​Sitting midst the heartbreak and injustice for those who continue to suffer the unthinkable in migrant detention centers, I am sickened. The reports of horror and degradation continue with pictures of children in cages, separated from their parents, hungry and inconsolable; adults and children held for weeks or months in over-crowded cells, sometimes with no access to soap, toothpaste, or places to wash their hands or shower, sleeping on concrete floors or forced to stand due to lack of space. Reports of filth, unsanitary and inhumane conditions, sexual abuse, hunger, extreme cold, illness and even death. What are we to do but to cry out.

"Arise, Lord! Lift up your hand, O God. Do not forget the helpless." [Psalm 10:12]

Migrant Detention Centers Conditions - Times Article

As we continue through the Psalms, this week I am struck by the psalms of lament, crying out for justice. As much as we would like to read peacefully through the psalms, there is hardly a page that isn't left smoking by a pungent curse. These outbreaks of hate that smite the enemy can be off-putting. We are used to peaceful prayers, sanitized prayers, detached prayers. There is a rawness and honesty in the psalms that is disruptive and yet necessary.

But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted; 
you consider their grief and take it in hand. 
The victims commit themselves to you; 
you are the helper of the fatherless. 
Break the arm of the wicked man; 
call the evildoer to account for his wickedness 
that would not otherwise be found out.
The Lord is King for ever and ever; 
the nations will perish from his land. 
You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted; 
you encourage them, and you listen to their cry, 
defending the fatherless and the oppressed, 
so that mere earthly mortals 
will never again strike terror. (Psalm 10:14-18)

Eugene Peterson says this in his book Answering God: The Psalms As Tools For Prayer. "But immersed by prayer in this holiness, we see clearly what we never saw before, the utter and terrible sacrilege of enemies who violate a good creation, who brutalize women and men who are made, every one of them in the image of God. There is an enormous amount of suffering epidemic in the world because of evil people. The rape and pillage are so well concealed in polite language and courteous conventions that some people can go years without seeing it. And we ourselves did not see it. But now we see it. And we hate it. We are ejected from our cushioned private religion into solidarity with 'The Silent Servants of the Used, Abused and Utterly Screwed Up'."

So what happens when we no longer distance ourselves and begin to lament? What shifts in our prayers as we begin to cry out on behalf of those seeking refuge from violence at our borders who are only subjected to more violence?

​In the article, Responding to Injustice With Lament, Andy Kim talks about how critical it is for the people of God to learn to lament. Here is an excerpt:

The Lost Discipline of Lament 
The Bible is filled with lament. There is even an entire book devoted to lament (Lamentations, anyone?). Check out Psalms 10, 13, 22, 39, 44, 51, 56, 60, 74, 79, 80, 85, 90, 92, 1 Samuel 30:4, Jeremiah 31:15, Matthew 27:46. We see time and time again that when the God's people are faced with evil, injustice, oppression and turmoil, the Biblical response is often lament.

In Reconciling All Things, Emmanuel Katongole and Chris Rice help us to understand what lament is, and what it isn't:

"Lament is not despair. It is not whining. It is not a cry into a void. Lament is a cry directed to God. It is the cry of those who see the truth of the world's deep wounds and the cost of seeking peace. It is the prayer of those who are deeply disturbed by the way things are... The journey of reconciliation is grounded in the practice of lament." (pp. 78)

In our pursuit of multiethnic ministry and reconciliation, are we engaging in Biblical lament?

Author, pastor and theologian Soong-Chan Rah suggests that as the church in America, the answer is often a resounding no.

The Absence of Lament 
In a 2013 article, Rah notes that while laments constitute 40 percent of the Psalms, they are conspicuously absent from contemporary American worship.

Rah observed that out of the top 100 worship songs from August 2012 according to Christian Copyright Licensing International (CCLI), only five songs fell into the category of lament, while the vast majority were celebratory praise songs..." (Looking at the current CCLI Top 100, not much seems to have changed.)
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He explains here and in more depth in his book, Prophetic Lament:

"How we worship reveals what we prioritize. The American church avoids lament. Consequently the underlying narrative of suffering that requires lament is lost in lieu of a triumphalistic, victorious narrative. We forget the necessity of lament over suffering and pain. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Absence makes the heart forget."

