Last Sunday marked the first Sunday of Lent as we began our series, On Earth As It Is In Heaven around the teachings of Jesus' famous Sermon on the Mount. [If you missed it, you can listen here]. And as we read his manifesto, we are invited into a whole new way of being in the world.

We are invited to repent [to turn around, to change our hearts and our minds, to come home] for the kingdom of heaven is near. These are the postures of repentance and Lent. These are the postures of death and of birthing. These are the postures of transformation. These are the postures of surrender.

Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are the humble and meek. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice. Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are the pure in heart. Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are those who are persecuted for doing good. For they will receive a taste of heaven here on earth.

This is counter to everything we crave as humans. Success. Wealth. Status. Gratification. Independence. Control. We do not like to be poor, to be weak, or to be lowly. We often disdain our hunger and our need. We do not enjoy suffering, mistreatment or betrayal. In fact, so much of our human experience is trying to prove ourselves. Trying to prove that we're strong, invincible, knowledgeable, or in control or at the very least NOT WEAK...

And yet Jesus invites us to weakness.

The season of Lent invites us to surrender.

But it is a different kind of surrender -- not to a foe but to LOVE.

"Perhaps the word "surrender" should be enough for my prayer... Not the surrender of submission to an enemy, but the opposite, the laying down of resistance to the One who loves me infinitely more than I can guess, the One who is more on my side that I am myself. Dwelling on this thought of letting go, and handing myself over to the Spirit will bring me much closer to the experience of Jesus than the word 'discipline' which so many of us have been trained to invoke at the beginning of Lent. It should help us smile at our anxious attempts to bring our life under control, the belt tightening resolutions about giving up this or taking on that. What we are called to give up in Lent is control itself!" -Martin L. Smith, A Season for the Spirit

What we are called to give up in Lent is control itself.

Powerful words and a powerful invitation as we begin the Lenten season. An invitation to die, to let go, to surrender.

And so I will leave you with two reflections this week. One of my own and the powerful litany this week from Fran Pratt.

My prayer is that you can begin to experience heaven here on earth as you find new postures of surrender and weakness.


by Jessica Ketola

REFLECTION: What Is It That Needs To Die?

All transformation requires a death, a loss of what has been, a letting go. This is not easy work. This is not comfortable work. This is neither for the faint of heart or the indifferent. Rather, it requires a daring tenacity and a robust faith. A willingness to risk and to fail and to iterate.

And yet death comes before life. The seed dies before the new tender shoot emerges from the earth. This is the way of Lent. This is the way of the cross. This is the way of birthing. This is the way of dying.

This is where the mystery of the tomb coalesces with the miracle of the womb.

And so, what is it that we need to surrender? What is it that needs to die? What is it that we need to let go of? And as we journey together with community fasting and prayer, what collectively is it that we need to give up?

Is it our comfort? Our need for success? The ways in which we want what we want when we want it? Our individualism and our independence?

Is it our reluctance to commit or to be inconvenienced? Our prejudices? Our resentments? Our fear? Our jealousies? Our insecurities? Our wounds? Our self-hate?

Or is it our need to please others? Our need to be validated? Our need to be important? Our security? Our need for control? Our power? Our privilege? Our possessions?

What is it that needs to die?

Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die. So the saying goes. But Jesus promises us that as we lose the striving and scarcity of our own small lives, we will enter the expansiveness of His full and abundant life. [Matthew 16:25] That as we enter the paradox of the tomb, of death, surrender, and letting go, that in time from the womb of our deepest desires, new life will emerge.

Spend time this week reflecting on the invitation to surrender. Listen for the Spirit to speak to you afresh.

A LITANY FOR WEAKNESS
Fran Pratt franpratt.com. Used with permission.

Oh God, we come to Lent to face ourselves:
Our desperate need to prove our worth;
Our hunger for reputation, wealth, and influence; 
Our ego's power over us...

Read More on franpratt.com.

Last Sunday, we took some time to envision the kind of community that we dream about being a part of as The Practicing Church. If anything is possible, who do we want to be? What does it look like? What are we up to in the world? And it was a generative and hopeful exercise. I heard themes around inclusivity, welcome, authenticity, diversity, justice, community engagement and grassroots, catalytic movement. And I am so excited to see how God's dream emerges in us, around us and through us!

As we have been actively listening, praying and leaning into our next step as a community to create a place of hospitality in the neighborhood, we have seen the doors fling wide open. And so I am thrilled to announce that we will begin meeting on Sundays at One Cup Coffee, as soon as March 31st! This has been a decision that we as a community have been prayerfully discerning for several months now. And we are amazed at God's provision to us through the generosity of Bethany Community Church North to be able to have a welcoming and visible presence in the neighborhood! Surely the Spirit of God is at work!

This week also marks the beginning of the season of Lent, which is the 40 days before Easter that the church sets aside for repentance, generosity to the poor, and prayer. And I can't think of a more perfect time to begin to pray the prayer that Jesus taught us to pray, "Let your kingdom come, here and now, on earth as it is in heaven," as we move into our new gathering space.

For much more than a move from one space to another, we are literally moving as a community on this transformational journey into the heart of our neighborhood. We are opening up wider and we are rooting down deeper.

And as we do this, we will journey through Lent around Jesus' teachings of the Sermon on the Mount. And as I was ruminating on this with Carrie Cates, she sent me the following thoughts:

[I see the Sermon on the Mount] fundamentally about the weaving together of heaven and earth. Lent is this quiet season of repentance, prayer, fasting - rooting down into the essence of what it means to be a follower of Christ. The Sermon on the Mount calls us to such practices, practices of bodies and of systems, which change our posture in this world. At the same time, it calls us to change the posture of our hearts and minds, to invoke the blessings and hopes of heaven. I don't necessarily see that Jesus says that you must focus more on heaven or more on earth. The implication seems more to be that there is a ceaseless flow between earth and heaven; that our hearts, bodies, and actions can be a part of bringing heaven to earth; and heaven (the shalom, the wholeness, justice and perfection of God) is at least in part manifested in us. I think of Rilke's poem that talks about returning to first things, about learning to fall so that you can fly:

"If we surrendered 
to earth's intelligence 
we could rise up rooted, like trees."

The more deeply you root into earth, the higher you reach into heaven.

And so we will begin the transformational journey of Lent by praying, practicing, and manifesting heaven on earth. We will join together to participate in God's dream for us and for our neighborhoods, as we wrestle with the challenging teachings of Jesus to orient the whole of our lives around this revolutionary way of love. We will repent from scarcity, white supremacy, individualism and consumerism and we will stand in solidarity with those who suffer. And we will make space in our hearts for God to come and to dwell in us, meeting the deepest longings of our soul and awakening us to the abundant life we were created for.


by Jessica Ketola

God has given us a compelling story. It is a story unfolding. A story in process. A story unfinished. And much of the work before us is to celebrate this story, clarify this story, articulate this story, and live into the richness of this story. It is a story that God has given us and it is one that is still being written by our faith community along with the Spirit.

For we are The Practicing Church. We are a people on a journey. A people who desire to take the teachings of Jesus seriously. Not as something to add to our already busy, stressed out lives, but as a way of life. And we believe that this takes practice. That transformation doesn't happen by good intentions or osmosis but by practices that form us in the way of Jesus. And so we participate in communal practices, formational practices and missional practices that align our lives with the values of God's good, wise and loving kindom.

And in doing so, we experience transformation. In our own lives, we find we are on the inward journey to come home to God and to our true selves and the fullness of who we are created to be. In an age of anxiety and fragmentation, we cultivate spiritual practices that ground us in the love of God and become a sanctuary for our souls. And we find ourselves growing in faith, hope and love.

At the same time, we are invited to journey together. From the small and isolating individualism of our culture into the rich expansiveness of community. We are invited from scarcity to the abundance of the kindom, to be a part of something much bigger than ourselves. To invest our time, our energy and our resources on what matters most. Our small offering, just like the parable of the loaves and fishes, can then be blessed, broken and multiplied many times over as it is shared with the community.

This compels us on the journey outward from the captivity of consumerism into creating culture. We are called to join in the Spirit's work of reconciliation and healing in the world around us, in our neighborhoods, our schools and work places. We are called to participate in the work of justice, peacemaking and renewal. We are called to repent from our indifference, bias and pride to learn how to love our neighbor and our enemy, our brother and the stranger. To see the face of Jesus in the face of the poor.

As we continue to pray about our next move as a community, we keep this story in mind. For we believe it is a compelling story. One that is needed today in an age of anxiety, fragmentation and division. For we need practices that offer us a path home. Like the Hero's Journey, we will need to leave the known world for the adventure of the unknown, to engage a wider world, to encounter trials, to face the enemies of our soul, to discover new strengths, and to ultimately die to our false selves only to to be reborn. To find wholeness and shalom with ourselves, God and others.

Join us this week as we collectively dream, envision and reimagine what it means to be the church! Add your voice, your creativity and your passion to our unfolding story!


by Jessica Ketola

Last Sunday, we talked about contemplative spirituality as a necessary antidote for our souls [If you missed it you can check out the sermon podcast]. For it is the portal to the direct life-giving presence of God. When we are rooted in contemplative spirituality, we are more receptive and malleable in the hands of God, and the life of Christ flows more freely through us.

So Chris Heuertz in his book, The Sacred Enneagram, asserts that solitude, silence and stillness are the lifesaving corrections to the absurdity we've fallen into - the addictions, the coping mechanisms or whatever is out of control in our lives. And he insists that contemplative practice is crucial to living into transformation and wholeness in our lives.

That said, it's unfortunate that we tend to resist solitude, silence and stillness because some aspects of our awakening, growth and development cannot be realized without them. Each is a work of grace, a work only God can do in us. We need practices that open us to this grace, this work of God. God is love and therefore God can be trusted.

In silence, God will do for us what we cannot do for ourselves.This is easier said than done. First, we must being to recognize our inherent addictions and compulsions that we use to cope with our sense of inner dread. We all have them. When life goes sideways, these are the primary ways we seek to regain a sense of being okay.

[And by the way, these are the same temptations of Jesus recorded in the gospels: the need for power and control, the need for affirmation and esteem and the need for security. Curious? See blog post and sermon podcast.]

Stillness as the antidote to our need for Control
Some of us are obsessed with control. (According to the Enneagram, these would be types 8,9 and 1 in the Gut Center.) When life comes at us, we seek to gain equilibrium by funneling all of our drive and energy into some illusion of control. But according to Heuertz, stillness is crucial for us. Because for those of us with drive, whether we are fighting for justice or mediating peace or fixing what is broken in the world, what happens when we stop? Who are we without the good we do? And so when we are forced to stop, we may realize how over-identified are with our drive to do. Stillness then becomes a necessary counterpoint to our need to control and brings us into freedom.

Solitude as the corrective to our need for Affirmation
Some of us are obsessed with the affirmation and approval of others. (According to the Enneagram, these would be types 2,3,and 4 in the Heart Center.) And so for us feeling types who are addicted to the affirmation and opinion of others, solitude is crucial. Solitude functions as a corrective to the dependency on connection and comparison to somehow validate ourselves. So then, who are we when we are alone? When we can't meet the needs of another? When we can't read a room to get what we want? When there is no one around to see and appreciate us? And so often when we are disconnected from ourselves, we never fully feel embraced by others and we can feel lonely; and yet if we can connect to our true essence we can bring our true self into relationship. And so solitude is key in this recovery. Because in solitude, we allow space for our true essence, our soul, to emerge. Solitude teaches us how to be present - present to God, to ourselves and to others with no strings attached.

Silence as the counter to our need for Security
Some of us are obsessed with security and survival (These are the thinking types 5, 6 and 7 in the Head Center). And for those of us who cope by anxious thought processes in our heads, silence is crucial. Is it possible for us to turn down the inner noise - everything that serves as a distraction - to be able to really listen? Can we stop searching for answers long enough to hear the answer within? Can we stop worrying long enough to hear the quiet voice inside assuring us that everything will be okay? Can we dial down our anxious addiction to adventure and opportunity to hear that everything we need is already present? Silence helps us learn how to listen to the voice of God in our lives, a voice we may have been unable to recognize before. Silence helps us listen to the people in our lives who speak loving words of truth or affirmation over us. And silence helps us to listen to ourselves, both our desires and our fears.

