Thanks to the generosity of a church family, my preschooler and I spent the night making pasta. Around 3:45 pm, I started the process of making dough by hand. After 35 minutes, I had the first inkling something wasn’t quite right. Nevertheless, I persisted. I wrapped the dough in plastic wrap to let it sit for half an hour. Then tried to roll it out. Way too tough. I started over again. This time with the standing mixer, again not quite sure this second batch would work either. It took more water and time to come together than the recipe called for yet I wasn’t ready to give up. Sit for 20 minutes. Said a prayer….it’s 5pm and the family has to eat. Cut into 4. There’s always peanut butter. Roll through the pasta maker. It actually worked! 

Christine and I faithfully rolled out sheet after sheet of pasta for an hour. Settings 0, 1, 2, 3….all the way to 9. We squealed with glee as we watched real linguine and spaghetti formed before our eyes. We proudly presented our meal to Justin. “Look what we made! With our own hands! Did you try the spaghetti AND the linguine?” Surely the shape makes it taste completely different. We did not sit down to eat dinner until 7pm–much later than I expected us to eat– but we were incredibly proud of what we created– no matter how long it took. Even if Christine fell asleep while eating it… 

From the internet and service industries to cars and dieting, our society expects fast speed results from everything. Yet we read in scripture about slow growth. The stories of our faith include stories of the mustard seed, the parable of the sower, vine and branches and fruit bearing trees. Wilderness journeys for 40 years and days fishing with no catch to bring home. None of these examples are things that grow fast or produce instant results. Perhaps that’s why we plant churches rather than manufacture them. Growth, whether that be in an individual or a community (as in a ministry or church), is not growth that typically happens overnight. 

It’s the result of faithful people who are willing to tend to the soil over time. Adjusting to the weather patterns and remaining sensitive to fluctuating needs. Sometimes it means watching what you thought would work die off and starting over again with new insight and direction. Sometimes it means being willing to stay working much longer than you expected. But once you begin to see results, it’s that much more rewarding. 

I’m wondering what slow work are you faithful to in this season? What do you hope to experience? What frustrations do you have? What have you learned and how are you pivoting? What joy would it give you to witness the fruits of your labor? Where might you ask God for help (wisdom, patience, others, etc.) and how can you give God the glory?

I often port my Echoes (of the Word) posts to my Facebook page, to reach folks outside of Pinnacle.  This is the first time I've gone the other way, taking something I posted on Facebook and porting it over to Echoes, so some of the good folks at Pinnacle who don't see my Facebook page might see the post.  This is a post I put on Facebook on October 19, twelve days after horrific attacks by Hamas on Israeli civilians and the beginning of Israel's bombardment of Gaza.  I had already sent a call to prayer to the congregation.  Some of what's here made it into a sermon I preached at Pinnacle.  Some is different.  I encourage you to seek comprehensive news, support relief work as you see fit, listen, learn, take responsible action as you feel moved, and most of all in this time, pray.

Friends, 
Many who read my very occasional posts may know about my long-standing and deep connections with, and feelings for, Israel/Palestine. Even with that, I've not posted anything since the beginning of the current Israel-Hamas war. Sometimes one is left silent, even when one doesn't want silence to be heard as indifference. I was actually set, with two colleagues I hold dear, to be leaving this coming week to lead a pilgrimage of 35 to the Holy Land. We were to spend most of our time visiting biblical sites, but we were also going to meet several Israelis and Palestinians working for peace—most of whom are my friends, colleagues, and teachers. We had to cancel the trip. But we continue to pray.

I could write a post filled with my own words, but my words mean little. I want, instead, to bring forward expressions of others who share from their own location a vision of God's beloved community. One of the first people I reached out to after October 7 was an Israeli rabbi who I've known for 40 years. We first met at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem and then found ourselves together in a peace studies program at what was then the Interfaith Academy of Peace at Tantur, near Bethlehem. He is Rabbi Jeremy Milgrom, now active in the Bedouin Project of Rabbis for Human Rights. I told a story about Rabbi Milgrom in one of my books. When I sent him a message, I asked him what a simple pastor can say to his flock at a time like this. He wrote back:

Love your neighbor as yourself, or more down to earth, that which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow human being (Hillel). It's so simple, the failure was so obvious for so long, and who cared? Tens of thousands have paid with their lives (2000 just this week); isn't that enough? 

I've heard similar thoughts from other Israelis and I've learned from their courage in calling for peace—outraged, grieving, fearful, and still committed to a just peace. 