When we lack the discipline of lament, we run the risk of letting our triumphalism, our anger, our hurt, our fear or our apathy fester inside of us and paralyze us. Biblical lament calls us to sit in the pain, to truly see the brokenness in ourselves and in our world, and to cry out to God.

Are we willing?

Practice Lament 
And so I encourage you to practice lament this week. Engage your heart and soul with the prayers of the psalmists. And along with your prayers, engage your bodies for I am reminded of the African proverb, "When you pray move your feet." And I've included below many ways in which you can participate and engage here locally.

PILGRIMAGE 
"Pilgrimage is a posture very different from mission. The goal of a pilgrim is not to solve, but to search, not so much to help as to be present. Pilgrims do not rush to a goal, but slow down to hear the crying."

How do we put ourselves in the way of listening to those who are suffering? I encourage you to do participate in Lights for Liberty on Friday night or other local events.
​
RELOCATION 
"The practice of relocation [means] taking our very bodies to the hard places and tarrying long enough to be disturbed."

It is easy to be undisturbed at a distance but what happens when we put our physical bodies in hard places? This is one of the reasons I will be going to the border and why it is important to show up at our own detention center in Tacoma (there is an event this Saturday).

CONFESSION 
"[It's] a way of unlearning innocence. As we learn to go out of our way to draw near and tarry with the pain of the world... the challenge is to keep naming the truth, keep being disturbed, keep remember the awful depth of brokenness. The prayers of lament in the Psalms were public prayers, intended to be read and inserted into the corporate life of worship... It is critical that we learn to pray like this, bringing these prayers into public worship in a way that helps us tell the truth and confess in explicit relationships to the brokenness of our own contexts."

This is why we it is important that we pray the Psalms throughout the week and the Prayers of the People together at our gatherings. And we encourage you to write your own psalms and laments so that we can pray them together.

This past Sunday I spoke broadly about singing as an act of worship, a topic partially inspired by our sending the Larsons, who have led us beautifully in song, and partially inspired by the Book of Psalms, which we’ll be turning our attention to this summer.

Many of us have experienced powerful moments of intimacy, connection, and worship through singing. It’s no small wonder – a 2013 study on choral singers showed that the singers’ heartbeats actually synched up when they sang together. Our hearts literally and spiritually beat as one when we sing; one wonders if they indeed are beating along in time to God’s heart:

“Our God will take great delight in you;
The God of love will no longer rebuke you,
But will rejoice over you with singing.” [Zechariah 3:17]

Though we don’t often actually sing them, the Psalms are indeed songs. The early Christian monastics referred to the Psalms as “the Bible in miniature” because they were understood to engage every Biblical theme, every emotion, every expression of grief or guilt, praise or rage. The desert abbas and ammas treated the Psalms as the bedrock of all public and private prayer, speaking, singing, and wrestling with the words daily. In this dailiness, they expected the ageless, ancient Spirit that breathed the Psalms to breathe in them anew, over time opening up the relationship between the singer and the song.

I wonder if one way we could think of our engagement with the Psalms would be to think of them as something like the songlines of Australia. The Aboriginal Peoples of Australia are keepers of ancient paths through the land called songlines. These paths trace the journeys of ancestral spirits from long ago and the primary tools for navigation are songs that have been passed down for generations. Songlines tell stories and give information on plants, animals, the nature of the land, cultural values, and wisdom. When a new generation journeys along the songline it is as if the older generations journey with them – memory, family, land, and time are bound together in song.
​
Like songlines, the Psalms are songs that have been sung by our ancestors in faith for generations as a way of navigating this life. Through Spirit, they are now passed on to us, the generation of the Church created for such a time as this, to sing anew if we so choose. I wonder if we took up these songs today – particularly those of us who struggle to engage with Scripture – as prayers to read and be read by, if we wouldn’t find our own heartbeats synching up with our ancestors who tried the same thing. I wonder what we’d be surprised by or invited into. And I wonder if, above and under and around it all, we might hear through these ancient words the heart of the God who has been singing all along.

​Something pretty special is happening in and through our community. Last night, we shared a meal with our neighbors as we do every Wednesday and what goodness is found around the table! Our neighborhood meals are poppin' -- with more neighbors joining in and inviting more friends and neighbors. The last couple of weeks, we've been bursting at the seams with a count of 25!

