February 3, 2023

Being in COVID isolation for the last 14 days has meant I have been back to connecting via Zoom meetings and my lingering cough has mean more email communication than phone calls. The switch was smooth in terms of logistics, but it sent me back in memory to nearly three years ago when we all needed to learn the new term "social distancing". Not a place we'd like to be again.

I missed seeing all of you on Sundays. I missed Bible Study. I missed working with Kathy, and missed the surprise drop-ins from various community members when working in my office at church. I missed getting together in person to do Lenten and Holy Week planning. I missed eating dinners with my family, as not all of us were COVID positive and we, too, needed to keep distances. And, beloveds, I went two weeks without any Target or Aldi runs! 

What I missed in personal connections, I tried to make up for in more time to plan, prepare, and pray about all that is to come. As your new Vestry prepares to gather in retreat to do some visioning for Saint Anne's, I had time to reflect on who we are and who we are called to be. As Lenten plans came together, I had time to pray for each of you - for your sprits to be filled with the wonder that can come from 40 days set aside as "desert time". As Solar plans become more focused, I've rejoiced in all the ways humans create and invent and imagine better ways. As we enter Black History Month, and we all grapple with the details of the murder of Tyre Nichols, I've prayed for deep changes for our communities, our country, our world. 

More than anything though, and frustrating as it's been, I've spent the last 14 days feeling grateful. Grateful for all the check ins and offers to help. Grateful to have come out on the other side; I carry in my heart those who have not, especially in our Saint Anne's family and extended family. Grateful to have a community I miss when I'm away. Grateful for all that is and all that will be. Grateful for so many opportunities to say, once again, thanks be to God. For all of it.

My prayer for you this week is that you, too, have reasons to look both inward and outward and offer that simple prayer: thanks be to God.  

January 27, 2023

If you were in church last week you are already aware, for those who were not, I'll share in this space that after nearly three years of dodging it, I finally came down with COVID. As of this writing, I am still testing positive, but I am doing well and hoping for that negative test and a return to regular life ASAP! A huge thank you to the Rev. Joanie Delamater who so graciously stepped in at the last minute, to Tony, Naomi, and RaeKell, for carrying on as usual, and to our Verger and Acolyte team. Thank you to Kathy for holding things together at church this week. 

Thank you to Andy and Jon for their set up for the Annual Meeting, and for Joan and Dennis for running it. Thank you to Sandy and Nancy for their presentations and to Jeff for presenting the Financials - and for all he does. And thank you to everyone who has checked in, offered to bring food, and kept me in your prayers. I am blessed by your care, and grateful.

One of my deep sadnesses about missing the Annual Meeting was not being able to publicly thank those who stepped down from leadership last week as a new Vestry was voted in. For privacy purposes, I won't use surnames here, but I do not want to miss the chance to publicly thank:

Andy. Andy served his three-year term on Vestry as our IT Liaison, stepping in just as we were beginning to dip our toes into live streaming. His wisdom, expertise, and the calm and clear manner in which he approaches every discussion were so valued. His creativity and ability to see things in new ways often brought solutions to issues on the table. Andy is a true leader and I am grateful he chose to share his leadership with Saint Anne's.

Audrey. Audrey has served as Clerk of Vestry for the last I-don't-know-how-many years. Her faithful presence at each month's meeting was steady and true, and I have absolutely no idea how she always managed to take a full and lively discussion or debate on any given topic, and record it into orderly and organized form. A true skill! Audrey is now moving into a Liaison role on the Vestry, so we will not need to say goodbye, but I did want to say thank you for all of the years of Clerking, Audrey. 

Emilie. Emilie served her three-year term on Vestry as our Worship Committee Liaison. She lead monthly Worship meetings with grace, collaboration, and always a warm welcome to new voices. She was also a member of the COVID-Action Team, and her insights into best practices and how to combine that with worship were guidance both teams relied on heavily. (And thank you for stepping up to serve next as Warden, Emilie!!)

