I began to write a little piece about the new year and resolutions. As I wrote some initial lines, I thought to myself, “This seems familiar.” In fact, I was following the path I navigated last year. Sometimes a thought bears repeating. So, here is an article shared on January 4, 2024… 
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The first Christmas wasn’t the kind of holiday we often picture today. 

It wasn’t filled with storybook charm or the familiar warmth of a Midwestern gathering. It was something more powerful and transformative. It was the Christmas Mary sang about — the kind that still resonates through the ages.
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This kind of Christmas centers completely on God.

The 322nd school shooting of the year took place this past week. The nations of the world are rattling nuclear sabers in what seems like escalating violence and conflict. Governments that we thought were stable bastions of democracy are falling apart. Health care is a mess. I could go on… I won’t. We always look for a bit of joy in the holiday season. This year, maybe more than ever.

Our nation has made many positive contributions to human history. A sustained (though often flawed) democracy and peaceful transitions of power, reaching into the heaven to land on the moon, the establishment of a middle class and abundant opportunity for many (but never all), and countless other contributions can be cited. 

Silence can be unsettling at first. It confronts us with voices we’d rather avoid—the noisy and persistent echoes of jealousy, anger, resentment, or the lingering pain of loss and rejection. When we enter into stillness and silence, these voices can seem overwhelming, even deafening, tempting us to escape into distraction or entertainment. It is so easy to take out the phone and avoid the silence. 

As we prepare our tables, our travel, and our time off for another celebration of Thanksgiving Day, I find myself thinking that giving thanks is harder than it seems. I say “thank you” to people dozens of times a day. I say thanks for giving me my coffee, thanks for bagging my groceries, thanks for doing that thing I asked you to do. I do it so naturally and habitually that I wonder if I even know what I’m saying! Saying thanks is a habit. 

“Why doesn’t God DO something about the suffering in this world?” This question often sits at the heart of why people struggle with having faith in God. It is often the reason people choose to reject the idea of God, to be an A- (meaning “not” in Greek) Theist (one who assents to the existence of the Divine). It is a fair question and should not be dismissed.

Compassion isn’t easy. It’s a challenging choice to stand with others in their weakness, vulnerability, loneliness, and brokenness. Often, our first instinct is to avoid suffering—either by trying to fix it quickly or by distancing ourselves from it. We’re conditioned to be active and productive, wanting to prove our worth by making a visible difference. Yet, in this pursuit, we can overlook one of our greatest gifts: the ability to stand in true solidarity with those who are hurting.

Lots of the attention to learning and growth in the church is centered on children and youth. Flowing from the promises parents make in baptism, the church helps with the shaping of young people as disciples. This is good and necessary. Yet, in our culture, we also think that once we “graduate” from school, finish the educational process in our youth, we are done, finished products with nothing left to learn.
Read more at Grace Notes: https://bit.ly/htlc-gracenotes
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I’m back. After a graciously granted sabbatical, I have resumed my regular duties at Holy Trinity. I want to say, once again, “Thank you!” The foresight and care that the congregation shows in having a sabbatical policy in place is more than appreciated. It is essential.