A Palestinian colleague, Dr. Mitri Raheb, whose work promotes artistic expression as non-violent resistance, has taken his photo on Facebook black—finding no better way to express the un-expressible night the land he loves is passing through. Another Palestinian friend, Sami Awad, is sincerely and publicly sensitive to Jewish suffering while still clear about the injustices his own people experience under Israeli occupation. He has a commitment to non-violence, inspired by his faith. He posted this: 

I chose. I chose to stand against your hate and not hate you, to resist your persecution and not demean you, to overcome your oppression and not suppress you, to respond to your violence with nonviolence. I chose to speak loud and clear for freedom and life and not insult you. I chose love to be my motivation. This love is not some romanticized love that makes me submit to you and give you 'my all.' This love is not the love that justifies and excuses your actions. This love is my strength because it conquers my fear. Only in this love we can come together to break all systems of oppression and create the new.

Many individuals and groups are making statements. I'm reading a lot of them. I've made my own. I sent a Call to Prayer to my congregation. I guess expression is important in times like these, though we all know that decisions being made by people with power are outstripping and overwhelming statements right now. Silence and words mix together, even as none of us can keep up. Perhaps mercy can find its way through, here and there.

Among statements I've read, some of the most profound language (at least for me) I've found comes from a statement written by three American rabbis and a Palestinian attorney who are mutually committed to non-violent pursuit of justice and reconciliation. From what I can tell, the statement was simultaneously published by Tikkun, an American publication in the Jewish tradition, and Nonviolence International, an organization founded by Mubarak Awad, a Palestinian. Among the four listed authors, the names I know are Jonathan Kuttab and Rabbi Michael Lerner. Here is the language from that statement that I find so powerful: 

. . . As we watch the violent attacks and rallying of xenophobia on both sides, we are brokenhearted. Although it feels like a time to stand with “our people,” we know this is a time to come together. This is a time of great suffering for all; a time of painful emotions. It is only by recognizing our shared fears and our shared tears that we will find our way through this nightmare. It is a struggle we need to undertake jointly. 

When we fall back into our separate and distinct identities we risk becoming part of the problem, not the solution. Both peoples suffer from ongoing trauma. We are all on high alert. The fear is palpable. And it is easy for us to objectify the ‘other.’ 

We seek a third path that neither perpetuates a xenophobic response nor sustains an unjust status quo. This moment calls us to slow down, sit with the pain and complexity, and grapple with our discomfort. It is a moment for digging deep, seeing across differences, and remembering our deep yearning for peace and justice. It is only through compassion and empathy that we will find a different way. 

[Authored By Jonathan Kuttab, Palestinian Christian Theologian, Human Rights Lawyer; Cat Zavis, Jewish Civil/Women's Rights Lawyer, Mediator, and Rabbi; Michael Lerner, Rabbi and Editor of Tikkun magazine; Esther Azar, Arab Jewish Trauma Activist, and Rabbi]

When bombs are falling, people are tending the injured and burying the dead, families are being displaced and children traumatized, hostages being held, villages being attacked and land illegally taken, chaos reigning, and mourning texturing the days, it's hard to counsel slowing down, sitting with pain and complexity, grappling with discomfort and digging deep. But even while we call for (and pray for) immediate relief, we can still do that deeper work. I actually think we must—whether we're powerful or ordinary; whether we're American, Israeli, Palestinian, Christian, Jew, Muslim, or non-believer.

While traveling back and forth from Tucson this past week, I caught myself grumbling several times about the long and winding road that starts three-lanes, then two-lanes, then three-lanes again. The trek is not especially “easy” with strong winds whipping across your vehicle, drivers either going too fast or too slow, and construction detours both into Tucson and again in Phoenix. “Why can’t this road just be straight! And where is a commuter train that can do the journey for me!”, I softly scream in my head. 

In the world of geometry, the shortest distance between two points is an unassailable straight line. It's a fundamental concept, ingrained in our understanding of mathematics and navigation. However, in the road of life, the quickest path often deviates from this simplistic notion. This abstract explores the intricacies of why the shortest distance isn't always a straight line.

The real world is complex, full of obstacles, detours, and opportunities. As we navigate through it, we encounter challenges that can alter our journey. Sometimes, a seemingly circuitous route may lead to unexpected discoveries or personal growth. Life's twists and turns provide valuable experiences that we might not encounter on a direct path.

Emotions, human relationships, and personal goals further complicate the notion of a straight line. Often, our hearts and aspirations dictate the paths we follow. Decisions are influenced by desires, dreams, and external circumstances, leading us away from the shortest, most logical route.

Economically, too, we must consider trade-offs and constraints. Time, cost, and resources may lead us down a meandering path rather than a straight line, especially in industries like transportation and logistics, where efficiency is paramount.

The concept of the "butterfly effect" underscores the unpredictable nature of life's journey. Small actions can have substantial repercussions, making it impossible to predict the quickest path from the outset. In hindsight, a seemingly circuitous route may prove to be the most efficient after all.

