who receive one.

A benediction is a saying of good, quite literally. Good words said to make good things happen. Bene dictum.

A benediction is a blessing, an invocation to the God of grace to go with us wherever we go, to grace us with His presence. 

A benediction is meant to make us feel good (blessed), and do good (be a blessing).

A benediction is indeed an ending of worship, but it is also a beginning, a new commissioning to service —every time, each week.

A benediction is therefore a call to love one another, love our neighbor, and love God, just as we promised we would in the worship service we are leaving.

A benediction is a reiteration of Jesus' promise to be with us, wherever and whenever, and therefore a reminder that we never walk alone. 

A benediction is like the best ways of ending a letter or email, 'kind regards', 'with warm good wishes."

All of these help explain what is being done by us and for us when a benediction is said. Who wouldn't be helped to face whatever the week brings by words like these said over our heads?

Go forth into the world in peace;
be of good courage;
hold fast that which is good;
render to no one evil for evil;
strengthen the fainthearted;
support the weak;
help the afflicted;
honor everyone;
love and serve the Lord,                                                 
rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit;
and the blessing of God Almighty,
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,
be amongst us and remain with us always.

Amen.

Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation

“The universe will not applaud you
for astonishing accomplishments.
Angels won't go around talking about you
for your notable achievements.
God doesn't care if you succeed.
What gives the Beloved joy
is that—even in your limited circumstances,
with only the gifts the Spirit gives you,
without notice, reward or acclaim—
you act justly, love mercifully,
and walk humbly with God.
That really is all God asks.
That is enough to give God deep joy,
deep joy.”

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation

The traditional name for Morning Prayer is Lauds, a chorus of praise. Every day is a new start, venturing forth into a world lit up by the grace of its Creator. But I’ve been trying something different these past few months. Listening to the news. To the groans and howls of a world in pain.

About a dozen years ago a director on a retreat suggested praying with the news. “Oh, no, I never pay attention to the news while I’m on retreat.” “Well,” she replied, “Maybe you’d read the news differently on retreat?” I still steadfastly avoided browsing the NY Times sitting on a table in the hallway. But she was right.

Perhaps Morning Prayer is a concrete time to reflect on the phrase “thoughts and prayers”, often said after a tragic and incomprehensible event is in the news (Too often). What kinds of thoughts and prayers do we bring to God about the news?

This week I wrestled to the news of three mass shootings in California in a 36-hour period. I wanted to look away, to pull up psalms of joy. But, instead, I sat with the reality of a fallen world, to which I have contributed. And wept for those who died in my state these past few days. Lamentations instead of Lauds remind me to be persistent in praying for an end to the violence and equally persistent in doing the work for justice this demands. It reminds me, too, to examine my conscience to see where I am complicit in the culture that fosters such disregard for human life. To start the day determined to work for the Gospel—for peace, mercy and justice for all. None of us wants our thoughts and prayers to be inert and anemic. We pray rooted in the knowledge that God will topple all foes, through us, with us, among us. 

My prayers of lament gave way to praise that the Kingdom fully realized will beat all swords into plowshares and establish unbreakable shalom among the Beloved Community. Amen. 
 
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation

As we move into the spiritual “second half of life” we may find a growing longing to slow down a bit, to be less hurried. This is not true for everyone—and our hurried world pushes against this mature desire—but slowness seems to be a quality of God’s kingdom.

As a spiritual director accompanying people who are longing to find purpose and grow into their truest selves, I’ve found that many—naturally—want to get to their imagined end quickly. Some may be less willing to allow things to unfold in due time. The evil spirit, it seems to me, works with undue urgency. God, on the other hand, works slowly. We need to find a balance between hesitation and haste. There is indeed an urgency to the work of God, but salvation history shows that this work unfolds in due time. As Paul wrote to the Galatians, God sent Jesus, “when the fullness of time had come”.

