When one has gotten to the light at the end of what feels like a dark tunnel, and finds relief, or release, or recovery, or redemption, one can say "from darkness, light," or "from rain, sun," or "from the night, morning."  The more you experience light, sun, morning, the more you build muscles for hard times--trusting there will be a day after.  That's a truth of life, enhanced by faith in One who we trust will reassure us of this truth--and even push it along when possible.  For sometimes that trust doesn't come easily, and we do need a little help from others--and even more from God.  I love testimonies from folks who've seen that, and know that, and can humbly describe that--not as if they're somehow chosen for the light, but in awe that they experienced it and want to help others experience it too.  All good.

But I don't think we should affirm this sentiment too quickly.  For to claim that hope needs suffering and so in all suffering there we can expect relief risks turning our faces away from so many people in our world (and in our lives) for whom the depths become holes from which they never emerge, for whom suffering in this life is unbearable, whose losses can't be absorbed in sentimentality or wishful promises, who will never get home (in this life).  

I honestly believe that the faith of Jesus is faith less in a "next, after" than faith in an "in, through."  In fact, as much as I do want to live with the confident knowledge that there is goodness coming--and so not take the worries or fears of the moment so seriously--I want a more profound trust to come first.  I want a more profound trust to fill the stuff of who I am and to texture my sense of life.  I want a more profound trust to come from, and so shape, how I follow Jesus.  That trust is a hope that in the middle of darkness there is light, that sun and rain coexist without cancel, that night and morning are of one day.  By this I mean that we're not waiting, but sensing God--even as we experience God's absence.  And that is the hope that gives us courage for the day, willingness to be honest about what is (even about ourselves), ability to see even deeper into what's wrong because it can't finally destroy us, to live with complexity and nuance even while we follow a simple call to love, to let go of grudges so we can live free and strong, and to be confident that while life will never be perfect or whole this side of eternity it is never forsaken by God (in and through, not just next or after).  

But I must admit that while I've experienced this kind of trust tested, for sure, I've not experienced the very deepest or most tragic of tests (yet).  So I rely on testimonies of those who have, and who still claim truth, trust, realistic faith, and courage to love.  I rely on people who refuse to be enemies of those who see them as enemies, who refuse to give into despair when circumstances tell them they should, who refuse to say the endings we experience now are the endings of time--not because they assert themselves, but because they receive love from their Creator and let that make them. 

“Ensuring that every child feels a sense of security and belonging within the school enables each child to accept and participate actively in transforming situations that are part of learning experiences.” - Loris Malaguzzi, early childhood educator and founder of Reggio Emilia Approach

Identity has been a school wide focus this year across our classrooms. Studying identity strengthens the connection between home and school, values the child as an individual, and communicates a sense of belonging in the school community. As educators, we noticed that the child’s concept of self is interwoven with their relationships to loved ones and friends. Much of our initial study has been asking children to look closely at themselves or classmates and notice the unique features that make us each special. These conversations have also been supported by sharing aspects of ourselves that are not able to be seen that also make us special, such as values, characteristics, talents, and hobbies.

The Best Part of You, a beautifully illustrated book with black and white photographs, was read and students were asked: What is the best part of you?

“I like my feet, so that I can walk.” -Cameron, age 5
“My hands because I like coloring with them.” -Ava, age 4
“Mine is my ears. I like the curves and the bumps. I love hearing stuff, like ‘r-r-r-r-r’ (engine revving)!” -Nolan, age 5
“I like my hands so I can eat bananas.” -Kayn, age 4
“I love my hair because my sister did it.” -Millie, age 2
“I love my hair because I just love it.” -Luke, age 3
“My chin because I can do this (open and shuts mouth).” -Cristian, age 3
“I love my hand because of my bracelets.” -Stevie, age 2
“I love my elbow. I just love it because it swings.” -Finn, age 2

Children were given opportunities to represent their classmates through a variety of mediums including sand, clay, watercolor, tempera, loose parts, and photographs on the light table. We intentionally offer diverse materials, referred to as languages in the Reggio Emilia Approach, to allow children ample time to explore the concepts and also an opportunity to gravitate towards the form of expression most meaningful to them. 

