on local elections

I’m writing this note three hours before the polls close on this year’s elections. Odd-numbered years aren’t normally very exciting, but don’t tell that to those running for local offices. They’ve spent long hours shaking hands, hosting events, planting signs, and writing Facebook posts … all for the sake of serving the communities they love so much. 

I don’t yet know who will win our local elections, but I have to hand it to all those who throw their hats in the ring. It represents a high level of commitment to our neighbors, schools, parks, rec centers, public servants, and business partners. They are committed to our shared history, to government efficiency, and to making sure all our voices are heard. No doubt, they love this place. 

No matter who wins – and by the time you read this letter, we’ll all know – let’s pledge to support and encourage our elected officials, whoever they may be. And when that time comes to disagree, as it surely will, let’s do so from a place of common ground: that we’re on this journey together, all of us eager to make this community a better place. 

Thanks for your good work in the garden. 

The funeral of a friend

It’s November, which begs one simple question: Where did October go?!?

October is normally one of my favorite months. Cooler weather, colorful leaves, nights on the porch that beg for a sweater or a pair of wool socks. 

But not this October. I’m pretty sure it was 98 degrees one day and 62 the next. Not much transition at all for Mother Nature this year. 

Sometimes life surprises you. My preaching professor in seminary said that we have to be prepared for the occasional left-handed junk ball. I never played much baseball, but I always remembered his vivid description of the junk ball, a pitch designed to throw off a hitter’s timing because it’s either significantly slower and/or has confusing movement between the pitcher’s hand and the catcher’s glove. 

Life throws left-handed junk balls at you sometimes. 

Early October I was surprised with a phone call from a friend who told me that our close friend, Paul, had just died. 54 years old. Totally unexpected. It threw me for a loop during a pretty busy time of our year. A playground campaign, Consecration Sunday, G2G, a new staff member, expanding our 3^rd grade reading model to other schools, bringing the racial equity workshops to Rowan County. I didn’t have a choice but to keep busy …

… until the funeral. Krista and I took the day off and drove to Grace Moravian Church in Mt. Airy, a church on the outskirts of the neighborhood where Paul grew up. We passed his high school, some local hangouts, and the business his dad owned downtown. When we walked in the sanctuary, I was handed a bulletin … and that’s when it hit me. As we do with every funeral bulletin we print at St. John’s, there was Paul’s name in bold letters, the date of his birth and death directly below it. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

I have the privilege – and often the terrible misfortune – of walking with a lot of people through some very dark patches of life. The left-handed junk balls you’ve experienced are sometimes overwhelming and can seem down-right confusing.

Many of you have done the same, in far more profound and remarkable ways. You’ve prayed, cooked, cleaned, driven, and sacrificed time and resources .. all for the sake of walking alongside a friend in need. 

And here’s what’s beautiful. You’ll earn nothing for your care. There are no extra jewels for your crown or fast-passes through the heavenly gates. That’s not why you care. You care because God cares. 

“We love because God first loved us,” John writes (1 John 4:19). Our love is to be a reflection of God’s love, a love given without expectation of reward or recognition. It’s like grits served with a good, Southern breakfast. You don’t order it; it just comes. 

A few days after Paul’s funeral, I pulled up that day’s scripture reading from the Moravian Daily Text, which Paul first shared with me when we were in college. I was stunned to read from Psalm 56:8, “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in a bottle.” I needed to hear that word of comfort, a beautiful reminder that God hears my cries and has not overlooked my/our grief. 

When life throws a left-handed junk ball at you, my hope and prayer is that you’ll feel the strong support of this community of faith .. and that you’ll know the hope that is ours – of a God “who comforts us in all our sorrows so that we can comfort others in their sorrows” (2 Corinthians 1:4). 

What's with the red doors?

St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Columbia SC It's Reformation again .. which means we'll get a lot of questions about red doors on Lutheran churches. Well, not on THIS Lutheran church, but most. Where does the red door tradition come from? Several ideas: The most common response is that Christians have entered into worship, into the presence of God, through the blood of Christ. In the earlier history of the church, it was common for wooden church doors to have the whole life of Christ carved into them. Tradition holds that Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the red doors of the Castle Church in Wittenberg. From that time onward, red doors symbolized the churches of the Reformation. During the Middle Ages in England, churches with red doors represented places of sanctuary. If someone was being pursued by a town mob, they'd find safe rest on the other side of the red door, where s/he could plead their case for justice without threat of violence. Our Jewish brothers and sisters would immediately recognize the connection between red doors and the Passover, where the angel of death was to "pass over" all the homes of those who smeared the (red) blood of a lamb over their doors. So there you have it. It's interesting to note that the red door tradition isn't limited to Lutherans. Most churches embrace the idea, although churches of the Reformation have been particularly proud of their red door heritage. What about St. John's? Well, take a look at our front doors and you'll see displayed the earlier tradition that uses a church's front door to tell the story of Christ, "the Word made flesh." And that, my friends, is the rest of the story.