Jesus’ ministry was inefficient. It didn’t begin until 30 years after he was born. 30 years! And the average life expectancy back then was probably around age 40. He ministered for just three years and his travels were confined to the small land of Israel. It wasn’t until after his resurrection and Paul’s travels when evangelization was more widespread. And, of course, when Constantine made Christianity the official religion, that changed things. Jesus obviously never set out to create a new religion but to witness to a way of life that was kingdom-focused and centered on the love of God and neighbor. He wasn’t about efficient or effective “religious conversion”. He didn’t heal everyone. He was about real conversion of heart, which takes time and relationship-building.

Remember, the stuff Jesus preached about the kingdom of God didn’t seem to make sense: The kingdom is like a small seed that takes time to grow. It’s like the slow process of the yeast making the dough rise. God is inefficient like a shepherd who leaves his 99 sheep in search of one or like a woman who turns her house upside down just to find a missing coin.

We’re not called to be unhurried only on retreats or on a sabbath day; we’re called to live this in all parts of our lives. God’s kingdom-like living is not just in such “thin spaces” but can be experienced at home, at work, and in our everyday lives. If we truly want it, we can make it happen. It comes through more of a spiritual mindset than making drastic external changes. Drive slower, walk slower, speak slower, look others in the eye, listen more deeply, stop multi-tasking, say no to things, create boundaries, live more simply… You can do all these things even if you work multiple jobs or have multiple kids or work in corporate finance!

How are you being invited to be a little less hurried and a little less efficient?

 Grace and peace,

Anita Sorenson

Pastor for Spiritual Formation

Why do we take the photos we do?

So much of what we see is accidental; it's a matter of when and where we are, whether we look closely enough, and how much attention we pay. 

After heavy rain, walking to the car, I notice one leaf, sprinkled with rainfall, framed against worn asphalt, one of thousands within eyesight scattered along the street, discarded by trees now preparing for winter. 

This particular leaf is worn and torn, even the water drops have black specks which nature has not photoshopped out, and neither will I. This photo was an accident of timing, the result of momentary paying attention, pushed further I might say a moment of epiphany, seeing both what is there, and what it signifies. 

Such accidents of timing, moments of attention and gifts of epiphany I choose to believe are the attention-getting whistles of the Holy Spirit, waking us up to the world around us.

And, therefore, this photo is a sacrament of a particular moment, a reminder of how the gift of wonder and wondering ambushes us and jerks us out of our shoulder shrugging complacency about the miracle of the ordinary and the invasion of the everyday by the extraordinary.     

 Grace and peace,

Anita Sorenson

Pastor for Spiritual Formation

Epiphany

On Epiphany day,
     we are still the people walking.
     We are still people in the dark,
          and the darkness looms large around us,
          beset as we are by fear,
                                        anxiety,
                                        brutality,
                                        violence,
                                        loss —
          a dozen alienations that we cannot manage.
We are — we could be — people of your light.
     So we pray for the light of your glorious presence
          as we wait for your appearing;
     we pray for the light of your wondrous grace
          as we exhaust our coping capacity;
     we pray for your gift of newness that
          will override our weariness;
     we pray that we may see and know and hear and trust
          in your good rule.
That we may have energy, courage, and freedom to enact
         your rule through the demands of this day.
         We submit our day to you and to your rule, with deep joy and high hope.
 
Walter Brueggemann 
 
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation

Advent Hands

I see the hands of Joseph. 
Back and forth along bare wood they move.
There is worry in those working hands, 
sorting out confusing thoughts with every stroke.
“How can this be, my beautiful Mary now with child?”  
Rough with deep splinters, these hands, 
small, painful splinters like tiny crosses 
embedded deeply in this choice to stay with her. 
He could have closed his hands to her, 
said, “No” and let her go to stoning.
But, dear Joseph opened both his heart and hands
to this mother and her child.
Preparing in these days before 
with working hands 
and wood pressed tight between them.
It is these rough hands that will open
and be the first to hold the Child.

I see the hands of John,
worn from desert raging storms
and plucking locusts from sand ripped rocks 
beneath the remnant of a Bethlehem star.
A howling wind like some lost wolf 
cries out beneath the moon,
or was that John? 
This loneliness, 
enough to make a grown man mad.
He’s waiting for this, God’s whisper. 
“Go now. He is coming. 
You have prepared your hands enough. 
Go. He needs your servant hands, 
your cupping hands to lift the water, 
and place his feet upon the path to service and to death.
Go now, John, and open your hands to him.
It is time.”