Nancy. Nancy stepped into another round of leadership on Vestry as the one-year-term Beautification Liaison...three years ago. Generously agreeing to re-election for two additional years was such a gift. Nancy's eye for detail, her experience in project management, her knack for coming up with manageable solutions for any hurdle, and her willingness to offer her time and energy are huge gifts she shares freely. Thank you, Nancy!

Joan. Joan stepped into leadership as a Warden mid-COVID. That alone deserves a round of applause! But that is just who Joan is. If something needs to be done, she does it, and she isn't afraid to step into the muck of it all. Muck or not, though, over the course of the last two years, Joan and I have spent much of our time together laughing, because Joan is also a person who approaches everything as an adventure, and her "Why not" attitude is contagious. Getting to know Joan as I have over the last few years has been a true joy and watching her put faithfulness to our mission as people of God always front and center has been an inspiration. Joan, I am glad you'll be able to set down some of the responsibility you've carried - and I will miss you.

There are always so many people to thank in our community. We are blessed with so many who do so much and share so freely of their gifts. But the Vestry members stepping off this year were true rocks and anchors for Saint Anne's, and for me, during a time when nothing felt very grounded or certain. My gratitude runs deep.

January 20, 2023

Every year I write a Priest's Report for the Annual Report, which is presented at the Annual Meeting. Here is my submission for this year's report, summarizing Saint Anne's in 2022.

_____________________________________________ 

I long to see you so that...you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith. (Romans 1:11)
 
I remember clearly the first Sunday in 2022 that we could be together for services in person after yet another long span of time of worshiping virtually. Tony and I standing in the office looking out the windows, watching cars pulling into the parking lot and saying “Here they come!” The excitement of children bursting through doors, familiar faces saying, “Good morning! Good morning!”, and welcoming new faces as well. And then there was the flurry of how do we do this again?? The kids have grown, do we still have acolyte robes of the right size? Where are the Sunday morning leadership blocks? Do I have time to grab new batteries for my mic while Tony is playing the prelude? Where is the camera located, so I can greet those joining virtually. Where is the hand sanitizer?!!

In many ways, 2022 was a year of starting over. It has been joyful to be together, and it has been an opportunity to take stock of who and where we are; who and where we want to be. What old traditions still have meaning and joy? What old traditions is it time to let go? What systems are working for us and what systems do we need to tweak? What new needs have come up in our community and wider neighborhoods and how can we serve those new needs?

This was the year we welcomed Naomi Karstad as Choir Director, joining Tony in offering beautiful ways to worship through music, and the year RaeKell Lambert stepped in, first as Interim Children’s Director and now as the “Hey, this is working out really well, let’s keep going a bit!” Children’s Director. This was the year Wendy, Gordon, and Hadley went on to greater glory and our hearts broke. The year we baptized three new Episcopalians and welcomed newborn Estella Joy. We celebrated The Rev. Gwen Powell’s ordination and welcomed Luis Ottley as a priest intern.

This was the year we wrestled with the budget and turned down the heat just one more degree and built both a livestream booth and a healing prayers station in the sanctuary. This was the year we resumed coffee hours and adult education and Eucharistic visiting. We made steps toward installing solar panels at Saint Anne’s. We bonfired!

This was the year we got back, not to “normal”, but to the extraordinary gift of being together.

2022 highlighted that life is better in community. Through the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows, the endings and new beginnings. To come together to be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith is nothing short of a gift. What an honor it is to be encouraged by your faith, your joys, your struggles, your love, your lives. What an honor to be your priest. Thanks be to God.

January 6, 2023

Follow that star!

Where will it lead? Who's to say. Will the directions be clear? Not really. Are we sure it's safe? It is most definitely not "safe".

Follow that star!

I've been known to say this often, about whatever season we're entering, so feel free to laugh at...er... with me, but I think the Season of Epiphany might be my favorite. As the rest of the world has put everything related to all of the sacred holidays of this time on 90% clearance and moved on, we in the church are just beginning. During Epiphany, we remember that this is the start of our journey, not the end. We remember we are always being called closer to our great story; always being beckoned to that manger and everything it tells us about how to experience God here and now. And we're reminded that this great love story with God isn't just about us: all of creation, even the stars in the sky, are in it together! 