The valley of the shadow of death

Over the next few days, we'll be celebrating the lives of two beloved folks in our community: Bee Soderberg and Barbara Benton. Among all the things we do as a faith community and as pastors, presiding at one's funeral is always the most humbling and profound, as we commend loved ones into the arms of Jesus.

Bee's life was defined by a remarkable sense of faithfulness to God, family, friends, and church. She and Rich were married for 70 years, always remaining each other's best friends. She was smart, witty, a world traveler and perhaps the best dog owner ever. She will be missed.

Barbara was a long-time middle school teacher in our community, 24 of her 30 years at Knox. So many former students have told me this week that Mrs. Benton was "the best teacher I ever had." Barbara had many other interests and passions, but what a beautiful way to be remembered, as such a fine teacher and mentor.

I normally don't write about folks who have passed along, but as we prepare for these two memorial services, we've been given the chance to press "pause" on the busyness of our week and give thanks for the chance to walk with folks through the valley of the shadow of death ... into the waiting arms of our Lord and Savior.

To fully trust

In our staff devotions this morning, we read from Psalm 23 and asked what it looks like to fully trust in God. Not partially, but fully.

That's hard, isn't it? I mean, trust is a scarce commodity these days. It's easy to lift up our federal government as an example, but the same is true for public institutions, schools, police, even each other. Our default is not to trust unless trust is proven, but even then suspicion and cynicism keep us from fully trusting others.

What does it look like to trust fully in God? What difference does it make? That's where Psalm 23 comes to mind: "As I walk through the valley of the shadow of darkness/death ...." As I walk, not IF I walk. "As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." Our trust in God removes fear and trembling, bringing us to a place of peace, shalom, joy.

We are better when we dare to trust -- in God and in one another. What a powerful message that would be for our elected officials. What a life-changing message that would be for you and me.

9-11. Where were you?

It was 8:46 am. I was on my way to work, listening to NPR's Morning Edition when  I heard the "breaking story." My left hand blinker was engaged, its rhythm becoming an odd drumbeat to the bizarre narrative of a plane and the World Trade Center.

Where were you on 9-11? That question will be asked multiple times today, the 18th anniversary of an event we'll never forget. Collectively, we pray for peace on days like these, in hopes that we may never again face the uncertainty and fear of such tragedy.

 Kyrie eleison. Lord, have mercy.

A new partnership in Bethlehem

Christmas Lutheran, Bethlehem

Sept. 22 was a very special day in the life of St. John’s, as we formalized a partnership with Christmas Lutheran Church in Bethlehem. Pastor Munther Isaac was on hand to preach and sign the Covenant.

Christmas Lutheran is just three blocks from the location of Jesus’ birth and is the oldest Lutheran church in Palestine. The congregation has a long history of welcoming pilgrims to Bethlehem and peacemaking during times of great conflict and stress. It’s a ministry of hope, Pastor Isaac told an audience last Sunday night in the Faith Center.

“Hope is what we do,” said Pastor Isaac, quoting Mitri Raheb, the church’s pastor until 2017, when he stepped down to be the president of Dar al-Kalima University, the only Lutheran college in the Middle East. Mitri has visited St. John’s twice since 2012 and was the 2015 recipient of Sweden’s Olaf Palme Award, given annually to someone creatively committed to the cause of peace.

Why Christmas Lutheran? It’s not easy being a Christian in the Middle East. Once a majority population in Bethlehem, Ramala, and Nazareth, their numbers have dropped considerably in the last half-century. In Bethlehem today, only 12 percent of the population is Christian.
We believe that the Christian witness is incredibly important in Israel/Palestine, especially during these days of so much conflict and distress. The Christian community — including

Christmas Lutheran — has been a strong advocate for peace, non-violent resistance, and sharing the land. Unfortunately, their voices are being ignored and, in many cases, marginalized. Peace, it seems, is a threatening message to those trying to secure control.
What does such a partnership look like? This Advent, members of St. John’s and Christmas will join in writing the Advent devotionals as a joint project. In March 2021, 30 members of St. John’s will visit the Holy Land, including a four day stay in Bethlehem, where we’ll be hosted by members of the congregation and enjoy authentic Palestinian meals and hospitality.

Because both congregations have a strong appreciation for Christian art, we will exchange art with one another. Munther will also be a regular contributor to this Eagle’s View newsletter.

Pastor Munther Isaac

We are in the early stages of discussing how to share our expertise in VBS with the children’s ministry team at Christmas. VBS is a new idea there, but Munther says it’s an excellent way of drawing children from throughout Bethlehem, including Muslim children. “Muslim parents are more than willing to allow their kids to join our Christian education activities. They’re curious, which gives us a great opportunity to share the story of Jesus and our message of peace.”

During this highly-politicized era in Israeli-Palestinian relations, it’s more important than ever that we help amplify the Christian voice of peace. That voice comes from Christmas Lutheran Church. What a blessing to be in partnership with them.