White Days

by Wendy Morical

I’m writing on a deeply cold and snowy February day, a day where retreat into a cozy corner with a blanket and book seems the only logical thing to do. The view from my desk is as white and black as an Ansel Adams photograph. Even the sky is white. The black bits take several stark forms: a power pole, fenceposts, a cluster of bare aspen trees. It is a bleak landscape.

I have been reading Wintering by Katherine May, a richly evocative exploration of weathering difficulty, illness, and darkness which has the subtitle The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. In this lovely book, May writes of the cycle of deciduous trees and describes the process of abscission as “part of an arc of growth, maturity, and renewal.” Abscission is the scientific term for the natural detachment of leaves. My very last undergraduate college class was a botany class, taken by necessity to meet a science requirement, but that was a long time ago. I haven’t thought much about the inner workings of trees in the intervening years, but May’s words have caused me to look at them with new awareness.

Leaves drop and we see bare branches, what we perceive as a skeleton of the living tree, a dormant and non-vital aspect of the winter landscape. In reality, as May describes, the buds of next spring’s leaves have been formed during the growing season and are already present along the “bare” branches. These buds contain the tiny beginnings of leaves, shoots, or flowers. The trees are prepared for winter but at the same time, anticipating their spring.

The abscission of leaves in autumn exposes these buds, the furled promise of next summer’s green canopy. Additionally, fallen leaves on the ground and tree bark provide mulch, food, and shelter for animal and insect life. At our home, we pile our raked aspen leaves in the field behind our house and delight in the day when the deer first discover this surprise bounty under the snow. The area becomes a gathering place for our gentle friends.

Deep within the heart of the tree, life goes on. It is waiting and weathering, toward that day when the sun brings forth its leaves and flowers and the pollen of renewal is carried on spring breezes.

May says that “transformation is the business of winter.” Amid the loss and depredations of the pandemic year, despite the challenges of living our days from dark to dark in deepest winter, amid the political clamor and social unrest of these times, perhaps we can offer ourselves permission to winter. We can use these white days to find a quiet place of self-care, rest, compassion. We can step back from fighting against our difficulties and conserve our energies until the natural cycle of life bring us to our next beautiful season, always growing, maturing, and renewing.

“We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.” (Katherine May)

Remembering that long-ago botany class, I recall that part of our final exam was identifying trees by looking at sticks laid on the lab tables. Even in the barest branch of the tree, its identity was visible; we could know the tree by examining a twig! At the time, this seemed miraculous to me – and I maintain that opinion still.

What a miracle. No matter how stripped bare we may feel, we can trust our springtime will come, nurtured by these snowy times of rest and renewal. Thanks be to God for winter.

Hope for the Future

by, Kerry Williams

Life is going by in a blur for me right now. There are too many big things and way too many small things grasping for my attention at all times. But I managed to slow down just enough to soak in some Olympics action over the weekend, and it’s really sticking with me. My family and I decided to watch the men’s snowboard half-pipe final, just because it stood out that it would be Shaun White’s final Olympic appearance. We took in the rounds of first and second runs of all the riders and loved hearing more about the athletes and seeing what they could do. It turned into a study of how four people can live under one roof and experience life in just as many disparate ways. The number one seeded rider was a 23-year-old from Japan who attempted and landed a trick that had never before been performed in the Olympic Games. He executed it perfectly but ended up with a score that put him in second place.

The commentators were aghast. Just at that moment we realized that we needed to leave the house and wouldn’t be able to finish watching to see if the final round of runs would change the outcome. We promised each other that we wouldn’t google what happened so that we could come back to watch it together. Over the course of the day, however, we not only couldn’t stop talking about the situation, we began to drift into different camps about whether we even wanted to find out who eventually won. Emotions were high and the dilemma got complicated. Between the four of us, some felt crushed for the top seeded boarder who was robbed of a higher score, but some were more worried about the athlete sitting in first place who may have to live with the world feeling his victory was undeserved. Some of us were chomping at the bit to get back to the coverage and see what shook out, and some wanted to never find out. Some were cherishing the surprise and suspense, while some were threatening to look up the scores because the tension was too much, and still others were putting ultimatums on whether they would watch the rest of the competition unless they knew the story had a happy ending. It was the kind of stress that made us realize that we have different responses and also helped us appreciate our different perspectives. It was just the right level of stress to bring us together, and what a wonderful feeling that was. In the end, I brokered a solution in which I peeked at the final standing so that I could tell the one who refused to watch without knowing the result that it would be safe, but reminded him that his dad really loves surprises so we agreed that he would play off his change of heart as a reluctant “okay you dragged me into it” moment instead of an acknowledgement that he was secure in the outcome.

In the end, the final runs were so much more than we could have dreamed, with a 16-year-old phenom knocking our collective socks off and bringing us joy with his huge smile, to the moment of retirement for 35-year-old Shaun White who had nothing but gratitude for his time as a snowboarder on the world stage, with not a shred of disappointment for not having gone out on the podium. And justice being set to rights when the Japanese rider completed another perfect run for the score he needed to win Gold. We were laughing, we were crying (some more than others), and everything was right with the world for a few moments. My boys are coming of age during a time when information is overwhelming and untrustworthy, and justice seems elusive, so this feeling of being together for an outcome that made sense will stick with me for a long time to come. It gives me hope for the future to see these athletes striving to reach the next level of greatness and supporting each other in their quest. Can we apply that ideal to rest of the world’s problems? Maybe. But for now seeing one snowboarder get the recognition he deserved is enough to keep me going.