We don't know, exactly, what it will mean to draw ever closer to the light of Christ. We don't know what changes it will bring to continually try to step further toward it. Will it be challenging? Will we need to sacrifice? Quite likely. Will it change us? It should. And will it continue to shine brightly to guide our steps? It will, it will, it will. 

We'll celebrate Epiphany together at Saint Anne's tonight, January 6th, at 6:30 PM, by taking down the Christmas greens and then creating our own great light with a bonfire. We'll celebrate with Epiphany liturgies at 8:30 and 10:30 AM on Sunday. And please see below for a few ways to celebrate Epiphany at home, including the ancient ritual of chalking the door and inviting the blessings of this season into our homes at all times of year.

Follow that star!

December 23, 2022

This photo of the Saint Anne's kids at the Christmas pageant last week has become my new favorite:

Each time I look at this photo, I notice something new. Every single person in this photo is doing something different: looking their own direction, focused on their own role or daydreaming, or playing peek-a-boo with Baby Jesus. There's a giraffe in the scene, for unknown reasons (it remained there for the entire service), off-scene we have our director trying to coordinate sheep, and our musicians coordinating lyrics. There would be two more shepherds who would join the scene later, jumping right in as if they were born for the role, and there's a star shining above it all.

A beautiful, holy, chaos. Holy, joy-filled, chaos. Could the very first Christmas night have been much different?!

May your Christmas be full of holy chaos as well. May you try to get Baby Jesus' to smile, may you get lost in your own thoughts, may unexpected animal friends show up sometimes to keep you company. May music be playing in your background. May you see something new every time you look out into the world - may you see God anew, everywhere you look.

December 16, 2022

I have been unreasonably crabby and impatient as I go about my days lately. I have been joyful and excited about the Christmas Pageant and Solstice Service, and the return of my daughter from college, and I've been marveling at the beauty of snowfall. I've also been missing the sunshine, missing my Grandma, annoyed at slogging through mushy parking lots as I run errands, feeling weary from the rush-rush-rush of the days tumbling over one another, uninspired about Christmas presents, and every time I get a free minute, I'm turning my house inside out trying to find the (missing) baby Jesus from the creche my parents brought me from Jerusalem years ago.

Hrumph.

In trying to shake the Grinch loose, I reprogrammed all my XM radio presets to Christmas stations, and was immediately treated to my all-time favorite Christmas hymn: O Holy Night. I took the entire 5 minutes of the song to sit in my car in the church parking lot and let its peace soak into my soul. When I mentioned to a friend how grounded I felt after hearing the song, she directed me to a recent and beautiful article by Lutheran pastor Nadia Botz-Weber, about O Holy Night. Here is an excerpt:
 

     So fall on your knees.

     Fall on your knees before a God who Mary bore into this       
     world as delicate unprotected, unarmed, defenseless, lowly     
     flesh. Fall on your knees before the one who loves without
     caution, without measure, without concern for pre-existing
     conditions. Fall on your knees before a God in whose grace
     you can relax and try less hard and know that your flawed,
     imperfect, lumpy self is so totally loved and worthy to be loved.

     And in this season of over consumption and unmet
     expectations - in this season of family obligations and “I should
     feel happier than I do” or “I’m deeply happy and don’t feel like I
     can share that since so many people are miserable” in this
     season of loneliness and warmth and cookies and toxic
     nostalgia and having way too many people around, in this
     season of the very longest nights - may your soul feel its
     worth.

     And when the regret and grief about your errors creeps in, be
     gentle and maybe just congratulate yourself for being
     someone in whom God’s grace is at work. 