I see a fist held tight and fingers blanched to white.
Prying is no easy task.
These fingers find a way of pulling back to old positions,
protecting all that was and is. 
Blanched to white. No openness. All fright.
But then the Spirit comes.
A holy Christmas dance begins
and blows between the twisted paths.
This fist opens
slowly,
gently,
beautifully,
the twisted fingers letting go.
Their rock-solid place in line has eased.
And one by one the fingers lift
True color is returned 
And through the deepest of mysteries,
The holiest of holies,
O longing of longings
Beyond all human imagining 
this fist,
as if awakened from Lazarus’ cold stone dream
reaches out to hold the tiny newborn hand of God.

Catherine Alder
 
Grace and peace,

Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation

A Blessing For After

This blessing
is for the moment
after clarity has come,
after inspiration,
after you have agreed
to what seems
impossible.

This blessing
is what follows
after illumination departs
and you realize
there is no map
for the path
you have chosen,
no one to serve
as guide,
nothing to do
but gather up
your gumption
and set out.

This blessing
will go with you.
It carries no answers,
no charts,
no plans.

It carries no source
of light
within itself.

But in its pocket
is tucked a mirror
that, from time to time,
it will hold up to you

to remind you
of the radiance
that came
when you gave
your awful and wondrous
yes.

by Jan Richardson

Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation

Mary Speaks

O you who bear the the pain of the whole earth,
I bore you.
O you whose tears give human tears their worth,
I laughed with you.
You, who, when your hem is touched, give power,
I nourished you.
O you who hold the world in your embrace, 
I carried you.
O you who laughed and ate and walked the shore,
I played with you.
And I, who with all others, you died for,
now I hold you.

Madeleine L'Engle

Mary and her experience is the focus of this week's Advent sermon from Pastor Steve. 

When Mary says let it be to the archangel, it is an act of radical surrender. She offers her yes not with the meek passivity that history has so often ascribed to her; this kind of surrender is born not of weakness but of a daring strength within her and a stunning grace that shows up to sustain her. Mary’s surrender is deliberate, the choice of a woman ready to give herself to the sacred with such abandon that she agrees, with intention, to give up every last plan she had for her life.

Mary’s audacious yes propels her onto a dark way. She sets out on a path almost completely devoid of signposts or trails left by others; she chooses a road utterly unlike any she had ever imagined for herself. What must it have been like to walk a way she could hardly perceive, while carrying within herself—in her heart and womb and bones—a light unlike any the world had ever seen?

Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation

Advent is upon us this weekend, the four weeks of waiting for the arrival of the Messiah of whom the Hebrew prophets spoke. With Isaiah and the great company of the Hebrew prophets we wait for the one who will bruise the serpent's head. We wait for Immanuel—the one who is God with us.

During Advent we also visit the New Testament stories that preceded the birth in Bethlehem—stories like Zechariah and Gabriel in the temple, the meeting of Mary and Elizabeth, the Annunciation, the Magnificat and the birth of John the Baptist. All of these stories set the stage for Christmas to arrive with full force.

Then we have twelve days of the Christmas feast to meditate on all of the marvelous stories surrounding the birth of Jesus that help us explore the meaning of the Incarnation. And after those days have run their course, we arrive at Epiphany where we celebrate and contemplate the revelation of Christ to the Gentiles, as the Magi come with their gifts to pay homage to the child born King of the Jews. Brian Zahnd says, "It's a journey out of secular banality and into the sacred mystery of the Incarnation" and "the aim of Advent is to instill a quiet slowness into our souls."

Let's try to feel Israel's centuries-long wait for the promised Messiah. Let the anticipation build. And when Christmas arrives, don't pack it away too quickly. Savor the impact of this marvelous coming of God in Christ. Then rejoice that the good news has come for all people, everywhere!

Grace and peace,

Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation