Cole Camp Musings

Cole Camp, Missouri.

People ask, how do you like living in a town of 1,000?
So, what do you think of your new home?
Are you settling in?
Do you like small town life?

My answer keeps coming back to sounds.  For a simple yes doesn't carry with it the beauty of what it is to live among these people and in this town and immersed in this history.

You see, it's the sounds that remind me where I am.  It's in the sounds that I experience a history deeper than I can imagine and richer beyond understanding.

It's in the sounds that I can join my voice and amen to a life worth living.

So let me tell you about Cole Camp, Missouri.  Let me tell you about what I hear.

I hear the sounds of children playing across the street at the Water Tower park (only the water tower is no longer standing and I have never seen the water tower, yet even I refer to it as the water tower park).

I hear the sounds of cicadas and bugs and critters and howls in the night.  And I realize that I am just a small part of God's creation living amidst such diversity in the country.  

I hear the sounds of church hymns that play from the neighboring church each morning at 8, again at 12, and then to bring the night to a close at 6 and 8.

I hear the church bells that toll at the death of a community member.  Each bell for a year of life lived and loved.

I hear the shrills and joy of children at the Cole Camp World's Fair as they ride late into the night and try their hand at winning a large toy.

I hear cheers for floats in the parade - filled with flowers and hours of care.

I hear the sounds of German songs as the choir sings throughout the streets.

I hear tractors and golf carts and hellos to friends and strangers alike.

I hear and I listen.

This is but a glimpse into the orchestra of life in Cole Camp, Missouri.

Listen.

I also hear the silence.

And the still small voice of the One who speaks our names in the wind and calls us into community.

Jumping into Community

Confirmation.

For some the word brings nightmares or fits of sleeplessness.  Others are put to sleep by confirmation.  Some think fondly of their time learning the Bible, the Christian faith, and getting to know all the crevices and hiding places of the church.  And, for many, confirmation is a rite of passage.  Sundays and Wednesdays, lock-ins, sermon notes, service projects, and Martin Luther make up the ELCA student's confirmation program.

I was the only student in confirmation.  Only me.  For two years I remember spending Saturday mornings with the pastor - and going through a workbook.  It's not that we didn't have a youth group, we did.  A small and mighty group.  But I happened to be the only one of confirmation age during those two years.  I don't remember much of what I learned (although something must of stuck as I'm now a pastor in the ELCA).  Or rather, God continued working on me long after confirmation class.  I do remember memorizing a few things.  I remember the youth group trips and lock-ins and sledding at the state park.  I do remember that I was excited once confirmed to officially be a part of the church.

Now, here I am years later serving as a pastor and engaging the youth in confirmation classes.  We don't do too much memorizing.  They have no workbooks.  But they do have each other, and the church community.  And God's word.  And prayer.  And lots of laughter.

My hope for the youth is that they don't see confirmation as something to get through, but as a gift for building relationships with God and with one another.  As just one part of their journey of faith, as a reminder that they are already a part of the church.  That they are claimed by God in the waters of baptism and their identity as a child of God can never be taken away from them.  

We had three students, and just this past week the confirmation class was joined by two more students who recently moved to the area.  So we spent Sunday morning getting to know one another.

We ate skittles, stuffed marshmallows in our mouths and said, "Chubby bunny." We shared our highs and lows, created a human knot, maneuvered through a hula hoop, and then did a trust fall.

A few high school students joined us as well as a parent.  One of the new students, Joey, jumped right in when a volunteer was needed to fall.  We have a concrete church sign that added some height for the fall and up Joey went.

The parent present, also a boy scout leader, taught us about the trust fall.  How to hold our hands.  How we'd be there to catch Joey.  To trust.  To know we'd be there when he fell.

He said to Joey, "When you fall backwards, it will feel like nothing you've ever felt before."

When you fall, we'll be there to catch you.

Joey turned a bit and looked down - at the faces and hands of friends he'd just met.  He may have questioned what he had gotten himself into.  He may have doubted.

But he trusted.
He fell backwards.

And he was caught.
In the hands of the community.

"It will feel like nothing you've ever felt before."

  

Isn't that how many of us find ourselves in community?  We fall.  Sometimes we stumble upon it as a gift to be opened slowly and other times we come crashing into it.  

But nevertheless, we find ourselves in community.  

For some, we fall into community because it's what our parents and grandparents did Sunday after Sunday.

Others are forced to attend because it's what is expected.

Some are invited by friends to attend Vacation Bible school.

For another, an accident happens or a medical diagnosis.

Or we want to support our friend who needs someone to sit with her.

We fall into community and find ourselves surrounded by God's people.  A clumsy, loving, forgetful, and joyous group.  A community where we learn to love and to be loved.  I thank God that I get to spend so much time with youth and adults who are willing to trust so fully and play and pray so hard.

Falling backwards into the hands of friends does feel like nothing you've ever felt before, and so does trusting in the God whose hands reach out for us when we fall.

For when we fall into community we see the hands of others poised to catch us, and we fall and know that it is God's hands that are reaching out.

God's Work. Our Hands.

How would you describe the church you attend?  What would you tell someone who didn't understand or know about this God in Jesus Christ that has claimed your life?  If you were in an elevator with someone and wanted to share the gifts of the church, what would you say?  

Those questions were posed to the confirmation students one Wednesday evening, a group of middle school students who are learning together about God and church, life and faith, doubt and belief.  We gather as students together to learn, play, pray, serve, love, and worship.  We gather to understand our calls and who God has shaped us to be for the world.  So as this particular question was posed, one of the parents was near by and so the daughter asked her father, "Dad, in an elevator, how would you tell someone about God."  

This father thoughtfully considered the question.  How would you tell someone about God?  When he answered, he had each of the students' attention, and he said, "I don't know, if you're in an elevator you have very little time, maybe a minute or two.  I think, yes, I would offer just a touch.  I would reach out my hand."

Yes, a hand.  Reaching out to another.  Connecting with another.  That's what God is about.  That's what this life of faith is about.  Reaching out to our neighbors - both friends and enemies.  Reaching out to love and serve God by loving and serving our neighbor.  The larger church that Christ and Trinity Lutheran Church is a part of is the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA).  Over 10,000 congregations make up the ELCA across the US, a diversity of people and congregations, a diversity of expressions and contexts.  Together we as the church reach out.  Just this past weekend the ELCA encouraged members to take part in a day of service known as God's Work, Our Hands Sunday.  A day of service to do what we do every day as people of faith - love, serve, roll up our sleeves, make our communities better places - but to do those things together on one Sunday.  So at Christ and Trinity we happily and excitedly took part.  We sorted for Open Door, we created health and wellness bags for the women at the CASA shelter (Citizens Against Spousal Abuse) and we spent the afternoon playing Bingo with the residents of Rest Haven.  We reached out.  We touched another's hand.  We felt God's hand guiding us.

In the end we served God by serving our neighbors.  We used very few words.  We rarely spoke the words of the church that are misunderstood and complicated, but rather we reached out.  We laughed.  We prayed.  We gathered.  We sorted.  We colored.  We collected.  

Yes, God's Work, Our Hands.  Reaching out.

Always Being Made New

"So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation:

everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!" 

There's much to be written regarding the gifts of the ELCA Churchwide Assembly which met in Pittsburgh last week.  As a voting member of the Central States Synod (Kansas and Missouri) I spent the week awe-struck by the energy, faithfulness, peacefulness, and hope witnessed at the assembly.  Hope for what God is doing in the world right now.  Hope for what will be that continues to be unknown and yet unnamed.

If I could sit down with you, I'd share with you about the almost 1,000 people from all walks of life and all across the country gathering for worship daily, lifting voices in song and prayer, sitting in the silence, seeing and hearing the diversity of all God's people called to preach and preside.  

I'd also share with you the beauty of celebrating in song.  Four-part harmony among Lutherans is as close as you get to the heavenly choirs of angels.  

And the dancing - a congo line with bishops, pastors, youth, the young and old, moving and shaking and singing, "Come, Come, Come Holy Spirit, Come!"  

And of course, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to tell you about the cookies!  Oh, the cookies!  440 dozen a day to be precise.  The Pennsylvania women of the ELCA know a thing or two about hospitality, and the need for sugar after a long day of working. 

I'd also share passionately my pride in the ELCA for making a statement about criminal justice, in hearing the cries of the oppressed and offering our voices into the conversation and inviting our congregations into places of learning and engagement with those in the criminal justice system.  

I'd invite you to join the ELCA in moving forward with conversations on ministering to same-gender couples and families.  

I'd tell you of the wonderful resource the ELCA published this year, "The Prayerbook for the Armed Services" and encourage you to share the book with military men and women and their families.  And then to join in prayer for those who serve our country.  

I'd invite you to give - give to World Hunger, Lutheran Disaster Response, Global Missions, and the Malaria Campaign, just to name a few of the amazing demonstrations of the church at work in the world.  We listened to a man from Malaysia who learned of the love of Jesus from an ELCA missionary.  

I'd tell you about the young adults who shared their voice and who raised their voices in support of youth and young adult ministries.  

One cannot forget the election of Bishop Elizabeth Eaton and the gratitude and graciousness displayed between Bishop Hanson and Bishop Eaton; two very fine leaders whose commitment to the Gospel of Jesus Christ leads this church into the heart of a world in need.    

I'd also share that this assembly was the first to have a representative of a non-Abrahamic faith invited to share a welcome.  A Sikh man eloquently spoke of the hope he felt after the shooting in Oak Creek, Wisconsin and that the first group to reach out to the Sikh community was the ELCA with a letter from Bishop Hanson.  

I'd tell you that God is indeed doing a new thing among us and that YOU are a part of that new thing.

  

Perhaps most importantly, I'd tell you about a line.  Walking in line to receive the gifts of God in bread and wine.  One morning as I walked towards the front to receive communion during the daily worship, I stood behind a father with his 7 month-old daughter and a family with their toddler son.  I'd tell you that in those two children and in their families, I saw the reason why we gathered this week.  I saw in that young baby girl and that toddler boy that the church will be here for them.  The church is here for them now to receive God's free gifts and to know that they are loved.  And the church will be there for them to share their God-given gifts and to provide them with a community that rolls up their sleeves, stands on the side of justice and peace, hears the cries of the oppressed, and believes that God is making all things new.  

Come, Come, Come Holy Spirit, Come.  

A Pastor's Distraction

It's not every Sunday that the pastor walks into the sanctuary to be met by a life-size, cardboard boat. 

A life-size cardboard boat perfectly situated in the center of the sanctuary blocking any chance of anyone coming to the communion table.

A life-size cardboard boat about to set sail for the upcoming week of Vacation Bible School.

Of course I had been warned about the boat.  A warning that included: "We'll have to be flexible with communion this morning, pastor."

Upon entering the sanctuary, I could hear the gospel text laughing at me:  "You are worried and distracted by many things."

It was fitting that the gospel for the day told of Mary and Martha and the visit of Jesus to their home.  There was Martha keeping busy, being distracted by the many things she needed to accomplish to offer hospitality to her guest.  Jesus of all guests!  Of course she was busy and distracted. 

And then there was her sister, Mary.  Mary who sat at the feet of Jesus to listen.  To be.  To know that she is loved precisely because of whose she is, not what she does. 

So what about my distraction - a life-size cardboard boat in the sanctuary!
 
I wondered if anyone would hear a word of the readings, the sermon, or follow the hymns for the day.  I wondered if the eyes of children and adults would drift from the cross to the boat, the cross to the boat....

Now, I love surprises.  I love being reminded that worship is never about perfection or neatness or being well-planned. 

I love that God comes to us precisely in the midst of our distractions. 

So give me a boat any Sunday.  Give me the reminders that Jesus breaks into our lives whether we're ready or not.  Whether we think we're worthy or not.  Whether we're distracted or not. 

So there we were, a community full of hope and excitement for the upcoming week.  A community with lots of talent and creativity.  And a large boat.

And we gave thanks to God.  We worshipped.  We prayed.  We sang.  We broke bread. 

Thanks to the large, boat, the words of institution were offered in the aisle.  I stood among the people, right in the midst of them.  I looked to my left and to my right and saw God's people hungry for a word of grace.  I lifted the bread and remembered Jesus on the night in which he was betrayed.  I lifted the bread and knew that the breaking of the bread was for each of us gathered that morning.  I lifted the wine and heard the words that each of our sins are forgiven. 

Right there in the center of our worship space, God broke into our lives and handed each of us strength for the journey, hope for the day, and grace beyond compare. 

One by one families and children and adults came forward to receive the bread. 
The body of Christ. Given for you.

One by one families and children and adults came forward to drink the wine.
The blood of Christ.  Shed for you. 

We weren't at the rail receiving communion as usual, rather we were at the back of the sanctuary, surrounded by God's people and one large boat.

I, for one, am glad for distractions, such as a boat, that force us out of our usual way of doing things and into the embrace of the One who has no boundaries.  The reminder that just when we think we have this whole church and faith life figured out, God breaks in with a presence so powerful that we have no other response but to say, Amen.   

The One about Love

"I like love."

The words spoken by a seminary professor were in response to hearing the engagement news for Stephen and I a few years ago.  We smiled because of course we were in love and we were infatuated with love as well.  And with each other.

"I like love."

Yes, I like love too and I hear those words when I'm with couples and families and children who are in the midst of life and love.  Stephen and I are at a mere 10 months of marriage (just over a month of actually being in the same place together) and we still very much "like love."

We took our time in planning the wedding and dreaming about what the day and our marriage would look like.  Full of love of course.  We dreamed big and then scaled down.  We reveled in the kind wishes of family and friends.  We smiled a lot.  We pictured ourselves as a couple growing old together.

In the midst of the planning and the long distance and the worries, I would remember words spoken to me by a colleague and friend when I was interning in Milwaukee.  As the vicar (fancy word for intern) I was invited to assist at the blessing of a marriage for Seth and Art.

Seth and Art - two people who just exude life and love and laughs.  Two people madly in love.  Two people committed to one another.  Seth who introduced himself to me very early on and invited me to join in the (non-existent) liturgical dance group at the church.  I knew right from the start I wanted to be a part of their day.  

It had just been about a month since I began serving and living among the people of Lake Park Lutheran and I was quite humbled and honored to be a part of their special day of love.  As we were gathering on the day of the wedding, Pr. David said to me,

"Now, Kim, when you are a pastor and presiding at a wedding and the bride and the bride's mother are stressed to the max and everything has to be perfect and the bride wants to make sure the day is the most perfect day, you remember Seth and Art.  You remember how much they had to work for their love.  You remember."  

And remember I do.  For just as much as I like love, I like love for all people.  All.
 

A Parsonage Prayer

The smell of fresh paint and vinegar-washed cabinets. 
The wood floor polished.
The carpets newly cleaned and devoid of any mark or blemish.
Possibility and creativity at every corner. 

A new home ready. 

This week my husband, Stephen, and I will officially move in to the parsonage owned by the church he will be serving.  It will be our first home together.  Our first parsonage living experience.  Our first venture into creating sacred space together. 

We are ready and anxious and excited.  We've dreamed of what we'll place on the walls, how we'll decorate, where our treasures will be stored, and where we'll collapse for Sabbath rest.  I can picture the hanging baskets and the green grass, neighborhood cookouts, and lazy days on the porch.  Yet, as I think to the future, our future, I also can't help but to listen to the voices and history of the past.  The previous pastors and their families.  The memories.  The stories.  The history. 

If only the walls could talk.

Stephen and I are just one family in a long line of pastors who have moved to this town and this particular house to serve a particular people of Cole Camp, Missouri. 

If only the walls could talk. 

I enter the house and feel the weight of responsibility.  The call to be faithful residents of this home.  The call to recognize the gift of living among a people and being called to love in community.  I see pictures placed on the walls.  I imagine the stains and tears and heartaches that occurred and have been woven into the very fabric of the house.  I hear the voices of joy and laughter.  I see the kitchen table and the meals shared.  I ache for the losses experienced and the long nights praying for the community.  I hear the whispers and hushed voices of sleepovers. 

If only the walls could talk. 

This home that we will make our own will also make us into a family.  This home will be our shelter and refuge.  This home has stories to share and secrets to hide.

As I walk through the halls and imagine our future, I hear the faint whisper of a prayer, a prayer from the parsonage itself, a prayer to make a home and to honor the space:

To the residents of S. Hickory Street, 

This is your house now.  This is your home.  

You have the keys and the freedom to decorate, design and plant.  You will make a home among these walls and in this community.  You will wake up each morning to the bells of the neighboring church and be reminded that you are not alone; there are others who are hear to walk this life of ministry with you.  You will look out your front window and see the park - the park where children come to play, the park where people without a home find some shelter, and the park where birthdays are celebrated.  You will see the neighborhood cats and wonder how on earth one small town can have so many cats.  Oh, the cats!  

This is your house now.  This is your home.  

Remember, you are only one family following a long line of others who have made their home here.  Others will come.  Be gentle with the place and with yourself.  Don't take anything too seriously - this house has been through a lot.  Just as you will know where the floors creak and the door won't shut properly, this home, too, knows years worth of creaks and cracks, joys and sorrows.  

This is your house now.  This is your home.  

You are blessed to be among these people.  Remember that you are not alone.  There are prayers and possibilities behind each cabinet and within each wall.  So too must you pray for those who have come before you and those who are to come.  So too must you pray for the people who come to your door.  

This is your house now.  This is your home.  

Know that it welcomes you and calls you to welcome others.