  
Now, I don't know exactly how to shake my current crabbiness entirely (never mind finding baby Jesus!), but I do know how to fall to my knees. So I'll keep doing that, and will do my best to remember that my flawed, imperfect self is still worthy. My prayer for you this week is that you feel the same - hopefully without as much slog to get there. But any way you arrive, on this Fourth Sunday of Advent, may your soul feel its worth. 

December 9, 2022

One of our readings for this coming Sunday is from Isaiah. It's a beautiful passage, describing in joy-full terms what it will look (and feel and sound) like here on Earth when the kingdom of God reigns. When Love is finally at the center of all we do, Peace falls like rain, and Joy blooms like spring fields. There is a line in the Psalm about this beautiful, vibrant, new world that has captured my imagination all week: 

A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way

I'm not sure what it is about that imagery - maybe the part of me that loves road trips -  but it draws me in and thrills me. So open and wild and free. An adventure! At the same time, so welcoming, sure, and delightful. A comfortably familiar passage. A road where the final destination remains the same, but the journey itself is a winding, sacred path, leading in and out, up and down, here and there. Surprises around every corner, brining you to a place you've always known.

Wherever this highway is, count me in.  Wanna come?

December 2, 2022

Dear Ones,

Several years ago, about this time of year, I was driving in my car when inspiration struck for THE Christmas Eve Sermon I just knew I had to preach. Since I was not able to stop and write down my (brilliant!) thoughts, I decided to text myself via voice text. "Hey Siri! Text me!", I called out. "What do you want to text to Me?", Siri replied. I began sharing my (brilliant!) thoughts on THE Christmas Eve Sermon I just knew I had to preach. I talked to Siri, texting myself, for a solid three minutes.

My (brilliant!) pondering was around the idea that we are each Mary, in the Christmas story. "YOU are Mary!", I voice-texted. "YOU are at the center of something new about to be born. YOU are giving birth to the Christ Child."

I went on. And on. Getting all of my thoughts out before I lost them. Yes, this would be THE Christmas Eve sermon; the one to inspire people everywhere. About 15 minutes later, having arrived at my destination, I received a new text alert. I thought it would be the marathon text I just sent to myself. It was not. It was one simple sentence in response to my marathon text from a few minutes earlier:

I think you have the wrong number.

I have no idea who I texted that day. All I know is some poor unsuspecting soul was just going about their day when suddenly they received the longest text in the world, proclaiming "YOU are giving birth to the Christ Child!" I am so sorry, poor, unsuspecting stranger.

I did not, as it turned out, preach THE Christmas Eve sermon that year. I couldn't do it without laughing. But this Advent, I bring the question to you. Perhaps we are not all Mary. But we are with her, every year at this time. Preparing, waiting, for new Light and new Hope to be born once again into a tired and hurting world. What role do you play this year, in ushering in all that can be? What is your role in the kingdom of God, waiting to be born? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to text me. ;)

November 18, 2022

When I walked into the Sanctuary last Sunday morning before the 8:30 service, the Altar Guild team was already there. As I entered, they called out, "Nothing to see here!" and "Don't worry, it's all under control!" Then one of the team walked by with a bucket. I had no idea what was going on, but their laughter was contagious. And there is nothing like laughing your head off with fellow Saint Annians while getting ready for church at 8 AM.

• When it was discovered quite last minute before a service last week that there was no bread for communion, a community member didn't hesitate for a second, but zipped out to the store. When she returned with bread a few minutes before the service started, the story of how she actual secured the bread seemed divinely inspired.
  

• When the dishwashers were full following our beloved Hadley's funeral last week, still-to-be-cleaned dishes were left in the sink, with the intention by the luncheon team leader to return the next day and finish up. Upon returning to church the next day, the team leader found the dishes had been done by a mystery dish washer.
  

• For the last few weeks, I've noticed that the rainbow hearts on our front lawn near the highway have been falling down. I've been thinking I should fix them, but hadn't actually done anything about it yet. Today when I got to church I noticed the hearts are all lined up again. Thank you heart-fixer, whoever you are!

