​In Advent, we sing the haunting words, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, remembering that Christ has come as Love incarnate, in flesh and blood, to liberate all creation that is groaning and longing for redemption. A redemption in which we now participate, and the consummation of which we anticipate.

This is our hope in a world brimming with suffering and turmoil. It is this hope, however faint at times, that God is here with us, our Immanuel. Christ came as Creator to redeem all of creation.

"For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God."

"We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies."[Romans 8:19-23]

We consider the glory and the scandal of a God who entered into the bodily experience of humanity and the grit and dirt of earth suffering under the tyranny of evil — in order to recreate it!

There is much we can learn as we humbly realize our place in creation not as gods but as creatures and stewards of God's glory, healing, and beauty on the earth.

"Creation is God’s gift to us as a first teacher and she is a teacher for life. Although God may be an abstraction to us, in spite of all our efforts to make God concrete through theology, story, ceremony, and song, creation is the one solid, concretized demonstration where God exists. God embodies the wonders of sunrise to sunset each day. God shows God’s self in the rainbow, the song of the loon, and the dance of the Sage Grouse. God’s presence is there in the birth of every living creature and again in its death. And God is revealed throughout the life of every single cell and every complex system on earth and beyond."

"Each of us, along with all living creatures, encounters creation before we can read or understand ideas about religion. Shared by all, that primordial sense of coming to grips with our earthly context is humanity’s deepest spirituality. The earth is our first, most consistent, and most continuous teacher." - Randy Woodley, Mission and the Cultural Other: A Closer Look.

This Advent, we long to reclaim an earthy and embodied spirituality that takes the incarnation of Christ seriously. Jesus came in flesh and blood, in vulnerability, humility, and weakness. Jesus entered into a particular culture, place, and time — born to a poor family in a backwoods town in an occupied land.

Our Immanuel, is still here, God with us, in bodies and in dirt.


by Jessica Ketola

God entered the world on the margins.
Not in Jerusalem but in the obscurity of Bethlehem
God was revealed to the shepherds not the priests
To the outcasts and the ruffians, God announced the good news.

Good news and great tidings of joy to all people.
Not just tax cuts for the rich or more comforts for the privileged.
This is good news for the poor.
To break the chains of oppression.
To set the prisoner free.
To heal the sick.
To comfort those who are brokenhearted.
To announce that God is not displeased with us, nor angry or withholding.
God is on our side. God is here. Present now.
The God of Love, revealed in Christ Jesus, is with us.

This, this is the good news the angels sang.
Filling the sky with their reverberating sounds.
Summons of peace on earth, good will to all people everywhere.
Regardless of culture, race, class, religion, or gender.
Songs shining the light of a midnight star
Into the darkest places of our collective lives.

We must not underestimate the power of the manger
And the hope it holds.
The Christmas song of the angels is not as innocent as it sounds.
It has turned the world upside down before now.
It still can.

​
by Jessica Ketola

 In Advent, we celebrate that God is with us.

God is near. In John 1, we encounter a God, who became flesh and blood to dwell among us. God with skin on, here with us, Immanuel. It is absolutely breath-taking.

The Word became flesh and blood,
and moved into the neighborhood.
We saw the glory with our own eyes,
the one-of-a-kind glory,
like Father, like Son,
Generous inside and out,
true from start to finish.
[I John 1:14 MSG]

All this so that we would see what God is like. So we would see this one-of-a-kind glory, this extravagant goodness, and this bountiful generosity.

This is the mystery of the incarnation (God in human form) that now by the Holy Spirit continues in us, the church. Our shared, everyday lives are to be a sign and a witness that God is near.

For are we not meant to be the community of God embodying the compassion of Jesus in the neighborhoods we live in?

Like Christ, aren't we to be faithfully present amongst our neighbors in the particularities of our places, seeking healing, peace, and the flourishing of all? Are we not called to be fit together brick by brick to be a dwelling place for the presence of God?

God is building a home. God's using us all—irrespective of how we got here—in what God is building. God used the apostles and prophets for the foundation. Now God's using you, fitting you in brick by brick, stone by stone, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone that holds all the parts together. We see it taking shape day after day—a holy temple built by God, all of us built into it, a temple in which God is quite at home. [Eph 2:21-22 MSG]

This is why our current models of church fail us. For we are not called to be individualistic, spiritual consumers but followers of Jesus -- being formed and knit together to join God's work of transformation in the world. Much is at stake. For our current brand of Western Christianity seems to have not only lost its mooring but its spiritual vitality and social credibility. It has sold-out to nationalism, economic imperialism, and the idols of technological progress, materialism, and wanton individualism.