So, while the straight line remains a fundamental geometric principle, this journey of life is far more intricate. Obstacles, emotions, personal goals, and unforeseen consequences make the quickest distance between two points often a winding, unpredictable route. Embracing this complexity can lead to a richer, more fulfilling journey through the ever-changing terrain of life.

Self-criticism, in small doses, can be a helpful tool. It can motivate us to improve ourselves, encourage introspection and acknowledgment of our role in a situation, enhance performance, help set goals, learn and grow from mistakes, and foster self-awareness. 

However, an unchecked inner critic can manifest itself in the most unsupportive and antisocial ways.

“I can’t do anything right!”
“I am so dumb!”
“I am always a mess!”
“Wow, that was so stupid what I just did!”

If we’ve been carrying around a negative inner critic for years, it can manifest itself in a number of ways: perfectionism, setting unrealistic standards for ourselves, constantly comparing ourselves to others, impostor syndrome, guilt, shame, overgeneralization, mind reading, catastrophizing, and many more. And while we might think, "Oh, that's somebody else’s problem and their private matter," unfortunately, that inner critic affects everyone around. 

The effects of a harsh inner critic are tangible. Low self-esteem, insecurity, difficulty in receiving feedback, avoidance, interpersonal conflicts, people-pleasing, difficulty in trusting others, problems with expressing oneself clearly, irritability, defensiveness, or even hostility. And while none of us is completely free of issues, challenges or traumas, these effects have a real impact on conversations, communication, collaboration and relationships with others. 

Our world is all about connection and we all have a deep need to foster mutual respect, appreciation and kindness. But finding that connection and kindness to others will not work well if we are not kind to ourselves in the first place. 

One of the tools to find kindness to ourselves is mindfulness - a buzzword of recent years. 

Mindfulness begins with self-awareness: a non-judgmental awareness of thoughts, feelings, and sensations. This awareness helps recognize moments of self-criticism, self-doubt, and negative self-talk, which affect how we act and interact with others. By observing these thoughts without judgment, we create a space for self-compassion to emerge. Kindness to oneself involves treating ourselves with the same warmth, care, and understanding that we would offer to a dear friend. It's about acknowledging our imperfections and accepting ourselves with all strengths and weaknesses.This heightened awareness enables us to observe our reactions and judgments when dealing with people, especially in challenging situations. 

By practicing mindfulness, we can interrupt knee-jerk reactions and respond to others with greater empathy and understanding. Instead of immediately assigning blame or harboring resentment, we can step back and consider the broader context and the individual's perspective. This thoughtful pause allows us to extend grace to others by offering forgiveness and understanding, even when they may have hurt or disappointed us. Giving grace is a powerful act of empathy that promotes healthier relationships, fosters conflict resolution, and contributes to a more compassionate and forgiving world.

Easy to say, harder to do. For the sake of creating healthier relationships and a better community, let’s see if, just for the sake of trying it out, you can find and name your own preferred mindfulness practice, and, if you haven’t yet, add it to your everyday routine for a few weeks. Some of the examples are: 

Mindful breathing
Mindful eating 
Mindful listening
Meditation
Walks
Yoga
Exercise 
Expressions of Creativity (playing a musical instrument, creating art, etc)
Daily Gratitude 

I am grateful for the fact I am alive, that I can breathe, that I have food to eat, that I have a safe place to live, that I live in a peaceful country, and that I am surrounded by those close to me who I know say the same gratitude prayer for me every night.

I recently returned from a family trip to New York City. It was my first time in the Big Apple. It was a blast! We did many of the touristy things one would expect. Being the government enthusiast I am, a tour of the UN building was at the top of my list of places to visit. Unfortunately, for me, the General Assembly was in session, so I’ll have to save that for next time.

One of the many highlights was our visit to Ellis Island. Inside the main building of the former immigration complex, the National Museum of Immigration brings to life the immigrant processing experience of the Island. More than 12 million immigrants arrived in the United States via Ellis Island. From the registry room to the medical examination rooms, the museum takes visitors on the processing journey, which for many immigrants lasted 3 to 5 hours.

In youth group we began a new devotional series by Fuller Youth Institute called, The Big Questions. We began the series by asking the question, “What does it mean to follow Jesus”? In a well-known story in Matthew, Chapter 4, Jesus calls out to Peter and Andrew saying “follow me, and I will make you fish for people. Immediately they left their nets and followed him”. Apparently, what Jesus said was enough for them to leave their nets and their identities to follow Him. At this moment though, even Peter and Andrew didn’t know what following Jesus looked like and where the journey would take them. They just said yes to following Jesus.

Walking through the halls of the main processing building on Ellis Island, I began to draw comparisons between the immigrants who entered that space and that of the feelings and emotions of Peter and Andrew in the story you just read. In both scenarios, no one knew exactly what lay ahead. In both scenarios, people left their careers and communities. In both scenarios, the unknown journey began one step at a time.