These are just a few of the beautiful things that have unfolded in the last week. The Saint Anne's community is incredibly special and even though we havea whole weekbefore Thanksgiving, I see no reason to wait to say how thankful I am for our expression of the Body of Christ in the world.

My prayer for you this week is that you feel the love of the community that surrounds you. To find laughter in the mess, and divine timing at the grocery store. To remember that you are never alone and angels walk among us.

November 11, 2022

This has been a deeply tender period of time for many. The death of Saint Annian Hadley Bakker is a such a great loss and sadness for all who knew Hadley and Lori and their family. Some in our community are grieving other losses and navigating other difficult situations as well. Our communities and our nation just wrapped up another divisive and stressful election cycle. We are still figuring out how we are emerging from an unprecedented time of global pandemic. This is a tender time, in many ways.

Lori Bakker shared the following piece by Bishop Steven Charleston this week, and it feels just right for this moment:

Let us treat one another with a gentle touch, a hand of grace and comfort, for none of us knows what tomorrow may bring, and none of us is immune from what we least expect. All we know for certain is that our time to love is far too brief. The least we can do is provide a safe space for one another along the road of life, a place of understanding and support. We have that gift to offer, that quiet blessing to share, giving to others what we may need one day ourselves, a shelter from the storm.

My prayer for you this week is for you to have the opportunity to find, to share, and to be a hand of grace and comfort...a safe space along the road of life...a quiet blessing...for and with one another. This week - and always.

November 4, 2022

Can you hear them?

Can you hear them as they pass by? Can you feel them standing just beside you? They are the ones who have gone before, saints who have touched our lives. They are the family to which we belong, ancient and never ending. Our ancestors watch over us, their constant vigil keeping. Their wisdom surrounds us. Their healing a river through channels of time. Can you hear them? They speak of a love they have seen, love beyond imagining, love that holds us safe, until we rise to meet them.

The above was written by Bishop Steven Charleston, and I return to it again and again - on the Feasts of All Saints and Souls and on so many regular ol' days as well. That the ancestors are here, with us, guiding, guarding, celebrating, keeping vigil, is something I trust to the core of my being. I depend on the wisdom of the ancestors nearly as much as I depend on air and water. In these sacred days as we honor them, I am filled with gratitude - for those I knew, for those you knew, for those who we know only through the ancient stories. I am filled with awe at the connections we still share with them. Awe at the thinness of the veil, in these holy days.

Their wisdom surrounds us. Their healing a river through channels of time. Can you hear them? My prayer for you this week is that you can hear them - the saints of your lives, the Saints of our common life. That you can hear them, feel them, sense them around you. This great cloud of witnesses, offering wisdom, companionship, and cheering you on. Always cheering you on!

October 28, 2022

Your 2022 ECMN Delegates - Emilie Rexeisen and Joan Stovall - and Bob Furniss and I are at the ECMN Convention in Rochester this weekend, along with other Minnesota Episcopalians from near and far. We are connecting with old friends, meeting new ones, and engaging in and with the business and mission of the church. This is the first in-person ECMN Convention in three years.

One announcement that will be made at Convention is something I want to share with all of you: the Bishop will be appointing me as Vice-President of the ECMN Council for the next year, with the possibility of serving for up to three years. He invited me to consider accepting this role several months ago, and after prayer and discussion with the wardens (and my husband!) I said yes. The ECMN Council is somewhat like the Vestry of the ECMN. The Bishop is Council President and I will work with him in supporting the Council in the good work they do on behalf of the Episcopal Church in Minnesota. (This will in no way affect or take from my commitment to Saint Anne's.)

One reason I said yes is that I am inspired by the vision Bishop Loya has set forth for the Episcopal Church in Minnesota. The ECMN identity statement is: "We are one church in 104 locations, bound together by our commitment to follow the Way of Jesus, joining God in God’s project to heal the whole world with love." As for how we accomplish this, Bishop Loya encourages 4 approaches: 1. Discipleship: living into the teachings of Jesus as best we can. 2. Faithful Innovation: joining the Spirit in new ways to live out the Gospel. 3. Justice: becoming Beloved Community. 4. Congregational Vitality: thriving faith communities of all sizes in all places.