Alan Roxburgh, in Joining God, Remaking Church, Changing the World, argues that the traditional, institutional church (like other social institutions) no longer works; it is unravelling. The good news, however, is that underneath the unravelling, God is up to something.

“The Spirit is busy re-founding the church for our time... showing us how to embody a way of life that makes space for alternative patterns of organizing life together—not more and better church programming that tries harder and harder to attract people, but a thicker sense of community that joins people together more holistically and organically."

We are called to be the church.

To be an incarnational community that participates in and demonstrates God's goodness to our neighbors.

This is why we emphasize faithful presence over a slick worship gathering and formational practices over spiritual consumption. We want to join God's work already present here in our place, at our neighborhood dinners, at Turning Point community meals, at the Social Justice Book Club, at One Cup Coffee, and at the Methadone Clinic. We want to join with God's work of peace and wholeness in our community by partnering with the city, the schools, local nonprofits, our neighborhood association and other faith communities. And we want to live a way of Love here together in this place in a way that is compelling to our neighbors.

As the letter to Colossians puts it, “In Christ, the fullness of Deity is presently living in bodily form—and you [Colossians, together among yourselves] have the fullness of Christ” [2:9]. This radical vision of a local community incarnating the reign of God now, of God’s future penetrating the present through a Spirit-led extended family, was vital to the dynamic witness and power of the early church.

No one has ever seen God,
not so much as a glimpse.
This one-of-a-kind God-Expression,
who exists at the very heart of the Father,
has made him plain as day.
[John 1:18 MSG]

Jesus, our Immanuel, came to show us a God with us and among us. And as followers of Jesus, we too, are called to be God with skin — embodying the presence of God in the world. We are called to be a visible, viable, social alternative. We are to be a transformative community living life together rooted in our places, joining in God’s work of renewing all things. So that all those around us can see this God as plain as day and can experience God's love present with and among them.

by Jessica Ketola

Last Sunday, our house bulged and sighed along with our songs and poems of lament. The floors reverberated with sounds of squealing children and our anticipation of the dawn breaking into the darkness. We sang songs, we prayed prayers, we drank a vat of coffee and pulled out every last chair. We shared stories of peace and reconciliation in our neighborhoods, and our hearts both rejoiced and ached for more.

Yes, Advent is here.

Advent with its bulging and stretching, anticipating.
Yearning and longing, aching and waiting.
Til there simply doesn't seem to be any more room.

We utter a sonnet of pain as we wait for joy's song.
We grope in the darkness as we watch for light's dawn.
We cry out in discomfort as we are pushed to the edges of all we have known.

No room. No margin.

No more carnage of hate, greed, and violence. Our hearts protest. We just can't take it.

No more shackles of fear, shame and falsehood. Our hearts cry out for liberation.

No more.

No more room in the inn. 
No more room in our house.* 
There just isn't enough.
Room in our hearts.
Our lives.
Our calendars.

No room.

Until.

The long-awaited birth.
Until the miracle.
Until a whole new world unfurls.
Until what is impossible suddenly transforms into possibility.
Until a space opens up that is large enough for all of us.
Until a love expands wide enough to hold a world of hurt.
Until a peace descends deep enough to fill up all the cracks.

Until...

​Jesus comes.

Yes, Advent is here.

It is bulging and stretching, anticipating. Yearning and longing, aching and waiting.

Prepare him room.



*As our house bulges, please know that there is always more than enough room for you and we are full of anticipation about what the Spirit is birthing in our midst. We are putting out more chairs this week and hopeful that a community third place will open up to us in the new year.


by Jessica Ketola

This poem was shared by David Drury this last Sunday and speaks to the fact that God and even nature share with us in our laments and longing for reconciliation with the hope that we are moving towards eventual redemption.