And what a beautiful picture it is. From the tots to the white haired, from the immigrant to the 30-year residents to those just moving in, from engineers and teachers to artists, the one thing we share is this place. We are neighbors.

On Tuesday, I was in the office where we run our nonprofit, Turning Point, that brings neighbors and students together to provide after school tutoring and summer STEM camps to kids who are facing challenges. And as usual, a Turning Point parent came by and we shared heart to heart. Because Turning Point is far more than a program. It is a community. And again and again, we hear from parents, "You are our community." "You are our family." "I don't know what I would do without you."

And we are so privileged to be invited into their lives. I have been invited to Christmas celebrations and coffee ceremonies. Lynn, our director, has been invited for tea, coffee, injera, baby baptisms, and community events. We celebrate the wins together and grieve the losses. Lynn is a pastor at heart and loves on our parents, tutors and students indiscriminately. And just this past month Lynn, on behalf of Turning Point, was awarded Community Partner of the Year at Parkwood Elementary! It is so beautiful to see what God is doing as we continue to be faithful to love our neighbor.

Jesus tells us that the greatest commandment is to love God with all of our being (heart, mind, soul and strength) and to love our neighbor as ourself. And there was a time in my life when the "love your neighbor" was a bit theoretical for me. Yes, sure, love everyone but what did that look like in my everyday life? Of course, there were occasional opportunities to connect with a neighbor or another parent or someone in need, but most of my relational energy was spent inside my Christian cloister of church friends and my own family.

Today, after investing in the Shoreline community through Turning Point over the past 7 years; after rooting in this community as we moved into the neighborhood 5 years ago; and after living intentionally with others in the neighborhood for the past 3 years, I can tell you this. I don't want to live any other way! And neither would my family. We all shed big, crocodile tears saying goodbye to our housemates, Ryan, Cecelia and Ammie this week. One of my daughters said, "Can't we all just live together forever?"

And our neighbors felt the loss too. We care about one another. We are community. We are family. From the social justice book club, to community story nights, to Turning Point community meals and neighborhood dinners, a fabric of care is being woven here. And "loving our neighbor" is no longer theoretical. It is real. It is gritty, and it is beautiful.

My challenge for The Practicing Church this summer is to LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR. In summer the Seattle freeze thaws a bit and people are out in their yards and in their neighborhoods. So now is the time to practice loving your neighbor. Below, you will find some simple ways to begin and I hope all of you will join in the fun!

LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR

WALK YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD
Get out of the isolation of your car and walk your neighborhood. You might actually encounter your neighbors! And bonus points if you walk your neighborhood with your dog! People cannot resist a dog! Here's a wonderful article about the practice of walking your 'hood. 
Loving Your Actual Neighbor By Walking Your 'Hood
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SUMMER [PERPETUAL] PARTY
Host a party in your backyard this summer and invite your neighbors. It's easy as 1-2-3. 

NATIONAL NIGHT OUT
August 7th is a night dedicated to getting to know your neighbors. There are parties going on in most neighborhoods and you can even choose to host one on your street. Such an easy way to meet your neighbors! 

CASUAL GET TOGETHER
If a party sounds like too much, invite a few neighbors over for drinks on the deck or a fire pit or game night. Make it casual!

SUMMER COMMUNITY EVENTS
There are always lots of events in summer, so get out there and attend some. Invite a neighbor to go with you! Summer concerts in the park, farmer's markets, festivals - spend time frolicking in your neighborhood!

​
​by Jessica Ketola

Last Sunday was so rich as we joined our voices together to celebrate Pentecost and the Spirit now poured out on all flesh.

In the last days, God says, 
I will pour out my Spirit on all people. 
Your sons and daughters will prophesy, 
your young men will see visions, 
your old men will dream dreams. 
Even on my servants, both men and women, 
I will pour out my Spirit in those days, 
and they will prophesy. - Acts 2:17-18

We are the people our ancestors dreamed about. We are the church and a part of the grand sweeping story of God on the earth. All of us, every gender, young and old, privileged and oppressed, we have been given the Spirit.

