As they were going along the road, someone said to him, "I will follow you wherever you go." And Jesus said to him, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head." To another he said, "Follow me." But he said, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." But Jesus said to him, "Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God." Another said, "I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home." Jesus said to him, "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God."
Luke 9:57-62

You may have seen the words "KEEP YOUR HAND ON THE PLOW" on St. John's sign when passing by the church. "Keep Your Hand on the Plow" is an old spiritual known also as "Hold On", and based on a story found in Luke's Gospel. Over its lifespan, the song had many variations and even the refrain morphed into "Keep Your Eyes on the Prize" during the Civil Rights movement. Several singers at the time recorded this spiritual. It was one of the songs sung from the steps of the Lincoln Monument at the Civil Rights March on August 28, 1963.

In Luke's passage, Jesus leaves no room for delays, goodbyes, weak or strong excuses. Even burying a father is not a justifiable condition to say "Wait!" to Jesus. The thing is, in the context of the Gospel, Jesus has begun his march toward Jerusalem. He expresses not so much harshness as urgency. His perspective does not allow looking back or swaying from the straight line, even for a short while.

O Lord, I often despair about perennial and seemingly insurmountable obstacles, leading me to measure of little faith I am! And I remember the number of times I think of you but don't seize the moments to stay with you! Am I not fit for the kingdom? Am I putting my hand to the plow only to have second thoughts and wander left or right on the mission field? Jesus is asking me not to be concerned with my personal baggage, the things I love too much and tie me down or the decisions I regret making that cannot be undone. Instead Jesus wants me to be fully focused on the task, to be vigilant as to correct the erratic turns I take, to hear the call of hope, the message of rescue that will free me from an encumbered yet self-centered privileged past.

Listening to this spiritual, I think of the men and women who first sang it. In a rural society, plow-hands knew to keep their hand steady to the plow, less the mule would not go straight on the furrows. Under slavery there also was no way of turning back, only labor and threats in the present. Singing songs of survival put a balm on the slaves' souls, holding on to the hope in a day of redemption.
In the light of all the racial unrest we lived last year, of the wounds of inequity left opened so long after Jim Crow laws, of the current efforts to turn back the clock on civil rights, I am constantly amazed by the resilience of a people denied fairness again and again. Maybe continuing to educate myself to the plight of human beings living in unjust situations and to the truth and untruth around me is keeping my hand to the plow, and for this I am grateful. I am sure it is no coincidence that the two women who more than once have given me courage to accept setbacks and keep the faith are both African-American. Their attitude in life and their stories are a source of reflection and awe for me. They know to keep their hand at the plow.

Thank you, Lord, for bringing faithful witnesses at the crossroads of life, so we don't lose sight of the work at hand, so we recognize the moment we are called to follow, no matter how untimely we think it may be. Amen.

Francoise Wackenhut

By Jessica Lian

I remember first learning about the Ash Wednesday service from my Catholic college roommate, who joined me later than usual at our dining hall for dinner. “Where did you just come from?” I asked her, hoping that she’d explain the mysterious charcoal smear on her forehead. “The Ash Wednesday service on campus,” she replied matter-of-factually. “Oh,” I said. As she looked down at her food, I scrutinized her forehead, still pondering at the meaning of the charcoal mark. Too embarrassed to ask her, I decided I would learn about it from Professor Google later.

At the time, I had assumed it was one of the many differences between our religious practices—that Lutherans like myself didn’t share these worship traditions with Catholics. To my surprise, Professor Google showed me that many denominations held Ash Wednesday services, and somehow, I had spent my entire life never having attended one. Sure, I knew Ash Wednesday marked the beginning of Lent, but beyond that superficial understanding, I hadn’t thought about it much. The following year, I went to my first Ash Wednesday service on campus, experiencing the imposition of ashes for the first time in my life. I felt self-conscious afterwards walking through campus with this highly visible mark of my faith in my secular college community.

The mark of ashes is perhaps one of the few visible marks of Christianity that I’ve noticed in the
United States, where Christians often blend in with their secular counterparts in everyday life. Lent is also a time of the year when Christians appear more conspicuous in social settings, often refraining from certain foods by declaring that they have “given it up for Lent.” But the cynical side of me wonders at the frivolity of these Lenten sacrifices of alcohol and desserts.

This past year has certainly demanded more sacrifices from me than I had anticipated. After losing my last grandparent, I found myself constantly worried about my relatives under lock down in Wuhan, uncertain if I would ever see them again. It has been hard knowing that I can’t help my elderly parents should they succumb to COVID-19. Aside from my husband, I haven’t interacted with anyone else in person. I haven’t seen my family and friends for the past year, and I haven’t traveled anywhere beyond a twenty-mile radius around my house. But when I think about what God has given me in spite of these difficult circumstances, I find solace in knowing that He has not forgotten me, even when I have forgotten Him during my darkest moments of despair.

Frankly, I’m too exhausted to think about “giving something up for Lent” this year. After all,
giving up desserts feels so frivolous right now when there are greater sacrifices that must be
made for our collective health and safety. (And yes, giving up desserts also feels unbearably
cruel when baking is one of the few pandemic pleasures I enjoy!) But this year, I think I’ll do
what I used to do as a child when my Sunday School teacher implored us to give up more time
for God. “Instead of giving up some thing,” she instructed us, “we can give up some of our free
time and devote that time to God.”

So next time you see me at a Zoom party, let me virtually declare that I will need to sign off
early because I am giving up my free time to devote myself to God during these forty days of
Lent. (I promise it’s not because I’m Zoomed out for the day.)

Photo taken at Mercy Community Church Ash Wednesday service, February 17, 2021.

   Physical Distancing

   Photo by Russell Folks
   Fort Walton Beach, FL
              2002

Photo by Ann Gerondelis
Arrival of the National Guard at the Philadelphia at the Municipal Services building
June 2020

By Deacon Jeanette Burgess

​While making breakfast the other day, I was drawn to the TV as a big-name hip hop star posed for the paparazzi.  Now I don’t want to play down the value of entertainers or the arts (hey, I’m one of them), but as I watched her raise colorful talons to pouty lips and saw her in a totally impractical designer dress that gave the impression she was literally blooming from a flower, I thought to myself with a certain amount of urgency, “I’ve got to do something that makes a difference.”  Insert rueful smiley face …
 
You might recognize that star’s name, but here’s a name few will:  William Tyndale.  Tyndale, who the Evangelical Lutheran Worship (ELW) commemorates on October 6, was an English scholar during the time of Martin Luther.  This professor, a lover of language (and a master of eight), made a lot of firsts in the “language” of faith.  He created the first English Bible directly translated from Hebrew and Greek texts and the first one produced by using the printing press.  His translation was the first English Bible of the Reformation and the first English translation to follow English Protestant Reformers’ preference to use “Jehovah” as God’s name.  He was also the first to coin many phrases in his translations that we still recognize today:  “my brother’s keeper”, “knock and it shall be opened unto you”, “let there be light”, and (in whom we) “live, move, and have our being” to name a few.
 
Yes, it would seem this biblical scholar was bound for fame and fortune but instead, he spent the later part of his life in hiding and was unable to complete his translation before being burned at the stake as a heretic.  Among the charges against him: Breaking the law that stated no one was to possess an English version of the scriptures since the Roman Catholic church mandated scriptures be interpreted by clergy only. 
 
And yet God had plans.  William Tyndale’s work lived on and a few years after his death, four English translations were published by the king’s command, all based on Tyndale’s work.  Though he didn’t live to see all of the fruits of his labor, through him, God’s word to Jeremiah in Chapter 29 verse 11 came to fruition for many more:  “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.’” (NRSV)
 
God has plans for each of us.  Sometimes we see them unfold before us, and it’s delightful and satisfying.  Other times, as for Tyndale, the results may not come about in our lifetime or for many lifetimes, and it can be disappointing and discouraging.  But never doubt God is still at work. Jeremiah verse 12 continues, “Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you.”  God’s willing to walk with us, no matter how we do it.  Wonders can happen in big, loud thunderclaps or soft, quiet wisps of air, but we all have it in us to be a light in the darkness, a voice in the silence, and hope in the face of despair. 
 
You don’t need to put on fake nails or fancy clothes to make a difference.  You don’t need a golden voice or a cadre of fans to make an impact.  You don’t need to be a rock star.  Just be who you were created to be and let God do the rest. 

By Adam Renner
 
Philippians 3:12-16
Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us then who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything, this too God will reveal to you. Only let us hold fast to what we have attained.  
 
Come, Come, Whoever You Are
Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving.
It doesn’t matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vows
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come. 
~ Jalaluddin Rumi 
 
It’s been that kind of summer all around us, hasn’t it? Mentally exhausting, with new things to be exasperated about on an almost hourly basis. I’ve been reflecting on how we might have lost that momentum and enthusiasm from the spring. When states and cities were first beginning their lockdowns, and when our church first began its own self-quarantine, there was a strong sense of coming together. The data confirm it. As we transitioned our church activities to a digital space, there was a surge in website traffic, email clicks, and attendance in online worship. We received frequent check-in calls from our congregational care team. And “out there” in the wider world, my Facebook feed was full of stories and articles about how we can learn from this pandemic and change our society for the better. We would not go back to the way things were, we said. Air pollution was down. Society hit the brakes and had a little Sabbath time. We took care of our neighbors, and governments stepped in to help the newly unemployed. It seemed that as trying as the times were, we might manage to pull together and get through it, collectively. There was hope for a better world on the other side.

But it wasn’t to last. The pandemic quickly devolved into a political issue, and now the lockdowns have mostly ended, even as the virus continues to claim lives. The summer has been a lot of two steps forward, three steps back. Most of us are back to business as usual, only now there’s an added financial strain on top of it.

September marks two things that are near and dear to my heart. First, we are entering the Season of Creation in our church year. Second, it is Suicide Prevention Awareness month. But those two things seem out of place right now with everything else that’s going on. 

I find myself fatigued and barely able to summon the strength to be concerned for the environment or my own mental health because of everything else that we are lamenting in the world. We’re witnessing in real time Black men and women being murdered by police, unprecedented government corruption, conspiracy theories becoming mainstream, brothers and sisters being pitted against each other like pawns in a dystopian chess game, and an election under attack. I don’t think I can remember such a confluence of crises happening in such a short period. It is too much, and it honestly feels like all our efforts at positive growth and change aren’t even worth it.

This pandemic was caused by a natural world out of balance, by human infringement upon the natural world, and ultimately, by our lack of self-awareness. Creation has also been groaning louder than ever. We’ve seen giant swarms of locusts from East Africa to India, 500-year floods in Europe, wildfires reducing entire California communities and forests to ash, over 40% of Iowa corn and soybeans flattened by a 140 mph wind storm, and the hottest temperature ever recorded north of the Arctic Circle (over 100ᵒ F). Again, it’s all too much, and I find my care for Creation lacking these days.

I’m not sure how to describe my internal experience of all this. It feels like grief, and despair. I feel grief for the lost lives and the unravelling of the social fabric in this country. I find it hard to avoid a creeping sense of existential dread. And I know a lot of you are feeling the same and more so. Amidst the chaos, it’s hard to resist the urge to withdraw. Especially when social distancing makes it too easy to isolate altogether.

Multiple lines of evidence indicate that the pandemic, social unrest, and climate crisis are having profound psychological effects, which will probably persist for months if not years to come. Studies show that we are now in a period of great distress, anxiety, fear of contagion, depression, insomnia, chronic stress, substance abuse, and other mental health disorders in the general population. Suicidal ideation is elevated, with a rate twice as high as last year (the actual number of suicides this year is not yet known, but experts are predicting a tsunami). One medical examiner recently predicted that 2020 is on pace to be the worst year for suicides in the Black community ever. The resulting trauma from these crises has been and will continue to be experienced disproportionately by people of color, older adults, children, immigrants, those with disabilities, and those with preexisting medical conditions.

Sorry for all the doom and gloom. I bring it up simply because I have a tendency to want to put on a happy face, especially whenever I’m interacting with my church family. I, like many of us, suffer from “Happy Christian Syndrome” – the conviction that as a Christian, I am not supposed to show the world that I am unhappy, for various reasons. Sunday’s always comin’, after all. And our individualistic, achievement-oriented culture instills in us the notion that no one has time for our weakness, so we are better off going it alone and suppressing it.

Yet this is exactly what we need to avoid doing. We cannot distance ourselves emotionally from others, even while we are social distancing. If I am not expressing myself authentically, I feel even worse, which in turn worsens my despair and negative coping behaviors. Not only is it okay to feel and own my negative thoughts and emotions, it’s healthy. Faith is strengthened not by relying on that alone to solve my problems, but by recognizing the pain points that need my attention.

“The Church,” wrote Martin Luther, “is the inn and the infirmary for those who are sick and in need of being made well.” Luther’s image of the Church as a hospital reminds us who we are – a community of vulnerable people in need of help; we are a community of healing. At the same time vulnerable and healed, we are freed for a life of receiving and giving help. In the mutual bearing of burdens, we learn to be people who are willing to ask for healing and provide it. If we are to live into our identity as resurrection people, we have to do the work. We have to get into the mess as Jesus did.

Our faith communities can be a place to talk openly about our pain, to provide resources, and to offer care and support for all of us who are touched by despair. Over the last few months I’ve been working diligently as part of our synod’s Mental Health Ministry and the Suicide Prevention Ministry to develop mental health resources for our faith communities. Though our synod ministries still have a lot of work to do before we fully launch our main resource offerings, be encouraged that this church is making good progress as a pioneer in promoting mental health awareness and education.

We recently held a webinar on self-care best practices (click for video and/or slides). I’ll quickly share some takeaways here:

1. Self-awareness and appraisal are key components to caring for ourselves. If you’re unsure about your current emotional state, you can take a free online mental health screening at https://www.helpyourselfhelpothers.org/.
2. The top three things that can help fight stress and anxiety are social support, exercise, and adequate sleep. Make these things a priority if you don’t already.
3. Spend just three minutes a day doing mindful breathing. That is, listen to and feel your breath while paying attention to nothing else. Make your exhale longer than your inhale – in for 5 seconds, out for 7. You’ll be surprised what this short exercise can do for your day. You can do it at a specific time or as needed.
4. No amount of self-care will do any good unless an effort is made to address the underlying issues. So if I’m depressed, drinking, or having emotional outbursts, I need to consult with a qualified professional and examine why I am having such reactions, which will inform my strategies to address them.
5. Make a list of the things you can control, and a list of things you cannot control. For example, “I cannot control whether people wear masks,” vs. “I can control how much time I spend scrolling on social media and news sites.” Ask yourself, what if anything, can you do right now to address your fears? What is within your immediate grasp that you can do?
6. Mind, body, and spirit are interconnected. Treat your mental health just like you would your physical health. If you are sick, you go to a doctor, right?

And, I will add another big one: Connect. The church is a great opportunity for self-care because it brings us together. People coming together in times of need – this is essential for our individual well-being. “Two are better than one… If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10). If you’ve been disconnected from community recently – you can start back again, no matter.
Over the past months, this church community has spoken out against racial injustice, held memorials, and erected banners to commemorate victims of racism. We have repurposed our space and resources to better help our brothers and sisters on the margins. We have worked with our Mercy Church partners to provide food, handwashing stations, mobile showers, masks, porta potties, and a place to rest, and we have done so while keeping our building and grounds in good shape. Going forward this month, we are beginning weekly prayer services Wednesday evenings on Zoom, which will give us an opportunity to refill our cups through lament as well as praise and encouragement.

I implore any of you who are experiencing anguish, suicidal thoughts, addiction, or any kind of emotional pain, to reach out for help. Talk to someone. Don’t bear your pain by yourself. There is no shame in asking for help. Indeed, when life’s difficulties and disappointments threaten to overwhelm us, that is when we most need to talk with others. Likewise, when we sense that something is seriously amiss in a friend or family member, we need to trust our instincts and lean into our own discomfort by reaching out. We are called to be our brother’s or sister’s keeper. We are called to walk beside our friends with courage and without judgment. We may want to shy away because we feel unprepared to help, yet our responsibility is to listen, to encourage the person to talk, and to help them find appropriate help.

Admittedly, we fall short of this, and we have especially fallen short of keeping everyone in our community connected during this most difficult time. Unfortunately, it was never going to be perfect. I am imperfect. You are imperfect. Our shared community is imperfect. Not only that, but we have broken our commitments, to ourselves and others, time and time again. And that is okay! We can always start anew and try again.

That we often fall short of our own ideals is almost the point. It is in the continual striving that we learn to live into our faith as individuals and communities. It is in the acknowledgement of imperfection and vulnerability that we find our calling to remain to put forth the effort to attain, not perfection, but the better versions of ourselves that are rooted in healing, compassion, mercy, and grace.