Even crummy houses see. Even dead birds perceive. Even hotels -- down to the girders--hear the sound when a heart in the elevator begins to crack. Even dry wells lie heavy. Even sea beds are unmade. Even skyscrapers scrape against it. Even then. Even now. Even as we speak. We do not carry it alone. Even puddles reflect. Even clouds bruise. Even cowgirls get the blues. Even glaciers get heated. Even mastodons in standing caskets bellow. Even the demons believe. Even the forests are burning. Even snowcaps are welling up. Even the rocks cry out. Even the teeth of the venerable oak chatters above a raked mash of fallen leaves. Even the cathedral christ refuses to come down off of the cross, until the solidarity with suffering has ended.

Meanwhile, the universe is racing to expand. It is new at the edges. Somewhere, inside a great cloud of particles, a star is breaking into life with the letters of your name scratched into its plasma core and sunspots to match every bruise. The galaxies are preparing to mobilize. On your behalf, the star is preparing to speak -- a mother's heart with a megaphone standing in the back of an army jeep.


Published in PCC Inscape and shared by our own resident writer and artist David Drury.

Reposting this post from last advent with some updates about how we as a community are participating in the sacred work of peace.

Peace on earth. O, how our hearts long for peace.​

And yet it is almost too hard to hope for. Amidst the oppression and suffering, violence and war, hate and strife, our hearts are weary. The words of O Holy Night echo our longing. “A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” Weary. Yes, we are weary. Tired. In fact, sick and tired. As U2 laments,

Heaven on earth, We need it now
I'm sick of all of this, Hanging around
Sick of sorrow, Sick of pain
Sick of hearing again and again
That there's gonna be Peace on earth
[U2, Peace on Earth]

This profound longing is what Advent is all about. It is about standing in the midst of the darkness and subversively lighting a candle. It is joining in the weary lament of the world and holding space for grief and for suffering. It is also declaring that a new dawn is coming. It is a prophetic act that lives into a reality that is not yet what it will fully be. It is a stubborn hope in the midst of overwhelming despair. The Prince of Peace has come and is bringing healing to the world.

But this peace is not a false peace. The prophet Jeremiah laments, “They offer superficial treatments for my people’s mortal wound. They give assurances of peace when there is no peace.” I think so many of us in the Western white church are guilty of saying, “Peace, peace; when there is no peace, ” [Jeremiah 6:14 KJV] and my heart is grieved.

For I am painfully aware that it is all too easy to gloss over the gaping wounds of our brothers and sisters who face oppression and violence, discrimination and injustice. It is tempting to avoid the anguish of sitting with those who are suffering and to move on quickly to the sparkling images of peace and love and brotherhood. But peacemaking is far from idyllic scenes of comfort and warmth and cheer. In fact, it is often messy, uncomfortable, and daunting.

And yet, Jesus declared, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” [Matthew 5:9] He called us to love our neighbor as ourselves, even to love our enemies. And he subversively broke down all the cultural and social divisions of the day that excluded others because of class, gender, religion, politics and race, declaring that we were all one in Christ.

Truly He taught us to love one another; His law is love and His gospel is peace. Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother; And in His name all oppression shall cease. [O Holy Night]

But what does Peace look like on earth? Here in my neighborhood? Here in the gritty mundane of my everyday life?I do not pretend to know God’s big dream for how peace on earth is to come to my neighborhood in its entirety, but I see some hopeful signs.

~ As we share a meal and conversation around the table with neighbors, strangers and friends every Wednesday night. I am always surprised by who walks in my door and the blessing of receiving the gift of community where all are welcome and everyone is valued. As we gather for a Holiday Neighborhood Party once again and extend the invitation far and wide, we are overjoyed as new connections are made and community is forged across difference. As we find ways to come together, to build friendships and to offer extravagant hospitality, we practice peace in our neighborhood.

~ As Lynn Newcombe, the Director of Turning Point, and sits around the table of the Shoreline Equity, Diversity & Inclusion Task Force, as Kelly Kuest leads her department of ESL into equity work at Edmonds-Woodway High School, as Erika (Em) Gonzalez Jones takes the lead on equity as a family advocate in Syre and Echo Lake Elementary schools, and as Cecelia Romero Likes and I collaborate with Suni Tolton, the Shoreline City's Diversity & Inclusion Coordinator, we are in awe of the inspiring work of passionate leaders to affect change throughout our community, from the schools to the city to local nonprofits. It is an absolute privilege to be a part of this beautiful work of peace.