And so now we dream dreams of renewal for our communities and our neighborhoods. We see visions of shalom in our places of work and school. And we prophesy. We speak the words of life, words of hope, words of divine purpose. Over ourselves. Over our neighbors. Over our community.

For out of our union with our triune God, as we are enfolded in love, immersed in God's presence with us and empowered by the Spirit, we become conduits of divine love and healing in the world around us.

For love is not theory. Transformation is not osmosis. The kingdom of God must root deeply in our lives and be tested and proven in the places that we live, work and play. For our bodies are temples. Our everyday lives are sacramental. Our places are holy. And our land is sacred. These earthen shrines in all of creation are the contexts  in which the Spirit dwells.


by Jessica Ketola

This Sunday, the Christian Church celebrates and remembers one of its most significant events: Pentecost. The day of Pentecost, recounted in Acts 2, is an odd event in the life of the Church. It is our birth story. And it is a story filled with a variety of emotions, a diversity of people, and a multitude of implications.

A rushing wind, like the very breath (pneuma) of God fills the first followers of Jesus in a stunning act of new creation just as the Spirit first breathed life into Adam. Tongues of fire rest on their heads harkening back to Mt. Sinai when God descended as fire establishing a covenant with God's people to bring them out of slavery into the Edenic Promised Land. Their spiritual eyes are illumined, their hearts are converted, and their souls are filled with power. They finally know exactly Who Jesus Christ truly is, and their words reveal this new knowledge when they boldly begin to preach the gospel.

But this isn't just an ordinary sermon. For the crowds gathered that day celebrating the Jewish Festival of Shavu'ot from all different cultures and ethnicities, heard it in their own language! The Spirit of God now unfurled in the world in humankind. Christ burning in their hearts. An outpouring of gifts of the Spirit. And the stunning movement toward all people and all cultures in the beautiful diversity of creation.
​
Pentecost means we have been given this breath of God, this Spirit of new creation. We have been inspired—a word that literally means “breathed into.” The mighty rushing wind has blown the Spirit into us. And if we are filled with the Spirit, if we are inspired, that means the mission of the redemption of Jesus Christ is at work in us. Every part of us is being bought back from exile, set free from slavery.
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This is the stunning news of the gospel and the culmination of the Easter season. Now, new creation is unfolding in and through us, awakening us to Life, freeing us from the malformed addictions of our false selves, liberating us from fear and cultural captivity, and empowering us to step into our God-given vocations to be a part of the Spirit's work of renewal and reconciliation on the earth.


by Jessica Ketola

We are invited into the sacred ordinary. This Ignatian idea that God is in all things. Every moment pregnant with the grace of God. God has moved into the neighborhood [John 1], the presence of Christ fills the whole earth, and the Spirit of God lives within. Love. Light. Life. This is God revealed to us and to all of Creation groaning for redemption.

We are often drawn to the extra-ordinary and to the spectacular — but most of our lived experience consists of the very mundane, everyday realities. So how do we receive this Love, Light and Life in our own lives in a way that heals us and liberates us? How do we participate in this Love, Light and Life here on the ground? Here in our schools, workplaces and neighborhoods?

The temptation is to think we must do more or be more. We are waiting for the stars to align until we can be who we are meant to be and can participate in God's work of renewal. We are waiting for that elusive moment when we will have time.

What if we realized that Christ was already here -- in every moment, just waiting to be invited into our everyday?

This is the wisdom of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, among so many others, who said:

“It takes three things 
to attain a sense of significant being: 
God, 
A Soul, 
and a Moment.
And the three 
are always here.”

God. Soul. A Moment. God is always here. God's love is near. Present to us. Beckoning us from the busy. Inviting us from the many demands of life to experience the depths of God's presence.

So let us love the ordinary. Let us love the closeness of God and the sacred, here and now. Let us cherish the everyday, the every breath, the place where we are. For surely Christ is in all of it.