When we give ourselves to contemplative practices marked by solitude, silence and stillness, our souls are nurtured, our gifts blossom and our true selves emerge. Contemplative spirituality calms the body, stills the emotions and quiets the mind. And in so doing, it liberates us from ego addictions, giving us the freedom to make major corrections to our behaviors informed by our True Self.

In other words, contemplative practice brings transformation.
So that we can become more like Christ as we follow the Way.

And so I hope you will begin to experience the richness of contemplative spirituality as you try some new practices this week! I have included some resources below to spark your imagination and curiosity.


CONTEMPLATIVE PRACTICE

• Centering Prayer
• Centering Prayer App
• Lectio Divina
• The Prayer of Examen
• Welcoming Prayer
• Fixed Hour Prayer
• Daily Prayers - Sacred Space
• Daily Prayers - Pray As You Go App
• Sacred Rhythms by Ruth Haley Barton
• Strengthening the Soul of your Leadership by Ruth Haley Barton

by Jessica Ketola

​This week, we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr. Day and this beautiful dream he had of the beloved community. Dr. King worked tirelessly for the day when men and women everywhere, regardless of color or creed, would be equal members of the human family as children of God. Not only did he die for this dream, but his life was tragically snuffed out before he ever tasted of it. And sadly, this dream still alludes us.

I believe this dream is the dream pictured in Revelations where the great multitude is gathered, every nation, every tribe, every people and every language worshipping together. And I believe that this message of reconciliation is THE MESSAGE of the gospel.

"For God in all his fullness was pleased to live in Christ, and through him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and on earth by means of Christ’s blood on the cross." [Colossians 1:19-20]

And yet we are living in divisive times where hate, fear, greed and violence often feel like they are winning. Where war and genocide still occur, where racism and oppression are rampant, where walls are built to keep the "other" out and children are separated from their parents. There is a collective groan, one articulated by the Psalmists long ago.

O Lord, how long will you forget me? Forever? 
How long will you look the other way? 
How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul, 
with sorrow in my heart every day? 
How long will my enemy have the upper hand? [Psalm 13:1-2]

This was the prayer we uttered in Turkish and then English at the Peace Feast on Sunday as we shared a meal with Turkish Muslim Refugees. A fitting prayer in response to the stories of oppression, incarceration, and harsh treatment the Turkish refugees experienced and are still experiencing by being a part of the wrong social group. They fled from forced poverty and inhumane conditions in prison as everyday teachers, civil servants and journalists were locked away on unsubstantiated "terrorist" charges. Not unlike so many in the world today persecuted because they are the wrong race, culture, affiliation, religion or political party.

It was hard to believe that these kind and gracious people I sat across the table from were a threat to their government. But then again, our own government was founded upon these same racist, prejudiced principles.

“Our nation was born in genocide when it embraced the doctrine that the original American, the Indian, was an inferior race. Even before there were large numbers of Negroes on our shore, the scar of racial hatred had already disfigured colonial society. From the sixteenth century forward, blood flowed in battles over racial supremacy. We are perhaps the only nation which tried as a matter of national policy to wipe out its indigenous population. Moreover, we elevated that tragic experience into a noble crusade. Indeed, even today we have not permitted ourselves to reject or feel remorse for this shameful episode. Our literature, our films, our drama, our folklore all exalt it. Our children are still taught to respect the violence which reduced a red-skinned people of an earlier culture into a few fragmented groups herded into impoverished reservations.” Dr. King.

Hagar and her husband Nazim were beautiful people, explaining to us how Hagar's name is derived from the Abraham story, a story we both share as Muslims and Christians. Yes, indeed, we are brothers and sisters. And God's work is one of reconciliation and peace. I could tell this resonated between us as we exchanged contact details, promising to continue the conversation before we said our goodbyes.

This beloved community is the community that I want to work towards building. Far more than a nice ideal and a nod to justice that I as a white, privileged woman can feel good about for a day, I am committed to join in and support this work over the long haul as I learn from and follow those who have gone before.

The world doesn't need our niceness, white folks. Neither does it need our mediocrity. Instead, we are invited to follow the radical teachings of Jesus.

As the civil rights activist and author, Dominique Gilliard has challenged us, "Pastors please stop domesticating the radical teachings and example found in the Christ!"

And as a church, this is the work. God's work of renewal, healing and reconciliation in the world. And we get to be a part of it.

▪ As we share meals with Turkish Muslim refugees and extend warm welcome and solidarity for the suffering of their people.

▪ As we show up in our places to join the work with our neighbors at The Beloved Community event in Edmonds, the MLK event at Casa Latina, the Edwin Pratt Living the Dream event at Shoreline City Hall, and the Shoreline Social Justice Book Club.

▪ As we gather around tables with neighbors and strangers alike as we did last night. I had the gift of meeting Massoud, an Iranian American, and hearing the heartbreak of his story as he shared about the loss of his beloved wife. Yes, we are brothers and sisters, all of us, longing for connection, aching to be heard, yearning for home.

▪ As we lament and create songs, poems and art that express our prayers and our dreams for all of us to flourish. Check out Cecelia Romero Like's poem this week.

▪ And as I prepare to attend our Turning Point community meal tonight in honor of Martin Luther King Jr., I look forward to taking in the beautiful diversity that at times takes my breath away. A reminder that heaven is near. A vision of the beloved community -- where Christian and Muslim, Eritrian and Ethiopian, Filipino and Mexican, indigenous and immigrant, those with homes and those without, those with parents and those aching for their loved ones -- will all come together and experience the power of community.

"The cross is the eternal expression of the length to which God will go in order to restore broken community. The resurrection is a symbol of God’s triumph over all the forces that seek to block community. The Holy Spirit is the continuing community creating reality that moves through history. He who works against community is working against the whole of creation." Dr. King

May you follow the radical teachings of Jesus. May you include those who others shun. May you listen to stories and experiences that are foreign to you. May you give up power, privilege and preference so that the voices of others can be heard. May you break bread with those whose ideology offends yours. May you learn to love your enemies.

by Jessica Ketola

​This last Sunday, we continued our conversation about Soulful Living. Many of you are familiar with the classic comedy film, What About Bob?. In it, Bill Murray plays this neurotic, phobic, obsessive-compulsive personality with innumerable needs who follows his exasperated therapist, played by Richard Dreyfuss, on vacation.

But Bob has needs.

He has terrible anxiety leaving his house. And I quote, “I get weird. I get dizzy spells, nausea, cold sweats/hot sweats, fever blisters, involuntary trembling, blurred vision, dead hands, numb lips, fingernail sensitivity, pelvic discomfort, difficulty breathing, difficulty swallowing... What if my heart stops beating? What if I’m looking for a bathroom and I can’t find one and my bladder explodes?” Yes, Bob has needs. And yet in this analogy.

Your soul is Bob; and you are Richard Dreyfuss.*

[*Stolen from the book by John Ortberg, Soul Keeping.]

It is the nature of the soul to need.

Thomas Aquinas wrote that the neediness of our souls is what points us to God. For we are limited creatures, virtually in every way; in our intelligence, our strength, our energy, our morality. But as Kent Dunnington puts it,

“We are limited in every way but one: we have unlimited desire.”

We always want more: more time, more wisdom, more beauty, more chocolate, more Netflix. This is the soul crying out. In a sense, we never have enough. And yet the truth is that the soul’s infinite capacity to desire is the mirror image of God’s infinite capacity to give.

The unlimited neediness of the soul matches the unlimited grace of God.

Which is great for those of us who are afraid of our need. That somehow it is too much, shameful, or despicable. Afraid that we may be overwhelmed by the abyss of our need. But God’s grace is boundless. And surely, if God’s grace is enough for Bob, it is enough for us.

So the soul is needy. The soul desires. What the soul truly desires is God.

We may try to fill that need with other things. Which is in fact at the root of our sin, our idolatry, or what we would call addiction. This is simply the soul meeting its need with anything that disrupts our communion with God.

And so while we may try to fill that need with other things, the soul will never be satisfied without God. The psalmist speaks of this in Psalm 84, “My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.”

The soul needs to be with God.

And throughout the Scriptures, we see that the soul was designed to desire, to search, to thirst for God. Our souls thirst for God as parched land thirsts for water. Our souls desire to be with God, to be seen and to be known and to be held. Our souls are clingy the Psalmists say. Our souls cling to God. Our souls wait for God. Our souls stalk God (like Bob). For we are meant to live in the very presence of God.