~ As we take part in the Shoreline Social Justice Book Club, led by Cecelia Romero Likes, sponsored by King County Library and hosted at City Hall, we are absolutely thrilled to participate in peace making in our community. We are reading and discussing books with our neighbors written by people of color and cultivating practices of empathy and listening, learning from different perspectives and worldviews.

~ As we partner with Bethany Community Church North to serve those who are often marginalized in our community, as we offer presence and muffins and coffee on Aurora at the THS Methadone Clinic, I believe we are practicing peace as stigmas dissolve into faces and names, people with hopes and dreams just like us.

~ As we open up our doors every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday to offer tutoring and mentoring to at-risk children in the Shoreline School District, we practice peace. As we build friendships and community at Turning Point across culture, race, religion, language and socioeconomic divides, we practice peace. As we share a community meal together and listen to the stories of those who are “other”, we practice peace. And it is one of the richest gifts we receive. ​

~ As so many in our community practice presence and otherliness every day. As teachers, students, parents, professors, artists, chaplains, mental health practitioners and business professionals; as neighbors, colleagues and friends; and as social justice advocates and community organizers, we practice peace as we listen well to the stories of those around us and offer the gift of presence.

~ As we participate in cultural listening events, share dinners with our Muslim friends, show up for community forums around houselessness, join committees for city park planning, get involved with our local neighborhood associations, practice peace-making with our children, care for the environment, do the hard work of healing in our own lives, and show up for protests advocating with those who are suffering, we are learning what it means to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. We are discovering what it means to participate in God's work of renewal in our own lives and in the lives of our neighbors and neighborhoods, moving away from individualism and fragmentation toward solidarity and wholeness. Being reconciled to ourselves, God, and our neighbor.

~ And this Sunday as we light the candle of peace, we will hear from Bill and Julie Clark, who make peace their central vocation in their work with Peace Catalysts, and who bring Christians and Muslims together to make peace in our communities and our world.

So this Advent, we hold the many tensions. We stand in the midst of the darkness, the great upheaval, the injustice and the suffering, and we light a candle and pray, Come, Lord Jesus, come. We practice peace in a hundred and one small ways and yet we long and groan and pray for peace to come in its fullness. We do not gloss over the divisions, the gross injustices and oppressions of our day. Rather we choose to awaken to the groaning in our communities and our neighborhoods and we groan too, allowing our hearts to break and to grieve and to repent. And yet we are not overcome with despair. No, we are people of great hope. For Christ has come. Christ is here. And Christ is coming again. And He is bringing wholeness to everything and everyone and healing all that divides us. And so we can be confident that peace is surely coming here on earth, around our dinner tables, conference calls and playgrounds, so let it begin with us.
​
by Jessica Ketola

Joy To The World!

​This week, we light the Advent candle of JOY. And my heart is bursting with joy. As I celebrate all of the remarkable things that God has done this past year and as I think about each and every one of you and God's goodness and faithfulness in my own life and the life of our community. And just as I was sitting down to pontificate about all of this, an email pinged my inbox from our regional director and Pastor Emeritus, Rose Swetman. Her words resonated with me so I thought I would share them with you.

This Sunday is the third Sunday of Advent and is known as Guadete Sunday! Guadete, “rejoice” in Latin is represented by lighting the rose-colored candle in the Advent wreath. The theme for worship is joy. Joy is a fruit of the Spirit, a gift, an enablement of the Spirit.

Theologian Henri Nouwen described the difference between joy and happiness. While happiness is dependent on external conditions, joy is "the experience of knowing that you are unconditionally loved and that nothing -- sickness, failure, emotional distress, oppression, war, or even death -- can take that love away." Thus joy can be present even in the midst of sadness. I believe this was in Paul’s thoughts as he wrote perhaps his most personal letter to the church at Philippi:

      "Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again—rejoice! Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do. Remember, the Lord is coming soon.
     Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.
     And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. Keep putting into practice all you learned and received from me—everything you heard from me and saw me doing. Then the God of peace will be with you."

