Not long after moving to Oskaloosa and beginning my new call here at St. Paul, I came to the church one morning and found a man sprawled out on the office door steps. He had a heavy-looking pack beside him, and he appeared to be sunning himself while listening to music on a bluetooth speaker.

I approached the steps and the man quickly began to gather his things, apologizing profusely. He said, "I thought the building was abandoned. I never see anyone here and the windows are all covered." I assured him that there was indeed good life inside this building, and reminded him that people hadn't been at the church due to COVID-19 precautions and closures. But his window comment has always stuck with me.

After asking around, I was told that the yellowed, plexi/plastic coverings had been placed over the stained glass windows years ago in an effort to protect the windows. The thought, at the time, was that the windows would not only be protected from would-be vandals, but they would also be better protected from the elements.

This summer, the church's Administration Board, which oversees Building and Grounds projects, and I met with a stained glass company to get an estimate on maintenance and repair of the stained glass windows. During that meeting, we learned that the coverings every church was scrambling to put over their windows years ago to protect the windows, were actually causing more harm than good by trapping moisture between the covering and the glass window, causing more rapid deterioration than would occur with no covering at all. The window expert shared with us that the window covers could be removed from any window that did not need repair.

Out of a desire to be cautious, it was decided we would remove one window cover to determine if we should do more. So, last week, members of the Cohrt family removed the window cover over the stained glass window right next to the western office steps to the church (by the double glass doors). The change was immediate, breathtaking, and stark. Sure some paint and some clean-up needed done, but the one little change on the outside offered a more accurate reflection of the church and the people and wild love and inclusion sought on the inside. Of the 36 stained glass windows, all but 14 have covers that could be removed today with the right amount of help and equipment.

All of this has made me wonder about all of the ways we people of God have covered ourselves with what we thought would protect us, only to find it was deteriorating us instead. Have we held on to old ways of working and being that felt comforting once, but now choke out the light of growth that comes from trying something new? Have our hearts remained closed off to others only to leave us wondering why we feel so isolated? What would it mean to remove the old, weathered, yellowed coverings around our souls? Might we find that the beauty and light of God that is in us is just waiting to burst out from behind the barriers of our own making so that others might see them as well?

I don't know, but I hope you'll join me in finding out. Maybe a fresh start for our spiritual lives comes pane by pane, as we chip away at everything we thought would protect us but hasn't. Maybe we'd find the truth that has been staring at us all along: That protective layers often don't keep the damaging elements out, they keep us sealed in.

Uncovering the beauty and light of God within,
​Pr. Melissa

This morning I sat by the open window in an old sweatshirt sipping a cup of coffee, and listening to the sounds of my neighborhood waking up. There were the usual traffic sounds from Hwy 92 and S 11th Street, of course, but there was so much more.

There were crickets playing their familiar symphony, reminding us all that summer weather is drawing to a close. There were bird chirps and squawks and caws and songs, reminding me of all the languages I do not yet understand. Dogs barked up the street and one barked in our living room. All while my spouse rattled around our kitchen before heading to work downstairs.

As I sat, my injured knee throbbed. My other knee felt sore from having to over-compensate for its injured companion, and my mind wound, round and around, all of the things I needed to remember to do today. Then the wind made its way through the leaves on the tree just outside my window, and a pudgy hummingbird happily sat at our feeder and drank from the syrupy goodness it held.

In Celtic Christianity there is an understanding that God is present in all living organisms. If this is true, as I believe it is, then I have to believe that the sounds of nature are God's constant call to each and every one of us. That, through Creation and all her sounds, God is cutting through the deafening sounds of modern living--our to do lists, our hurried commutes, our ever-present anxieties, and the fears we don't dare speak aloud--to reach deep into our crazy-making cycles and pull us back into communion with the Divine.

I wonder how many times we miss God's presence in this way? I wonder how many mornings we have rushed and run and hurried right past the outstretched hand of the Divine from the tip of a robin's wing or the buzz of a persistent fly? I wonder just how different our hearts might look if we allowed them to be led by rustling leaves and the pudgy little hummingbird? I wonder if their beat might sound a whole lot more like the heartbeat of God?

Listening to the heartbeat of God with you,
Pr. Melissa

​ This past Sunday morning I met the end of myself. I didn't know it would happen as it did, and I certainly never imagined it would happen in the middle of the hustle and bustle. But sure enough it happened and, looking back, I am so glad it did.
 
If you were in worship on Sunday morning, you know that our musician for the day sent a text that morning to say that she was in the ER. So, I scrambled to put together a CD of service music for worship that morning. I had also brought in Fellowship Treats, unaware that someone had signed up after I left the church Thursday evening for my Sabbath. SO I was trying to do this as well. I also hadn't gotten the online worship service pre-recorded for Sunday due to my knee injury and subsequent doctor's appointments, so I set my phone and the tripod up on Sunday morning to Live Stream the worship service to the church's Facebook page. 
 
Evidently, I should never play poker. For many reasons, really, but for one in particular:  My face tells everything. It always has. And what my face was saying Sunday morning, I think, was "I am anxious. I am sad. I am overwhelmed. I am exhausted." And that's when it happened. I met the end of myself. I met the end of myself, and my hustle, and my tendency to over-function. I met the end of myself, and met the beginning of community....and I met that beginning in you.
 
When I finally stopped trying to do all of the things, I met concern. I met kindness. I met camaraderie. I met relief. Through offers of help. Through hugs. Through willing hands ready to pitch in. Through encouraging words. Through laughter and conversation and a mutual desire to care for each other, I met the end of myself and my limitations and found new life in the embrace of St. Paul's Beloved Community. And I thank God that I did.
 
I know some weeks that church feels like one more thing to do. I know if feels like one more direction we're being pulled in. But I also know what a DIFFERENCE your presence makes for me and for others when you show up. For someone, your presence isn't "one more thing," it's "the only thing" that pulled them through. For someone, your presence is what pulls them back from a direction filled with despair. For someone, you and your willingness to be church and offer community support and connection is just what they need to be reminded that not one of us gets through this by ourselves...not you...not even me.
 
Each of us free-fall from time to time. That is a part of the human condition. But, to quote the fictitious doctor, Meredith Grey, from ABC's Grey's Anatomy, "If there's an upside to free-falling, it's the chance you give your friends to catch you." May each of us take the chances we are given to catch one another in the embrace of a loving, compassionate, grace-filled community. Maye each of us remember that this community is here to catch us too.
 
Free-falling into grace with you,
​Pr. Melissa

Dear friends,
 
Sometimes as I read and study throughout the week, I find myself so moved and inspired by something that to try to recreate it would be a disservice to the original author and to the work itself. This week, such inspiration came my way, and I want to share it with you. The following is an offering from one of my most favorite folk singer/songwriters, Carrie Newcomer. Carrie is a Quaker, a musician, a lover of nature, and the co-host of the Growing Edge podcast with fellow Quaker, author, and friend, Parker Palmer. Please soak in her words this week and let them be balm for you.
 
Learning to become a lake with you,
Pr. Melissa
 
Stop being a glass. Become a lake.
What to do with a handful of salt
 
I was working on a new song this week with my friend and colleague Gary Walter’s. When we sat down to write, Gary read a quote from an old story. This is the story.
 
Once an unhappy young apprentice came to an old master and told the master that he was deeply sad and asked for a solution. The old master instructed the unhappy young apprentice to put a handful of salt in a glass of water and then to drink it. Then he asked “How does it taste?” “Terrible!” spat the young apprentice. The master nodded and asked the young apprentice to take another handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to a nearby lake and the apprentice swirled his handful of salt into the lake. The older master said, “now drink the lake.” The apprentice cupped his hands and drank. Again, the old master asked, “How does it taste?” “Good!” said the apprentice. The master then asked, “Do you taste the salt?” and the apprentice smiled and said, “No.” The master sat beside the trouble young apprentice and took his hands. “The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains the same. But the amount we taste depends on the container we put it into. So when you are in pain, the wisest thing to do is to enlarge your sense of things. Stop being a glass. Become a lake.”
 
Stop being a glass. Become a lake.
 
I really loved this story. I know that when I am angry my vision narrows. When I am worried or in pain my world tends to get smaller and feel more confined. I’m trying to drink a glass of water that contains a handful of salt. The salt is bitter. A human being cannot survive on water that salty, you can drink the full glass and still be utterly parched. But that same amount of salt in a lake is diffused, becomes part of a larger whole. When I am suffering, in pain, worried or outraged, it is wise to enlarge my sense of things. Yes, there is a handful of salt, but the lake is also filled with so much more. My life may have its struggles, but there is still the light on the water, time working in the garden, walking with my dogs, chatting with my daughter. There is music and laughter, potlucks and fresh blackberries. There is poetry and birdsong, kindness, courage and decency. There is beauty and there is a handful of salt. Sometimes there might be 2 handfuls of salt.
 