In grace, we know that simply acknowledging it is not enough. We must address our vulnerabilities, the roots of our fear, and honestly face our reluctance to counter the narratives that hold us down. This requires a kind of death of self, and this is where God meets us. If we tend our own garden of truth, God will help us through it, and ultimately God will reveal opportunities to us that we never could have imagined while we were stuck in that place. If we want to bear good fruit, we need to tend to the plant. We need allow the gardener to do what he will do with us. The gardener will sustain us through all of life’s endless challenges. I know that I can’t do it alone. I have to look outside of myself.
​
Though we have broken our commitment to ourselves and others countless times, God repeatedly welcomes us, and invites us, just as we are, admittedly imperfect, to continue striving, as individuals and as a community. The joy is not in the product but in the work. And there is much work to do. 

For discussion: How are you taking care of yourself? Do you need anything? 

By Jennifer Arnold​

​
At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the LORD came to him, saying, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He answered, "I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." He said, "Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by." Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.

When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He answered, "I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." Then the LORD said to him, "Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram. Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel; and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place. Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu shall kill; and whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha shall kill. Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him." --1 Kings 19:9-18 
_________________________________________________________________
 
I remember having a conversation with my brother about this text when we were in college. He asserted, "The Bible says God is omnipresent. Then it says God wasn't in the wind, or the earthquake, or the fire. How can this be? Clearly both can't be true!" So as I read this text again today, and I look around a world ravaged by a pandemic, racism, and capitalism, I find myself asking the same thing Chris asked - "Where is God?" Sometimes it can seem like God really isn't in the hurricane blowing, the world trembling, the Wendy's burning. In the midst of such chaos, we long and wait for the silence. Chaos - bad. Silence - good.
 
At least so it seems. I'm curious here about Elijah. He is hiding in a cave when the LORD asks him, "What are you doing here?" Elijah explains (a little self-righteously perhaps) his loneliness and the fear that has driven him to isolation. (Sound familiar?) God replies, "Go out and stand on the mountain for the LORD is about to pass by." Cue crazy strong winds, earthquake, and fire. Then, only after all that chaos, that "bad", comes sheer silence and finally - finally - Elijah moves. Even then he only goes so far as the edge of the cave.

Now I don't blame Elijah. I also would much rather be deep inside a safe cave than on an unprotected mountain while the mountain itself is splitting into pieces and rocks keep zinging past my head. Not to mention the earthquake and fire - all of that sounds absolutely terrifying. Of course Elijah stayed in the cave! If I were Elijah I'd probably have gone deeper into the cave! His response is deeply human - he stays where it is safe and hides from the pain and chaos, never making it to the mountain where the LORD would pass by.

Usually, when I hear this text preached the message is about how God is in the silence - slow down and listen. And yes, surely, God is in the silence. Yet, I can't help but wonder what Elijah missed out on as he chose the silence of the cave to the rumbling outside. What if God really was in the wind, earthquake, and fire but Elijah was too scared to step into something that seemed so uncertain? I feel Elijah's urge to avoid pain and hurt deeply in my soul. I want God to make me feel better from the harsh realities of the world. I want an escape and I want calm. The problem with this "hide and wait it out" approach is that it doesn't demand us to change in any way. It is the easy way out.

When Elijah finally makes it to the entrance of the cave God asks him again (I like to imagine in a surprised tone), "What are you doing here?" and Elijah gives the exact same response - word for word. The world has literally been turned over and spun around but his worries and fears for his own life have not altered a bit. The LORD has passed by and he has missed it. Everything has changed, yet, nothing has changed.

The hope I find in this story is that the second time the LORD says "Go", Elijah goes (v. 19). He stops hiding. The world is still uncertain, perhaps even more so, but he steps forward into that chaos instead of moving further away from the possibility of pain. As teachers and families prepare for school to reopen, as the government lets benefits expire, as the chaos never seems to stop, I wonder - can we take a few steps closer to the edge of the cave? Can we find a way to stand on the mountain with rocks flinging past us? Can we listen not just for silence but for the cries of those hurting? Can we bravely step forward and let ourselves be surprised by the ways God is passing by right now, even in the chaos?