Neither Henri Nouwen nor the Apostle Paul are talking about some happy clappy form of fake joy, no, they are talking about the deep sense of belovedness that is our birthright, our inheritance. A belovedness that knows without a doubt that no matter what suffering comes our way there is a God that is in the process of reconciling all things to Himself. Everything in heaven and in earth has been delivered from sin and death and is in the process of being put right and the indescribable good news is that we are invited to participate in God’s renewal for our families, neighborhoods, workplaces and beyond. We have been invited to live out our faith in the Way of Jesus and become a part of the story God is telling in the world! - Rose Swetman​

This, my friends, is the good news. That even in the midst of a turbulent and violent world, we are loved and we are held. Love surrounds us. It is the air we breathe and the ground we walk on. This is our joy, the light invading the darkness. The good news that the angel announced to the shepherds, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord." [Luke 2:10-11] 

​GOOD NEWS of GREAT JOY for ALL PEOPLE. Regardless of what you may have heard, the wonder of God coming as flesh and blood as one of us, entering into our mess and suffering hunger, pain and betrayal so that we can know the depths of God's love, is the best kind of news imaginable. And it is for everyone! All people -- regardless of skin color, culture, religion, class, or gender. And it is especially good news to those who have been ostracized and oppressed, marginalized and excluded. And this Sunday, we will continue to explore this grand reversal of God's kingdom that brings down powerful rulers and lifts the humble poor. And so we wait, we watch, and we continue to join in the story of joy, hope, peace and love wherever we see it bursting into the world.

by Jessica Ketola

​Peace on earth. O, how our hearts long for peace.

​And yet it is almost too hard to hope for. Amidst the oppression and suffering, violence and war, hate and strife, our hearts are weary. The words of O Holy Night echo our longing. “A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” Weary. Yes, we are weary. Tired. In fact, sick and tired. As U2 laments, 

Heaven on earth, We need it now
I'm sick of all of this, Hanging around
Sick of sorrow, Sick of pain
Sick of hearing again and again
That there's gonna be Peace on earth
[U2, Peace on Earth]
 
This profound longing is what Advent is all about. It is about standing in the midst of the darkness and subversively lighting a candle. It is joining in the weary lament of the world and holding space for grief and for suffering. It is also declaring that a new dawn is coming. It is a prophetic act that lives into a reality that is not yet what it will fully be. It is a stubborn hope in the midst of overwhelming despair. The Prince of Peace has come and is bringing healing to the world.
 
But this peace is not a false peace. The prophet Jeremiah laments, “They offer superficial treatments for my people’s mortal wound. They give assurances of peace when there is no peace.” I think so many of us in the Western white church are guilty of saying, “Peace, peace; when there is no peace, ” [Jeremiah 6:14 KJV] and my heart is grieved.
 
For I am painfully aware that it is all too easy to gloss over the gaping wounds of our brothers and sisters who face oppression and violence, discrimination and injustice. It is tempting to avoid the anguish of sitting with those who are suffering and to move on quickly to the sparkling images of peace and love and brotherhood. But peacemaking is far from idyllic scenes of comfort and warmth and cheer. In fact, it is often messy, uncomfortable, and daunting.
 
And yet, Jesus declared, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” [Matthew 5:9] He called us to love our neighbor as ourselves, even to love our enemies. And he subversively broke down all the cultural and social divisions of the day that excluded others because of class, gender, religion, politics and race, declaring that we were all one in Christ.
 
Truly He taught us to love one another; His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother; And in His name all oppression shall cease. [O Holy Night]
 
But what does Peace look like on earth? Here in my neighborhood? Here in the gritty mundane of my everyday life?
 
I do not pretend to know God’s big dream for how peace on earth is to come to my neighborhood in its entirety, but I see some hopeful signs.

~ As we share a meal and conversation around the table with neighbors, strangers and friends every Wednesday night. I am always surprised by who walks in my door and the blessing of receiving the gift of community where all are welcome and everyone is valued. As we gather for a Holiday Neighborhood Party once again and extend the invitation far and wide, we are overjoyed as new connections are made and community is forged across difference. As we find ways to come together, to build friendships and to offer extravagant hospitality, we practice peace in our neighborhood.  

~ As Lynn Newcombe, the Director of Turning Point, and I sit around the table of the Shoreline Equity, Diversity & Inclusion Task Force, we are in awe of the inspiring work of passionate leaders to affect change throughout our community, from the schools to the city to local nonprofits. It is an absolute privilege to be a part of this beautiful work of peace.  