Christ be beside me, 
Christ be before me, 
Christ be behind me, 
King of my heart.
Christ be within me, 
Christ be below me, 
Christ be above me, 
never to part.
Christ on my right hand, 
Christ on my left hand, 
Christ all around me, 
shield in the strife.
Christ in my sleeping, 
Christ in my sitting, 
Christ in my rising, 
light of my life.
Christ be in all hearts thinking about me; 
Christ be on all tongues telling of me; 
Christ be the vision in eyes that see me; 
in ears that hear me, Christ ever be. 
-St. Patricks's Breastplate Prayer

by Jessica Ketola
​

Last Sunday, we talked about our story as The Practicing Church to live into the extraordinary ordinary. To recognize the resurrected Jesus in the gritty mundane of our lives. To join in the work of Easter that is breaking out all around us. To practice this way of love that disrupts and reorders power structures, that is good news to the poor, and that brings freedom to those who are bowed down.

And our text from the lectionary was John 21 where the resurrected Jesus appears again to the disciples. Here we find them going back to their day jobs, many of them who were commercial fisherman. They have one of those terrible nights of frustration and futility as they fish all night without catching a thing. And then this man whom they do not recognize calls to them from the shore, telling them to throw their net on the other side. And for reasons that seem hard to understand, they do it. Even though I imagine some consternation and head-shaking over the nerve of this guy, for hadn't they already tried a hundred times? And so they cast their nets again and this time pull up a catch of fish so large they can’t even haul it in. And in that moment they recognize the Risen Lord. They recognize their friend, their rabbi, their Lord, their God in the flesh, now in a wounded and glorified body. And the story unfolds into these intimate moments where Jesus makes breakfast for them. Can you imagine? God making you breakfast?

I love this story with its rich metaphor amidst the intimacy and humility of Christ. But I am especially struck with how their encounter with the Risen Lord transforms their everyday lives. They are at work, returning to the grind of making a living wage. They are experiencing disequilibrium as they thought they lost everything when Jesus was crucified and then were utterly shocked and in disbelief when they saw him resurrected. He is appearing and disappearing, and walking through walls. And they still have no idea what this means.

But it is here in the sweat and the frustration and the bewilderment that Jesus shows up. It is here on this lake where they’ve spent so much of their life that Jesus transforms the ordinary into extraordinary. And he calls them once again, just as he did three years ago in a very similar scene, to the work of the kingdom. And of course, Jesus does it in this striking scene of incarnation -- over a meal, face to face as they share communion once more with fish and bread, tears and laughter. And he reminds them what this is all about. Love. If you love me, you will feed my sheep. You will continue what I started. You will reimagine your ordinary, everyday lives as the context for resurrection miracles.

And I can't help but think about my own neighborhood and the ordinary context of my own life and all the people and places that I love. And I can't help but feel my own disorientation and bewilderment at times about what God is up to here. For the spiritual journey is full of twists and turns, with many disappointments and deaths. But I hear the voice of Jesus calling me to cast my nets to the other side. To allow the Spirit of God to do the work when I grow tired. To turn what seems like the futility of the ordinary [lost jobs, friendships, loved ones, energy, health, hope or vision] into something extraordinary.

And I hear the invitation of Jesus to come eat the meal he has prepared for me -- feeding my soul, nourishing my body, and kindling hope once again. And then I hear his voice. If you love me, you will feed my sheep. And I am struck by this poignant image that as Jesus feeds me, he asks me to do the same, to feed others the Eucharistic meal. As we gather with our neighbors around the table and at community meals and at the Methadone clinic. We are invited to intimately and humbly serve others and to partake of this bread of life that reveals the Christ - that reveals God among us, that transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.

​by Jessica Ketola

We as The Practicing Church want to be a transformational community. These are not light words. These are not easy words. These are words of death and resurrection. As we celebrate Eastertide, the 50 days of the Easter season, we celebrate the miracle of life, of rebirth and of resurrection. And we remember that difficulty and loss are the seedbeds for new growth and spring. Death is not the final word. Rather, it is the precursor of resurrection. Winter never lasts forever, eventually giving way to Spring. A starkly pruned stump transforms into vibrant blossoms and new growth. This is the way of death and birth and transformation.

Which is all good and fine while it remains theoretical. But when we are faced with death and loss, when we get the wind knocked out of us, when we receive the bad news, when we are sitting in what seems like insufferably long seasons of wilderness, it is hard to remember this.

It is hard to remember that this is the stuff of transformation. This is the inception of the miracle. This is the precursor to resurrection.

