The Community of God

pastoral letter by Torin Eikler

Ahh, fall weather… changing leaves … cooler weather … the world series … football … the beginnings of the holiday season. It’s one of my favorite times of year, and it seems to have something for everyone – except those who really (and I mean really) love the warmth. This year, though, seems to feel different to me. Perhaps it’s the expectation of a new child and all the hubbub that goes with preparations. Perhaps it’s the economic situation that is so much in the news. Perhaps it’s the election hype that is blaring from every TV, radio, and yard sign. Perhaps it is some bit of all these things, but I find myself so caught up in the current and focused on everything that is going on around me that I haven’t been able to enjoy autumn this year.

Where have the moments of standing in awestruck appreciation of color-splashed trees gone? The brisk autumn walks with the cold pinching my nose just the right amount? The evenings with a hot cup of tea as the sun sets earlier and earlier? It seems to have rolled right past me. In its place I have the struggle to get Sebastian dressed for the weather – warm or cool, who knows, the rush to meet deadlines, and evenings filled with one task after another until I can collapse into bed. Even things like putting the garden to bed, baking bread, or finding the right presents for my family have lost the feel of satisfaction, becoming just another things to check of the to-do list.

But, I know there is more out there. I remember it. I have even caught glimpses of it in fleeting moments – moments like the youth group gathering at the Yoder’s farm when we took a hayride in the chilly, dusky light, roasted hotdogs amidst laughter and contented chatter, and lay on our backs looking up at the stars shining in the night sky. Moments that call me back from the maelstrom of life into the spaciousness of God’s time and the quiet warmth of community.

And, community is a big part of what it’s all about, I think. God calls us – calls all people in the world – to a different way of living. It’s a way of life that welcomes the stranger as if they were a friend and embraces the enemy as a brother or sister. It’s the way that offers what we have to those who have need and leads us to sit beside those who are suffering, lonely, or just different. It’s the way that leads to a common table shared by all and hosted by the Prince of Peace. Sometime – in God’s time – we will all get there. In the mean time, we would do well to ask if the path we are walking leads to that table and how we can invite others to find the way.

One Big Family

pastoral letter by Carrie Eikler
as published to the Wiles Hill Witness

Brethren and Mennonites love to talk about ourselves as a big “family.” I have certainly used that metaphor in worship, particularly when inviting the congregation to voice their joys and concerns. Maybe we like to see ourselves as sitting around a big table, rolling up our sleeves, saying a prayer, and digging into the food provided from God’s kitchen. It’s especially easy for Brethren and Mennonites to use this imagery because, let’s face it, we are pretty small. National gatherings feel like family reunions. We embrace, we catch up, we celebrate. Oh, yeah…and people know each other’s “dirt” as well. Squabbles can last years and grudges even longer. The late Presbyterian theologian Jack Stotts pointed out, upon hearing this family metaphor, that families in the Bible tend to be dysfunction—they would lie, cheat, steal, abandon one another, even kill one another. Stotts warns us—don’t be too sentimental about the church as a family.

We have just finished our 9-week heritage series where we explored the genesis of our Brethren and Mennonite traditions, and the practices that bind us together. “Heritage” can be a sentimental word like “family.” When given limited time to introduce a “heritage” to a congregation (given that we all are at varying degrees acquainting ourselves with this tradition), it is easy to spend time and energy speaking of the shiny, glowing moments. Like with family, we want to look nostalgically at the black-and-white family photos of happy Christmases or summer vacations, and gloss over any of the bruises or bumps that have come along the way. But the reality is that the Church has left a lot of bumps and bruises over the years. Even our denominations, who seek to live the word of Jesus, “peacefully, simply, together” have hurt and alienated its family members.

So no, we are not going to spend another nine weeks looking at the dark side of our denominations! Christ reminds us that we all have brokenness. He didn’t gloss over the imperfections and try to put everything in a rosy light. He invited people into healing so they could move into new life. The same goes for our tradition. If we spend too much time looking at the past, we miss how God may be nudging us to live now, and into new life. But the path to healing and justice involves confession of the brokenness and the acceptance of redemption. Most importantly, it involves looking at who we are with open eyes, and yearning hearts. In my Pentecost sermon I quoted the words of Rabbi Sandy Eisenberg Sasso, and they are words that have been guiding me the past few months. They bear repeating, I think: “Remember that we are not only descendants of our traditions. We are also ancestors.”

May we find the wisdom of God as we begin a New Day in the life of Christ.
Pastor Carrie

Wild Onions and Bluebells

A Pastoral Letter from Torin

Spring has sprung! The flowers are up and beautiful. Gardeners are dreaming of summer and autumn as they draw maps, prepare the soil, and sprout seeds. The disciplined have already mown the yard at least once while the rest of us watch the wild onions compete with the grass to see who can grow tallest. The birds are back in the trees singing us into mornings once again bright with the rising sun. All of life has woken up and is bright with the vigor of new growth.