~ As Cecelia Romero-Likes, prepares to lead and facilitate a Social Justice Book Discussion Group, sponsored by King County Library and hosted at City Hall, we are absolutely thrilled to participate in peace making in our community. We will read books by people of color and cultivate practices of empathy and listening, learning from different perspectives and worldviews.  

~ As we begin to partner with local churches to serve those who are often marginalized in our community, as we offer presence and muffins and coffee on Aurora at the THS Methadone Clinic, I believe we are practicing peace as stigmas dissolve into faces and names, people with hopes and dreams just like us.  

~ As we open up our doors every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday to offer tutoring and mentoring to at-risk children in the Shoreline School District, we practice peace. As we build friendships and community at Turning Point across culture, race, religion, language and socioeconomic divides, we practice peace. As we share a community meal together and listen to the stories of those who are “other”, we practice peace. And it is one of the richest gifts we receive. ​

~ As so many in our community practice presence and otherliness every day. As teachers, students, professors, artists, mental health practitioners and business professionals; as neighbors, colleagues and friends; and as social justice advocates and community organizers, we practice peace as we listen well to the stories of those around us and offer the gift of presence.

~ And this Sunday as we light the candle of peace, we will hear from Iris Reano, who will speak to us about what peace on earth means to her as an indigenous woman and a single mom. And I could not be more excited! Iris is an eloquent and gracious woman and it is our profound privilege to listen to her story and to see what peace looks like from her perspective.  

So this Advent, we hold the many tensions. We stand in the midst of the darkness, the great upheaval, the injustice and the suffering, and we light a candle and pray, Come, Lord Jesus, come. We practice peace in a hundred and one small ways and yet we long and groan and pray for peace to come in its fullness. We do not gloss over the divisions, the gross injustices and oppressions of our day. Rather we choose to awaken to the groaning in our communities and our neighborhoods and we groan too, allowing our hearts to break and to grieve and to repent. And yet we are not overcome with despair. No, we are people of great hope. For Christ has come. Christ is here. And Christ is coming again. And He is bringing wholeness to everything and everyone and healing all that divides us. And so we can be confident that peace is surely coming here on earth, around our dinner tables, conference calls and playgrounds, so let it begin with us.

​by Jessica Ketola

This week, we enter the final days of Advent and we will soon celebrate the birth of Jesus, our Emmanuel, God with us. And surely God is with us. Any uncertainty that I have felt has been put to rest as we have journeyed together over the past eight months. God has been so faithful to us. And I have witnessed miracle after miracle of God’s healing, provision and direction when we have needed it the most. And so as our community has entered this season with a profound sense of longing and anticipation, we have been contemplating, what of the Holy is God birthing in us?
 
Meister Eckhart, a theologian and mystic in the 14th century, has said, “What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to [Jesus] fourteen hundred years ago and I do not also give birth to [Him] in my time and in my culture? We are all meant to be Mary.” We are all called to birth the holy in the midst of our ordinary, everyday lives. To birth the holy right here and right now. To participate in this kingdom where heaven meets earth, just like it did when the Spirit hovered over the waters in Genesis to bring forth all of creation, just like it did when the Spirit hovered over a young peasant girl Mary to bring forth God’s son. And just like the Spirit is hovering over us in the darkness, in the uncertainty, in the unknown, to bring forth God’s purposes in us.
 
And yet we know that birthing is not tidy a process. It is messy with lots of unknowns along the way. Birthing the holy demands that we release control and let the journey take us where it will.  For those of us who have experienced childbirth, we know this. The best thing we can do is to surrender to the process. This is a practice of cultivating trust in the organic unfolding of our lives. If we make space to listen to the deep desires of our hearts and follow them, not knowing exactly where they will take us, we may find ourselves being led to something beyond our own imaginations into something truly beautiful. We experience “birthing pains” because there is a physical and spiritual stretching apart as we make way for an unfurling of new life into the world. The poet David Whyte writes “What you can plan is too small for you to live.” The real adventure of life begins when we release our own plans and allow ourselves to birth what is being brought forth within us.
 
And this is exactly the process we have been in as a community. I do believe that God is birthing something in us. We’ve been talking about a new birth, a new season for our community beginning in the new year which would be re-launch or replant our little faith community in a new time and new place in January. And we had some plans about how that was going to happen. And yet, now I can see that perhaps our plans were too small. And so we lean into all the unknown of new beginnings and trust that God is leading us forward.
 