I love this poem, Mother Wisdom Speaks by Christine Lore Weber [included below]. For it speaks of this sacred process in which we, like Jesus, experience Easter in our wounds and thus become a part of the Spirit's work of healing in the world.

For the Spirit of Easter, the Spirit of Resurrection, the Spirit of New Creation is very much alive and present in the world. Jesus first proclaimed, “The spirit of the Lord is upon me.” The Ruach Yahweh, the breath of God, the spirit that hovered over the surface of the waters at the beginning of time, the life energy of God—this is what had seized and animated Jesus. This spirit that was to bring “good news to the poor” and “liberty to captives.” This spirit that brings God’s love to those who are marginalized by injustice, freedom to those who are imprisoned in false ways of being, and healing to those whose very self has been broken. And after Jesus experiences the Paschal Mystery of dying and rising, he breathes on his disciples as he still does today saying, "Receive the Holy Spirit."

This same Spirit of Easter that brings liberty, healing and transformation is now "upon us".

We are Easter people living in a Good Friday world. We are Easter people and hallelujah is our song. We are Easter people living in communion with the Breath of God, even in the face of suffering, death, and despair.

And so as we reflect on the places of grief, loss, hardship and longing in our own lives, let us remember that these are the deep waters in which the very breath of God is hovering over to bring forth life. And as we traverse through this world full of sorrow and suffering, let us remember that the Spirit of Easter is upon us.

by Jessica Ketola

​Mother Wisdom Speaks
by Christine Lore Weber

Some of you I will hollow out. 
I will make you a cave. 
I will carve you so deep the stars will shine in your darkness. 
You will be a bowl. 
You will be the cup in the rock collecting rain. 
I will hollow you with knives. 
I will not do this to make you clean. 
I will not do this to make you pure 
You are clean already. 
You are pure already. 
I will do this because the world needs the hollowness of you. 
I will do this for the space that you will be. 
I will do this because you must be large. 
A passage. 
People will find their way through you. 
A bowl. 
People will eat from you. 
And their hunger will not weaken them to death. 
A cup to catch the sacred rain. 
My daughter, do not cry. 
Do not be afraid. 
Nothing you need will be lost. 
I am shaping you. 
I am making you ready. 
Light will flow in your hollowing. 
You will be filled with light. 
Your bones will shine. 
The round open center of you will be radiant. 
I will call you brilliant one. 
I will call you daughter who is wide. 
I will call you transformed.

Art by Jyoti Sahi

Today is Maundy Thursday in Holy Week. A day full of story and meaning. The last supper. The first communion. The profanatory foot washing. The flagrant betrayal. And I am struck by the invitation of Jesus that begins with a kind of humility, debasement and intimacy that is hard to receive. Here he seems to be signaling his followers that the way of Jesus is an inglorious one as he takes on the posture of a slave and embraces our most filthy, base parts and makes them clean.

I loved this reflection by Urban Faith Staff:

Holy Thursday, Maundy Thursday, and I am thinking of that night so long ago. I am putting myself in the scene, this soul-weary, overweight, middle-aged black woman who needs Jesus with everything in me. In my mind I am there with the disciples. I am present with my Jesus. You are there, too. Can you see it? The upper room in the drafty edifice, us stumbling in exhausted. We are starving. It’s just before the Passover Feast. So much has happened. So much will happen.

We gather together for a simple supper. Even Jesus has a kind of weight-of-the-world weariness about him. He’s talked a lot about going away lately, but he is fully present now, and his love has arms that hold us close. Still, a sadness lingers in his eyes. It reminds me of how the poet prophet Isaiah describes him, as a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.

The table is set, and we recline where we’re seated, grateful to be with him. Our cups are lined like guards before us, full of wine. A basket of bread lies in the center of the table. Later he will tell us the wine is his blood poured out, and the bread his body broken. Later. Now we sit. Night, as thick and palpable as fog, surrounds us. The flames on the candles bow and rise in the breezy room, as if they too, worship our Lord.

Then Jesus sets aside his outer garments and dons an apron like a slave would wear. He pours water in a basin. We exchange puzzled looks.

“Give me your feet,” he says.