“I love playing with Ava in the playground, scaring the boys.” -Emerson, age 5
“I drew Jackson. He plays with me. I will call Jackson to see.” -Landon, age 5
“Landon, that looks like me. I will draw you with curly hair.” -Jackson, age 5
“Gavin is a really good friend. I love playing with Gavin.” -Piper, age 5

Through this study of identity, children interweave who they are as individuals with who they are in context to others: family, loved ones, teachers, and friends. They are given an opportunity to consider what makes them special and to communicate, express, and celebrate those strengths and unique gifts. Most importantly, children are offered a sense of belonging through a message of love, acceptance, and respect.

God provides beautiful transitions in nature that signify changes in season and serve as a quiet cue that the holidays are coming. Every year, as a child growing up in the Northeast, especially in the fall, I felt myself drawn to nature and its visible changes. God’s majesty and the richness of his creativity shone through in the way the hills looked like they were on fire with the brilliant golds, oranges and reds that shined brightly and fizzled quickly. It was like a masterful painting on display for a limited time. The crispness of the air, the trees full of ruby red apples, and pumpkins for pie all breathed notes of God’s blessings. I am so thankful God created such a beautiful and lively world all around us. 

What would begin as a walk around the block would often end with delight and a treasure trove of goodies I found along my way. I’d bring home pockets, bags, and armfuls of brightly colored leaves, pointy pine cones, gnarly bare branches, birch bark from the ground, and smooth shiny acorns. If I got really lucky I’d find bittersweet vines, fragrant juniper branches, and Chinese lantern flowers to dry. I’d spend my Saturdays making gifts, wreaths, and decorations from these goodies. I would feel the anticipation growing that the holidays were really close now. I was devoted to making our home feel as festively decorated as I possibly could, so that when people came by they would feel the holiday spirit too! 

It’s intriguing to me as my mindset has slowly changed over the years, while I still enjoy and find value in decorating and preparing for the upcoming holidays. God has shifted my focus  to how precious the time to gather together is. The memories I hold most dearly are not those of the evergreen tablescapes and paint dipped pine cone placeholders, but are of everyone sitting at the table together laughing and talking, of my father and uncle playing their guitars after dinner, and of my cousins and I excitedly making our own costumes from blankets and bathrobes and quickly writing holiday skits to perform. 

At this time of year, opportunities abound to make new friends, reconnect with old ones, and create lasting holiday memories together. We also seem to be at such an interesting point in time where people are coming together to rebuild their social communities and seek out fellowship with one another. God has blessed us with a special time to invite others in and gather together with thankfulness this holiday season.

What does community mean to you? If you’re like me, you know that community – and belonging to a community or communities – is important to you. In fact, simply by nature of you reading this blog, there’s a good chance that you either feel part of the Pinnacle Presbyterian Church community, or you are connected to someone – through some other community, perhaps – who is. Our communities within the church can be large (the whole community of Christian believers) and small (a local congregation) and smaller still (a small group or fellowship group). The human need for interaction, connection, and belonging is a catalyst for our engagement with communities.

So, then, how does community form and how do we find community? These are large questions that have been studied throughout history and I won’t try and answer them now. Instead, I’d like to offer one practice at Pinnacle, and at many other churches, that we’re already doing every Sunday. Each Sunday, after we have corporately and individually confessed our sins and been assured of God’s forgiving love and grace, we take a moment to “pass the peace of Christ” to our neighbors. 

This practice takes many different forms in as many different gatherings of congregations. In some smaller communities, the passing of the peace involves engaging every other worshipper and can last for several minutes. In other churches, the process is over before you’ve had a chance to greet the person to your left and to your right. I wonder if you’ve ever thought much about this practice and, specifically, the connection to peace, and not only as a time of greeting.

We don’t have to look very far to see the need for peace in our individual lives, in our community, and, of course in the world. Humanity has always needed this peace that comes from God. I have been spending time preparing for an Advent class on Mary and I’ve been thinking a lot about her circumstances. Several years ago I was teaching a confirmation class, and after recounting to the students about Mary’s finding out from the angel Gabriel that she was pregnant, and telling them that Mary was about their age, I asked them whether they would expect that Mary would be at peace. One student captured the advent paradox by saying that Mary would likely be experiencing the opposite of peace. And, yet, the beauty of the incarnation and of Mary’s willingness to be the God-bearer, is that God is able to bring Mary to a place of peace and adoration of the God who will show love to the world in the form of the baby Jesus. The transforming power of God is vividly present in the story of Mary’s life.