And of course, our inclination is that we want to skip to the good stuff—to the new baby in our arms or to the songs of rejoicing as we proclaim, “Joy to the World!” -- to see what it is we’ve been waiting and longing for. We want to avoid the labor pains. Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to be the way it works. Whatever God is birthing in us never comes without the season of gestation, the surrender to the unknown, the wrestling and pushing until something beautiful is born. Over the last eight months, there has been much uncertainty, much unknown. Many of us have wondered and wrestled, what the heck is God doing? And I know that many of you are still currently in this season. Wondering what God is up to in your lives. But as with all birth, our best efforts to try and control or force the process seem futile until that beautiful thing that is always such a mystery reaches the light and takes its first holy breath.
​
And so I believe that God is birthing something in us, and that we as a community are being reborn. But it is God’s work. And there is a letting go, a surrendering to the process, an anticipation, and the surprise and unexpected nature of the kingdom. And so we will wait and hope and dream together. Just like Mary, we bear the Divine, giving birth to the Holy within our ordinary lives in an effort to bring Hope, Light, and Life to the world.

​by Jessica Ketola

Are you longing for reformation? In our world, in our country, in our neighborhoods -- and yes, even in the church? I know I am. It is hard to read the news today. So much violence, injustice, and suffering. It is unimaginable. Horrific. Incomprehensible. Even as I think about my own neighborhood and all the longing, need and suffering represented here, it can be overwhelming. As we ponder the meaning of Advent this season, I am aware, perhaps like never before, of our need. Our collective need. For God to come. Our Emmanuel. God with us. In the flesh. Taking on the vulnerability and fragility of a baby, so that He could share in our humanity in all of its glory and in all of its depravity. God comes to us. God lives with us. The story of Advent is the story of God moving into our neighborhoods. God is here. This is good news.
 
But is it really? Good news? To our neighbors, to our co-workers, to the immigrant, to the single mom or the elderly shut-in, to those struggling to put food on the table, to those without homes and stability, to those being abused, to those who are addicted, to those without friends or community. Is the gospel really good news? Is the church good news?
 
Unfortunately, the answer to this question is often a decided no. In so many ways, the church is often portrayed and epitomized to be at best, irrelevant and at worst, more bad news in a world brimming and overflowing with bad news. Judgmental, narrow-minded, naïve, oppressive, hypocritical, legalistic, unenlightened, and harmful. How did we get here? These are the same attributes for which Jesus chastised the religious people in his day.
 
In Jesus’ inaugurational speech, he declared the prophetic words of Isaiah 61, "The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free.” This is what good news looks like. Jesus was all about bringing freedom, healing, lifting up the poor and the marginalized and the oppressed in society, restoring our humanity and extending scandalous grace. And this is the work he has called us to as the church.
 
And these words reverberate in my soul. This is what drives me. This is why I said yes to the call to pastor. If it was more of the same - doing church often in very irrelevant ways - then no. No thank you. But this word reformation. It calls to me. It allures me when I think of giving up. It entices me when I grow weary.  What if….?
 
What if the gospel was embodied and reinterpreted in our time and in our day to be good news? Like actual good news? Reflective of the depths of kindness and healing, grace and freedom that I have encountered in Jesus.
 
What if the church embodied this good news?  What if we were known for our sacrifice? Our kindness. Our generosity. Our work in the neighborhood. Our compassion. What if we puzzled people by our desire to listen, our graciousness, our hospitality, our laughter and our unconditional acceptance?
 
What if people sensed that God had moved into the neighborhood? What if we became champions for the poor and lovers of the marginalized? What if we fought for the flourishing of all of our neighbors? Those who live outside, those without citizenship, those without privilege? What if we decided that it wasn’t okay to live above place with a kind of spirituality that keeps our heads in the clouds -- but instead, chose to live faithfully immersed in the complex stories of our neighborhoods with a commitment to cultivate love and justice there. What if we realized that we needed connection, integration and wholeness just as much as the least of these? What if we decided that it was impossible to live this way of Jesus without some radical shifts in our lifestyles and the way we think about church?

What if the gospel was actually good news and our lives and our communities experienced reformation? This is what I am longing for. What I am waiting, hoping and praying for. This Advent, come, Jesus, come. Move into the neighborhood.


By Jessica Ketola