Over the course of the coming year, I hope to dig more deeply with you into some of these practices. I'd love to hear your ideas.

My prayer for you today is that you are able to appreciate the deep roots we have as Episcopalians. Our connections near and far to people from all different walks of life, including those who have gone before us, support us in sacred ways. We are better together, thanks be to God.

October 21, 2022

October 18th is The Feast of St. Luke on the church calendar. St. Luke is the Luke of Gospel fame, as in "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John". The same writer is believed to have written the Book of Acts. The story around Luke is that he was a physician. The truth is probably closer to the idea that there were several writers who contributed to this Gospel, any of whom may or may not have been physicians. But the writer(s) of the Gospel of Luke do emphasize the healing stories of Jesus, and the wide-reach of that healing. The Book of Common Prayer offers the following for the Feast of St. Luke:

Almighty God, who inspired your servant Luke the physician to set forth in the Gospel the love and healing power of your Son: Graciously continue in your Church this love and power to heal, to the praise and glory of your Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Several years ago, our own Richard Hemming taught me that the days surrounding the Feast of St. Lukes are often known as St. Luke's Little Summer in the Northern Hemisphere: those days in late October that are especially warm and golden, especially cherished, since we all know what's coming next. It is proving to be true again this year. Thank you, St. Luke!

My prayer for you today and always is that all who are in need of healing of any sort come to know, in body, mind, and spirit, the golden warmth offered by the healing hands of Jesus upon them.

September 30, 2022

When my husband and I stepped onto our street for our evening walk earlier this week, we saw what looked to be a small rock, moving slowly down the street. Closer inspection revealed not some sort of natural phenomenon in the form of a mobile rock, but a newly hatched turtle. It was a tiny thing, right in the middle of the road.

There was no way to tell where it came from, but the road did not seem like the best place for our new friend to hang out, so my husband picked it up and we carried it about a 1/4 mile to the neighborhood pond, where we set it gently on the grassy bank.

For the rest of our walk, my inner over-thinker came out. What if the turtle had been born in a nest near our home and needed to be there for safety? Would the turtle be disoriented in its new surroundings? Was the street was where the turtle had wanted to be, and we messed it all up? I went back and forth between feeling like we did a good deed, and wondering if we caused unintended harm.

(Did I mention I am an over-thinker at times?!)

In the end, this was my conclusion: we'll never know. We'll never know if we did right by this turtle or not. All we can know is that we analyzed the situation, our hearts were in the right place, and with all good intentions we did what we thought was best. That's all we can know.

This is life. We are presented, over and over again, with situations for which we will not, and do not, have all of the answers. And none of us will ever do everything perfectly. The good news is aren't asked to or expected to. All we can do is do our best to act with kindness, good intention, and integrity. We can look to the stories of our ancestors for guidance. We can look to the teachings of Jesus for guidance. We can look into our own hearts, radiating the love of God out into the world. And we make our best decisions.

My prayer for you this week is to know that in all of your endeavors, your best is good enough for God. Which means it's good enough. Your heart, your integrity, your kindness, is enough. You are enough.

September 16, 2022

I spent a few days camping in the woods this week. We were only an hour from the Twin Cities, but the early fall sun was warm during the day, the nights were perfectly cool for sleeping, the bugs were minimal this time of year, deer came around to visit often, and there were were whole stretches of time where nothing could be heard but the wind in the trees. It was calming and centering and just what I needed.

Driving back into the Twin Cities was jarring. Traffic and honking. Police sirens. Heartbreaking and disturbing stories on the news about migrant families being moved around as if they were political pawns and not real people. And back at home, the to-do list was still waiting!

It's easy to just wish I could go back to the woods. Deer make lovely neighbors and the wind in the trees is much more pleasant than the news on the radio. But the reality and truth is that we live in both worlds: the calming beauty around us, and the messiness, and sometimes heartbreak, that comes hand in hand with the joy and energy of living in community with one another. The truth is, it probably takes a little of both to most deeply live into both.