We are stunned silent, each of us carefully removing our sandals, unsure of what to say–what to do–faced with such shocking humility. Foot washing is the worst of tasks, despised by a servants gesture. Yet Jesus kneels before us, one by one, and washes our feet. I watch Him move from person to person. Dear God, Jesus is on His knees, pouring water on our rough soles. The Son of God, the Son of Man, washes us as if the pitcher contains, then releases, his own tears. The water slips between our toes, and the filth of the world falls to the ground, ground now hallowed by His presence. We couldn’t help but feel emotional. Some of us wailed as he worked.

He sure knows how to make a mess of things.

READ FULL ARTICLE

I too feel the sting, "This is all too much, Jesus! Turn your gaze away!" And yet Jesus tells us that we cannot be a part of what he is doing unless we surrender to the vulnerability of this act.

And I can't help but think about what this means for us today as we traverse through the world. For so often, we find ourselves attempting to hide our filthy, undesirable parts to present a shiny image that is presentable. And yet Jesus seems to be saying that unless we allow him (and it seems others) into our vulnerability, we cannot have any part of the kindom.

And then the kicker. Jesus says, “as I have done… so also must you do." We are invited to take the posture of a slave, giving up power and privilege and entering the mess of others. I think about it as I prayerfully walk my neighborhood, as I encounter my neighbors who are struggling to survive on minimum wage, as I share a table with my neighbors who are grieving loved ones, as I greet my neighbors without a home to call their own, and as I befriend the refugee and the immigrant. What does this act of vulnerability invite of me?

This is the path of descent. This is the path of the cross. This is the path of recovering our humanity, embracing the inglorious and calling it holy. This is the glorious mess of Maundy Thursday.

​by Jessica Ketola

Art: Triumphal Entry by He Qui

Last week, we gathered for the first time in our new space at One Cup. And it was more glorious and more disruptive than I had anticipated. The glorious part was that one of the primary reasons that we moved to this space was so that we could be welcoming to the community -- and right off the bat, we had many new faces among us.

​And you, the community showed up in a huge way! Thank you to everyone for all of your help from setting up, to running slides, to leading worship and loading cars. You rock! There seemed to be a tangible sense of excitement for this next leg of the journey and what the Spirit is up to in us and in the neighborhood.

But along with the glory, there were the inevitable bumps. The disruptive parts were what we might expect in any transition -- sound issues, logistical challenges, distractions and the discomfort of the new, reflected in the deer-in-the-headlights looks as I scanned across the room. I'm sure you saw mine as I struggled with the microphone! All of us trying to make sense of the new environment. The donuts helped. And of course, all your lovely faces.

WE are the church. WE are the community. WE as the gathered people are a dwelling place for God's presence. And it will just take time to create a culture of home here. And that is exactly what we will do! For we are creators of culture, not passive consumers, and we have the opportunity to come together to create something beautiful.

And this is the nature of change and transition, both the invitation to glory and to death. And as we talked about last Sunday, this is the way of transformation. Discomfort and challenge is always a part of the growth process, and yet it leads to life - a full and expansive life.

As we approach Holy Week, we are invited to experience transformation in the journey towards the cross. And we can ask the question, "What in my life is being invited to die? Where do I need to surrender? What of my own suffering does Jesus want to enter?"

I encourage you all to take some time next week for reflection as we move through Holy Week.
▪ What Is Holy Week?
▪ Ignatian Spirituality: How To Do Holy Week
▪ The Holy and The Human: A Reflection For Holy Week
▪ Unlock The Stations Of The Cross: Examen Style
▪ The Stations Of The Cross

For we must place the hope of the Resurrection, the promise of newness and life, against the background of death and endings. It is only in walking through the shadows and darkness of Holy Week and Good Friday, only in realizing the horror and magnitude of sin and its consequences in the world incarnated in the dying Jesus on the cross, only in contemplating the ending and despair that the disciples felt on Holy Saturday, that we can truly understand the light and hope of Easter morning! - Dennis Bratcher

This Sunday is Palm or Passion Sunday and we will begin the journey with Jesus to the cross and we will reflect on what it means to die with Christ. And then on Easter morning, we will remember resurrection and we will celebrate the NEW - newness of life, new gathering spaces, new mercies, and new hopes and dreams.

​by Jessica Ketola