Our souls will never find rest until they rest in God.

And this is the way we are created. To be in abiding communion with God even as Adam and Eve walked with God in the cool of the day.

But I don't have to tell you that modern life today is a hostile environment for the soul. There is no time for rest, let alone resting in God. And yet our souls are hungry. Our souls are weary.

A Beautiful Invitation

Jesus said this, “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” [Matthew 11:28-30 MSG]

This is such a beautiful invitation from Jesus to us. That we could come to him and recover our lives and learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

Join us this Sunday as we continue our conversation about Soulful Living and examine how to practice the presence of God in our everyday, chaotic lives, learning from Brother Lawrence, Saint Ignatius and many mystics and monastics who have gone before us.

For our souls need. Our souls need God. And our souls need rest.In fact, they crave it. The soul knows only borrowed strength. The soul is meant to rest in God like a tree rests in the soil, like a branch rests in the vine.
​
May you answer this beautiful invitation of Jesus to come and find rest.


by Jessica Ketola

Happy New Year! I hope your holidays were full of meaningful connections and at least a little bit of rest and relaxation in the midst of the hubbub. I know I always enjoy the freshness of the new year and the opportunity to reflect and to discern what the Spirit is inviting us to. And so as I write to you this morning, I am full of hope as we embark on a new year together as a community. God's faithfulness to us this far has been absolutely stunning, and I am fully confident in God's goodness to lead us forward.

When we relaunched The Practicing Church just two years ago, we had a dream. Of being a community that was actively seeking to live into the way of Jesus together. Of being the church, not simply going to church. Of becoming incarnational, the-presence-of-God-in-human-form kind of people in our neighborhoods, schools and workplaces. Joining in God's work of reconciliation, peace, healing and renewal. And while, we are a people in process, this is happening! So many of you are on the ground in your classrooms, in your counseling offices, in your nonprofits, in your homes, workplaces, and neighborhoods. You are present. You are listening. You are engaging in the work of Jesus.

We had a dream that we would be a community. That church wouldn't look like consumption but contribution. That every member could offer their gifts to create a beautiful mosaic. And that every person would be saying yes to their unique call and vocation, moving on the contemplative journey inward, the activist journey outward and the communal journey together. And this too is happening! We are regularly inspired by the musicians, poets, writers, contemplatives, activists, engineers, teachers and artists among us. I love Sundays, especially the ones where multiple and diverse voices and gifts are offered. And I love that you all are committed to being on the transformational journey. I get the sacred privilege of hearing many of your stories of courage, healing and growth in your lives, and you inspire me.

We had a dream that we would begin to embed in our neighborhoods to practice the simple mandate to love our neighbor. We had a dream of living in proximity and intentionally building community in a way that was sustainable and rich. And while the scale has been smaller and the pace slower than we had imagined, we are also beginning to see some beautiful things emerge! Our neighborhood dinners every Wednesday now include 12-15 of our surrounding neighbors and we look forward to connecting each week. And life in our neighborhood is sweet. The daily rhythms are rich, from seeing our housemates everyday, impromptu dinners, football games watched together, movie nights, and missing ingredients borrowed to early morning walks with neighbors, tamale making parties, shared gardens, and neighborhood murals. We are beginning to hear the deeper stories of our neighbors, and a robust community is forming.

We had a dream of participating in the flourishing of our community. Of participating in equity, justice and renewal. And while we have so many burgeoning dreams, we are becoming a part of the fabric of care in Shoreline. Through Turning Point's work of equity, inclusion, empowerment and education, we are bringing neighbors together to care for one another. Through the Shoreline Social Justice Book Club, community meals, the Community Resource Team for Shoreline youth, Richmond Highlands Neighborhood Association, Coffee and Breakfast on Aurora, and peacemaking events, we have the privilege of being a part of what the Spirit is up to in this community.

And I am so grateful. Overwhelmingly grateful. As I call each of your faces to mind; as I remember all the promises of God to me personally and to us as a community; as I meditate on the faithfulness of God to us over and over again; I am filled with hope.

Happy New Year! May 2019 be a year of deep connection, soulful living, and wild adventure!

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