Jesus went off by himself sometimes - but he always came back. My prayer for you this week is to find balance where you need it. Wind in the trees when you need some calm, and some energy and joy to be found in the returning. Even if it is a bit jarring!

September 9, 2022

The end of summer has been busy behind the scenes at Saint Anne's, as your staff, Wardens, Vestry, are looking ahead to fall and finally the ability to gather in person in all of our various capacities. We're planning a Ministry Fair, freshening up our Confirmation and Children & Youth programs and our Choir program, planning Peace & Justice projects, considering Adult Ed topics, and starting to look toward our 2023 Pledge Drive. The emails have been flying, the phone is chirping non-stop, and buzz is in the air. It's exciting to daydream and then to make those dreams realities.

And meanwhile, the world continues to spin in the here and now. Kids are going back to school. Queen Elizabeth, the titular head of the Church of England, has gone on to greater glory. The 21st anniversary of the 9/11 attacks is this Sunday. We in Minnesota are staring to notice the beginnings of fall leaves and earlier sunsets.

Even as we look to what's next with anticipation, we are reminded to mark and honor the passing of time. We are reminded that the life we are given is precious - and not promised. A life of faith involves looking toward the future with a vision, and each day we are given is meant to be savored.

My prayer for you this week is to find one thing to plan for with joy, and one thing to take in slowly and with gratitude, in the here and now. Both are holy.

August 19, 2022

As I write this to you, I'm in the passenger seat of our full-to-the-brim car, somewhere in the middle of Missouri. We are taking our daughter to her first year at the University of Kansas. The drive is long and the sky is wide and there is a lot of space for reflection.

This time in the car is a middle time. We're leaving what was, but not yet at what will be. As we drive, we're still a cohesive unit: listening together to an audiobook, stopping together to stretch our legs, sharing water and snacks and phone chargers. Tomorrow Tessa will move into her dorm and will launch into something new, on her own. The next time we're together, we'll all have grown and changed in ways we can't know yet.

I've heard the between times of our lives compared to swinging from one trapeze to another. There's a moment in time where you need to let go of one trapeze bar in order to grab another, and in the letting go you're one part exhilarated and one part terrified. One part wanting to hang on, one part ready to leap. To be clear, I've never personally swung on a trapeze and it is not exactly on my bucket list. And to be perfectly honest, I don't love the feelings between times bring. Solid? Safe? Secure? Now those are feelings I enjoy. Flying untethered through the air, not as much.

Our God, however, seems to be a God of Trapeze Flying, and is constantly directing us to new things. New ways to learn, new ways to grown, new ways to experience this one precious life we're given. And that means our God is constantly leading us to between times. I'm trying to remember that, driving through the middle of Missouri. This too, this letting go we all must do, is of God. My prayer for you this week is that whether you are holding solidly to a trapeze bar, or flying through the air to catch the next one, whether you are holding on or letting go, you are meeting God in it all.

I will still be in the between this weekend and will not be at church on Sunday. I'm thrilled to let you know that the Rev. Gwen Powell, who knows a little something about between times, will be there to celebrate with you.

August 12, 2022

On Thursday I spent a little time moving chairs in the sanctuary to create space for the Red Cross Blood Drive that will be held at Saint Anne's today (Friday) from Noon - 6 PM. Though I was in there alone, I was definitely not alone. Saints and angels kept me company, and you were there as well, all of you, just as surely as I was.

With outdoor services since the beginning of June, it's been a little while since we've all been together in the sanctuary, but along with the saints and angels, your presence in that space is palpable. Your laughter and tears. Your prayers and longings. Your love and losses, your light, and the hope you carry. It wasn't lost on me that I was clearing space in that room so that we might all give blood: share lifewith one another. That's what we do, isn't it? Share life with one another. The ups and downs, the joys and the sorrows.