I don’t know if it’s just the spring rush or if having been through one whole turning of the year in Morgantown has us feeling more settled, but I recently noticed that my life is filling up with things to do and people to meet. At the same time, the call of budding trees and blooming blue bells beckons me to spend more time out and about, admiring the beauty and appreciating the freshness of the air. All in all, time seems to be slipping away under the cover of everything that
“needs” to be done. And I wonder how it gets by me so quickly.

What happened to the space that I struggled so hard to carve out throughout the season of Lent? I know that in some ways we are past all of that and the somber meditation on repentance and sacrifice have been replaced by the joyful celebration of surprising new life. Still, I find that I am missing the time of quiet searching that was such an important part of my life during the past couple of months. And, I wonder why I have let it go.

I spoke about the Lenten fast in a sermon several weeks ago (months, perhaps), and I remember saying that it is not so much about self-denial as it is about carving out a hole in the day-to-day habits of our living so that we can find God. If that’s true, shouldn’t we hold onto that space instead filling it up with all of spring’s busy-ness which will become summer’s crazy schedule followed by everything that’s involved with a new school year, Thanksgiving, and Christmas? It is our habit to be busy. We have learned since we were little that busy-ness is our way of life. What else is the “Protestant work ethic” if not our heritage reminding us to keep busy? And, I wonder ….

I wonder if our habits, our culture, our heritage, and everything else that pushes us to keep going-going-going are actually excuses to retreat from God. It’s a bit scary to turn, meet God, and let ourselves be transformed by God’s touch. It’s not easy to stay before the one who made us wondering what will happen next. It’s hard, and it’s important. It’s how we keep in touch with God’s plan for the world and our part in it. It’s scary, and it’s wonder-full. Who knows what we will see, what we will be able to do if we stay there. And I wonder … what would happen if we did it? What would happen to us, and what would happen to the world through us?

New Years Resolutions – Lenten Repentance

Pastoral Letter from Carrie
Wiles Hill Witness
January-March edition

I always find it strange when the season of Lent follows so closely on the heels of Christmastime. Lent begins quite early this year with Ash Wednesday on February 6 (yes, even before Valentine’s Day!). The last time the seasons came so closely together Torin and I were in a Disciples of Christ church during our ministry formation. I found the quick transition jolting: down with the winter evergreen on one Sunday and up with the purple of Lenten altar clothes the next. Like forcing a tulip in a hothouse, it felt like the season that is “suppose” to be in spring was being pushed on us a little too early—in the “bleak midwinter” comes the reflective responsibilities of accompanying Christ to the cross.

But maybe there is a benefit to the early arrival. Around the beginning of February I find my New Year’s resolutions that I so “resolutely” made begin to wane a little. I find it an opportune time, then, to think about what I’m going to “give up” for Lent. If my eating habits that I was going to improve fall by the wayside, I can use Lent as a tonic, and give up chocolate. If I was going to be “slower to anger” and “quicker to love,” but find myself falling into irritability, I can use Lent to give up a responsibility that gives me anxiety. Yes, Lent can be the redeemer of all New Years resolutions gone bad.

But if I’m honest with myself, I know that a “new beginning” isn’t what I need to help me change what needs to be tended. Lent isn’t simply a pick me up, like an artificial stimulus to a groaning economy. Lent is a time of reflection and repentance, of “looking” and “turning.” It’s a time to throw open the doors and windows of our hearts and sweep clean the corners and cobwebs of our soul. Resolutions look at what we want to be and creates plans to get us there. Repentance means acknowledging what we are, and asks God to transform us in spite of ourselves. Resolutions bring guilt. Repentance brings hope.

As we enter into the season of Lent, may we stand as we are, and invite God to transform us—without guilt and shame of how we fail, but with faith and confidence in the power to be renewed.

Carrie

Wiles Hill Walking

Pastoral Letter from Torin
Wiles Hill Witness (November-December edition)

For the past several months, Carrie and I have been going on regular walks around Wiles Hill and the surrounding neighborhoods. What began as a time to reconnect at the end of the day and get familiar with our surroundings (and a strategy for coping with an exhausting baby), became an important way to meet our neighbors.

When we arrived, we had the impression that Wiles Hill had strayed far from its history as a small community mixing many long-time residents with young families in the balance of a healthy neighborhood. Many houses had been split into apartments for university students. Residents complained of increased traffic and the noise of late-night parties. The school on the hill had closed for political reasons as well as the lack of a local student base.

What we discovered in our explorations is that there are still several enduring residents scattered around the hill. Some of these have been here for longer than we have been alive. At the same time, several young couples and families with young children have moved into the community recently. Dogs and their owners are often about on the streets. Mothers walk their babies up and down the hills in strollers just as we do. Children of all ages come and play at the playground across from the old school. There are many student houses, but they have not overrun Wiles Hill. Indeed, they have their place here, making this community truly multi-generational.