I think the point of the story is not to deny the salt, to pretend it isn’t there. I think it is a story about how we negotiate the presence of that handful of salt. To know it, acknowledge it, feel it—but then to enlarge to heart and mind and spirit in a way that helps me carry that salt in a more life giving way.
 
In such troubled times, it can feel as if the world has poured a handful of salt into my open palm. But that is not the end of the story. I can expand my sense of things, engage in life-giving activities and heart opening contemplation. I can hold unease or outrage in tension with love and grace, simultaneously and creatively.
 
Life is going to bring salt. But oh my friends, there is a wider lake and the most beautiful living water to help us carry what might otherwise leave us in despair or stuck.

Question: What does “Stop being the glass. Become the lake.” mean for you? When some kind of pain or suffering narrows your vision, what helps you to expand your vision and enlarge your heart?
 
Do you like what you see from Carrie Newcomer? Consider subscribing to her newsletter "A Gathering of Spirits" by CLICKING HERE.

​My mom called me the other night to tell me about a television show on HGTV that she thought I would like. The show is called, "Bargain Block," and it is about a couple, Keith Bynum and Evan Thomas, who are purchasing horribly dilapidated houses in Detroit--often times for as little as $1,000 per home--and renovating them. But the couple doesn't just renovate one home on the block, they renovate several homes on the block...with a twist. The couple keeps the renovation costs down by doing the work by themselves, living in the homes (as soon as they are somewhat functional), and shopping at thrift stores for furniture and supplies. The idea is that if renovation costs are kept low, the purchase price can be kept lower as well. This does two things:  1) Allows for many first time home buyers to be able to qualify for home loans; and 2) Allows the couple to have just enough of a profit to continue transforming the city they love. In other words, Keith and Evan do their very best to ensure that their work is mutually beneficial for them and even the most entry level of buyers.
 
As I watched the show, I noticed how Keith and Evan were inviting curious neighbors over to see their work, and how the potential buyers who came to look at completed homes were often people with ties to a particular street or neighborhood who were looking to move back and make home ownership a reality. All of them commented on what a difference just one home renovation made in the community, let alone several on the same block. It was almost like the revitalization that Keith and Evan had to offer was revitalizing something in the people of and connected to the neighborhood as well.
 
You might be surprised to learn that our communities of faith were intended to function in this same way. In Paul's letter to the church in Rome, he wrote, "I really want to see you to pass along some spiritual gift to you so that you can be strengthened. What I mean is that we can mutually encourage each other while I am with you. We can be encouraged by the faithfulness we find in each other, both your faithfulness and mine," (Romans 1:11-12, CEB). But so often, our faith communities don't function this way at all.
 
One reason, I think, is that we simply are not present to one another in ways that strengthen us. Yes, this can mean being physically present in the life of our community of faith (i.e. worship, faith formation opportunities, missions to the community, servant leadership, etc.), but it also means being fully mentally and spiritually present to one another when we are physically present with one another. Deepak Chopra is an Indian-American author and alternative medicine advocate. He shares that in order to be fully present in the moment and with each other, "we must let love creep in and allow it to become the healer and motivation for everything we do”. He urges us to remember that, “we are not our experiences or external results”, and reminds us to, “get into the habit of realigning daily & witnessing our mental space." In short, how we care for ourselves, how we open ourselves to love, and how we allow love to move and shape us, dictates how we are able to do the same with others. 
 
If what Paul wrote is true--if our encouragement comes in the faithfulness we find in each other--what, I wonder, have you cultivated in your own life and in your own faith for people to find in you? How have you been caring for yourself so that others may find care in you? How have you been open to love so that others might find love in you? In what ways have you allowed love to move you and shape you, so that others might find the transforming power of love in you? 
 
Our answers will be different, but one insight, I think, will be the same for us all:  Our faith doesn't exist in a silo. Our faith isn't just about us individually. Our faith is about our COMMUNITY. How we live our faith and how we show up for one another directly impacts the health of the faith community. We can, dear siblings, be encouraged by the faithfulness we find in one another, but only if and when we show up--fully--mind, body, and spirit. Not some cleaned up version of ourselves, but who we are, just as we are. 
 
Encouraged by your faithfulness,
Pr. Melissa