This Sunday we will have the joy of welcoming Amanda Fredrickson in baptism. Baptism is central to how Episcopalians see our place and purpose in the world. We believe every person is created in the image and likeness of God and is loved beyond imagining. Baptism is about welcoming all into this belonging. We believe every person has been given gifts needed for the healing of the world, and everyone is needed for that healing. Baptism is about the commitment we make to help create the world we know is possible. And Baptism is about the promise of new life. The promise that all things are always being made new, sometimes in unexpected ways and places. The promise that even death is not the end.

As I moved the sanctuary chairs this week, I thought about all of this. I prayed for Amanda, for Christian, her husband and baptism sponsor, for each of you, for myself, for our community, for all who will receive the gift of new life through the blood we will donate. I prayed for all that has been and all that will be. When I was finished moving chairs, the newly open sanctuary space felt just right. It still held every bit of who we've been, every prayer that's ever crossed our lips, every sorrow, every joy, every note of music played, but it was also ready for something new. Something waiting to be born. It reminded me that we're all always on the cusp of something new waiting to be born. Thanks be to God.

August 5, 2022

It is too easy, once August comes around, to forget to live in the moment. Thoughts about earlier sunsets, tightening up routines and schedules, and wearing shoes other than flip-flops start creeping in. "It will be fall before we know it," we say to one another. Back-to-school sales have been going on for weeks. It's practically September, isn't it? Then we might as well start thinking about Halloween... Thanksgiving... And all too soon, we've blinked our time away.

But this week my husband and I met dear friends for dinner on a patio and as we all toasted (with our drinks, not in the sun, though it was 88 degrees and sunny on that patio!), my friend said, "Happy Summer!" It struck me right away that she spoke in the present tense. Not "Farewell Summer", not "It was a good summer", but Happy Summer. Here and now.

My friend's toast pulled me into the present. There are weeks left of another glorious Minnesota summer, with its bursts of colorful prairie flowers everywhere and lakeside parks that just beg for someone to sit down with a picnic blanket and a full basket. There is evidence of the Creator's hand everywhere you look. Here and now is all we really have, and here and now should be enjoyed.

My prayer for you this week is for slow moments. Time to soak it all in. Time to be in the here and now. My prayer is for time for your heart to beat in rhythm with the ripples on the lake, and for you to see Spirit dancing in the shimmering water. My prayer is for August to linger, so that we can too, right here and right now.

July 29, 2022

A few nights ago, a parliament of barred owls* showed up in the trees in our yard. It was, at first, entirely baffling. We had no idea what we were hearing in the yard other than a noisy bunch of critters, whooping it up about something they deemed important. For a few minutes we thought they might be turkeys, and then felt badly thinking no, maybe a coyote had found dinner. As the noises and calls continued we were more and more puzzled. Finally, we went outside to investigate and found the sounds coming from the trees. We took a video and friends on Facebook let us know they were barred owls. 

We live in Mendota Heights, in a standard suburban neighborhood, on a standard suburban street. There is a little bit of woods near us and the Mississippi River is just a mile away, so we occasionally hear or see coyotes, fox, and turkeys, but these noises were unlike anything we'd ever heard. Birds of the World calls the barred owl calls “a raucous jumble of cackles, hoots, caws and gurgles.” Here's a listen, if you're as new to them as we were.

The most amazing thing about our Great Owl Experience was that it was so unlike anything we've experienced before. We've lived in our home for 20 years, but no owls before this week. We've been hiking and camping in woods from the Smokey Mountains to to the Pacific Northwest. And of course all over Minnesota. No owls. It was in no way on my radar that an entire parliament* would show up in my yard one night, calling so loudly that they called me out of bed.

Isn't life an incredible surprise?! Thanks be to God!

My prayer for you this week is that at least one incredible surprise will make itself known to you. It might be puzzling at first. It might be noisy enough to keep you up at night. But my prayer is that it brings you a sense of wonder about the world, and a sense of awe about the gifts we are continuously given, often in the most unexpected places and the most unexpected ways.