And the transforming power of God is also present in our worship together. When we connect with one another in our pews, we are coming together as a community, bound in the Holy Spirit and called to be the family of God, united in worship. This is our calling as Christ’s disciples, and it all begins with showing up to worship and being ready to connect with others and with God. The passing of the peace is not merely a Sunday greeting, but rather it is an opportunity to be a part of building community that is centered on the transforming power of God’s love. We practice peace so that we can go into the world and be bearers of God’s peace in a world so very much in need of it.

This past weekend I had the opportunity to preach at the installation service of a recent Princeton Seminary graduate, James Klotz, at First Presbyterian Church in Farmington, New Mexico. I met James in January of 2020 when a group of students from Princeton Seminary came to Pinnacle both to perform as a choir, under the direction of Dr. Martin Tel, and to study the Book of Acts with their professor, Dr. Eric Barreto. At that time James was a doctoral student in Hebrew Bible, focusing his dissertation on the 35th chapter of Isaiah, which begins: 

“The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus 2 it shall blossom abundantly
and rejoice with joy and shouting.”

James fell in love with Pinnacle Church because we fit so well with the themes he was exploring: the Word of God erupting in a desert place, like miraculously healing streams of water in the desert. James was quite taken with our decor, the cross growing out of the ironwood stump, and the words of Isaiah etched into the glass of our sanctuary doors.

Having been a doctoral student at Princeton Seminary myself, I found an affinity with James. We kept in touch over the last few years, through the pandemic years to this day. I was surprised to receive an email from James on October 10, asking if I’d consider coming to preach at his installation service. Since the Fran Park Center’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land was at that point sure to be canceled, I said, “Yes, I’d love to come preach!” 

Knowing that James’ work focused on the image of “streams in the desert,” and that he wrote a dissertation on Isaiah, I chose to preach from Psalm 23 instead. (He is bound to know far more about Isaiah than I!) And, I chose a passage from Revelation 7 that goes,

 “The Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

I was only able to get started on the sermon before having to drive to New Mexico. I chose to travel north through Flagstaff and onto the Navajo Tribal Lands, to Monument Valley. Along the way I stopped to visit a friend from my days with the Phoenix Symphony Chorus, who is Navajo and lives in the small town of Shonto, close to Kayenta. Life in that area, as on most of the reservation, is economically depressed, and my friend, Rodale, runs a small laundromat and convenience store…at the bottom of a canyon, seemingly far away from the outside world. One of the services that his laundromat offers is the opportunity for people to take showers. Most of the homes in that area do not have running water, and so, for $4 they can drive to the laundromat and while they’re doing their laundry take a shower. Water is precious in the desert, not only for life itself, but for essentials like bathing and cleaning. It’s no wonder that water shows up in God-like ways throughout the Bible. Songs of renewal in Isaiah are based in the phenomenon of water “springing up” in the desert. The psalmist sings of God restoring the soul next to streams of living water. The baptizer John called for the renewal of body, mind, and spirit through a cleansing bath. Jesus speaks of himself as “Living Water” to the Samaritan woman at the well. And John the Revealer, speaks of the water flowing from the throne of the Lamb and God that is cleansing and salvation of God’s people. 

Driving across the high plateaus of northern Arizona gave me a lot of fodder for preaching about God’s redemptive love blessing God’s people, like a summer rain in the high desert, renewing the ground, sustaining a people. The sermon fit well in the midst of an installation service. James is a relatively new pastor, and this is his first “call.” He will need a lot of Living Water to help his congregation, through the power of the Spirit, to bring renewal to that Presbyterian Church in the desert. It was a privilege to see how the congregation of First Presbyterian Church, Farmington is recommitting to their ministry and mission. May we ever be mindful how the Spirit of God will bless our own congregation, as we each day recommit to the mission of God’s Spirit, in the high desert, as we pray for our Presbyterian Churches throughout the desert, especially those on the Navajo Tribal Lands.