For some time now, I have been wondering why the residents we talk to have such a dim view of the neighborhood when it seems to hold the promise of vibrant community life. I supposed that it could be explained by two of society’s trends: heavy scheduling of children’s activities and the movement toward evenings in front of the television and the computer. These two trends have combined, all over the country, to move people from yards, playgrounds, and porches to athletic fields, skill-building lessons, and living room couches. Many families no longer know the names of those living next door let alone others in the neighborhood.

More recently, I have come to suspect that an underlying culture of fear may be the true cause of our disconnection. Living, as we do, in a constant state of “Orange Alert” with locked doors and lights blazing to discourage intruders, is it any wonder that fear would seep into the rest of our lives? We don’t go out to meet our neighbors. We watch suspiciously as strangers walk past our homes. We avoid shadows and shun “unsavory elements.” It seems that we shrink our living into smaller and more distinct parcels as we build up walls to protect us from what we fear.

Yet, this is not consistent with the Christian life. Listening to the voice of the Spirit, Christians hear the call to go to the shadows on society’s margins and reach out the “unsavory elements.” Modeling ourselves on Christ, Christians risk violence and scorn in order to proclaim and embody the Reign of God. Worshiping the God who gives us life, Christians affirm the goodness of all creation and seek the God-ness in each person we meet.

We cannot live this life if we build defenses that separate us from the world and imprison us behind walls of fear. Instead, we must lose ourselves in the power of God’s love – perfect love that casts out fear. Difficult as this is, believers of every generation have found that in practicing Christian love, their lives become infused with it and the walls of fear fall away as they embrace the world.

Bread Baking and Hospitality

Pastoral Letter from Carrie
Wiles Hill Witness (September-October edition)

Father Dominic Garramone, a Benedictine monk, loves bread. I do too. But Fr. Dominic writes about it, has a television program about it, teaches it…a little more than I can do at the moment. In his book, Baked and Be Blessed, Fr. Dominic explores the way bread baking speaks as a powerful metaphor for spiritual growth. He says “I have neither the education nor the wisdom to describe every aspect of the spiritual life…. But I have baked a lot of bread in my life, and done a lot of thinking and praying in the process, trying to develop my own sacramental awareness of God’s presence and action. I have been surprised by the divine lessons found in what for me are ordinary activities: measuring ingredients, mixing, kneading, shaping dough, baking and breaking bread.”

How can we incorporate this powerful practice—this powerful symbol—into our worship life and witness? Perhaps by baking and breaking bread for others. With the support of the Witness Commission, I would like to endeavor a “bread ministry.” This is not just a random idea by one of the pastors, something that I’d like other people to do. This is where my passion lies and my spirit sings…and I invite all those who would be interested in joining me.

What would a bread ministry look like? Ideally, we would have at least four individuals or families, guaranteeing that each person/household bakes bread only once a month. On the designated week, the person would bake bread to bring to worship on Sunday: a quick bread would be fine, baked in small loaf pans. That bread then would go home with any visitor that came to worship that Sunday--a “sweet” reminder of the loving body of Christians at Morgantown Church of the Brethren. The cost of the ingredients and time to make the bread would be the offering of the baker.

And what if there are no visitors? Well, there are many ways to break and share the bread: you may take it home with you if you like, contribute it to the CROP table (someone would surely love it), take it to the Picnic in the Park, or freeze it for the Nurture Commission to use at the next coffee fellowship or potluck. Either way, the gift will be shared!

Consider it, also, a prayer practice. As you break the eggs, stir the dough, fill the pan, and bake the bread you are in prayer for all those who seek a church family. You are in prayer that our community will be an open and welcoming place for visitors to come. You are in prayer that God will touch each of us with the gift of a radical hospitality.

Will you join me? Please contact me if you are interested in participating in this “rising” ministry.
--
“There are thousands of [breads] you could be. You could be garlic bread or raspberry muffins or corn bread or shortcake or biscuits or Irish soda bread. You might be challah or povitica or kolache or injera. Each of these breads has its own unique qualities, just like the unique character of each person seeking to follow Christ authentically, from the core of his or her being. Each of us is searching for balance and proportion in our lives, each of us is kneaded and punched down and shaped by the people around us, each of us is transformed in the fires of suffering, each of us is unfulfilled until we’re blessed, broken, and shared. And at the end of our lives, when all that is left is crusts and crumbs, we hope to be gathered up by loving Hands, and to discover that we are more than when we started” -Fr. Dominic Garramone

peace,
Carrie

~Garramone, Fr Dominic. Bake and Be Blessed (Menomonee Falls, WI: Inland Press, 2002).