Change is hard, but that’s not all

by Rev. Laura Folkwein

I will be the first person to tell you that I don’t like change. I prefer to drink my coffee out of the same green cup each morning, and I hate rearranging my furniture. Sometimes while traveling, though I love the adventure, a part of me wishes I could spend more time in the cozy, cocooned, in-between-place of a car, plane, or train. Change can be disorienting, tiring, sad, and lonely. Times of transition also offer opportunity, creativity, and grace.

Change really is all around us. I know I am a fool to resist. But I do need help. I find that nature is a generous teacher for those of us who may be a bit “change-averse.” Spring and Fall are my favorite seasons because they comfort and ease me through my stubbornness (which, let’s be honest, is a thin cover for grief and fear). Springtime brings welcome change from winter, when the first crocus and buttercups bloom, and we human animals begin to shed our own hat and jacket layers. Those first warm days of spring are a joy every year–a welcome change. In the fall, deciduous trees show us courage as they face their final transition. Blazing leaves give one final hurrah before floating to the ground and turning into compost to feed their mother tree for the winter (or our yards, or the forest floor). You don’t see snowdrifts hanging on and refusing to melt as the temps warm, nor do many leaves refuse to fall, even though they each let go at their own pace. Nature’s changes remind me that I too am part of a cycle of give and take, life and death, melting, falling, growing, grace, and nurture. That doesn’t seem so bad, does it?

I once read a brilliant little book called “How to Survive the Loss of a Love” by Peter McWilliams, which reminded me that transition includes grieving what is no more and gratitude for what has been. McWilliams reminds us bereft ones to enjoy and celebrate what our lost loves taught us (like an appreciation for bluegrass tunes, the family recipe for kimchi, or how to set clear boundaries). He is also generous with who these “loves” are: romantic partners, jobs, physical abilities, loved ones passed on, children grown up and moved on, or shifting friendships. Sometimes forgiveness and ritual for intentional letting go are in order. Is it time to throw rocks in the river, have a bonfire, or write a letter that will never be sent? Eventually, openness, energy, and hope for what is to come will arrive in the space we create for them with our remembering and our bonfires.

I am gently preparing myself for the day my green mug breaks. With a promise of chocolate and a few day’s notice, I can even consider moving furniture. Winter trees, naked of leaves, have their own kind of stark beauty (and it is easier to see the nuthatches and sparrows perched inside). What is it that helps you weather changes, big and small?

If you would like to ponder the topic of transition with me a little more, I invite you to Pilgrim’s Transitions Retreat, titled There is no small change, on Saturday February 12th, 8:30 a.m.-12:30 p.m. online or in person. Contact the church office or sign up online, here: https://forms.gle/9iFtzsaPXsTbLsrAA

Laura Folkwein (she/her) is our current pastor at Pilgrim Congregational UCC. Laura is currently working on a writing project with her family to re-story her family’s western pioneer narratives alongside local Indigenous histories.

Hurry up and Wait

By Susan Wordal

Have you ever noticed how some people seem to be in a real hurry, no matter what they are doing, while others are content to just move at the pace they want? Both types can be equally frustrating at times. I guess it just depends on how it strikes you at any given moment.

Funny thing, but there seem to be more phrases regarding the pitfalls of being fast rather than slow.

• The hurrier I go, the behinder I get

• Act (Marry) in haste, repent in leisure

• Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast (Wm. Shakespeare)

• Unreasonable haste is the direct road to error (Moliere)

• Take time for all things: great haste makes great waste (Benjamin Franklin)

Consider the old tale of the Tortoise and the Hare. Aesop had a way of telling a story that stands the test of time. We can be like the Hare and hurry forward, rushing to get there, but maybe being distracted along the way, or thinking we’re so far ahead because of our speed that there’s no way we can lose. Then we take a little nap and OOPS!, we’re behind. Sometimes, it is those who plod along, slow and steady, not rushing, but being careful and knowing the goal, who “win the race”.

This story strikes me these days when I think about how people behave. When I was a kid, the speedy thing was making a phone call…if you had a pushbutton phone. But when I was visiting my grandparents, I had to contend with the old rotary dial phone. So, to use the phone, you had to slow down while you waited for the dial to finish its rotation. And, you had to know the number or you had to look it up in the phone book. As you watched shows like “Star Trek”, you wished you could just say the number, or the name of the person, and the phone would dial it for you.

TA-DAH! Today we can do many of those things that seemed so impossible on those old sci-fi tv shows. (Except the transporter, they still need to figure that one out!) Everything is faster. You don’t have to wait for a letter when a fax or email will do. In fact, you don’t have to deal with faxes much at all, since email works every bit as well and you can save paper, or not deal with the old fax paper which smudged and would get creased and marked up if you folded it or drew a fingernail across it. Photos are digital and you don’t have to wait a week to get them developed in order to share them.

The down side? Yep, there’s a down side. We have come to expect that information is at our fingers and we can have everything done yesterday. We’ve come to expect everyone has a cell phone and they should pick up when we call! We get exasperated when we get voicemail (what we used to call the answering machine) and have to leave a message. We’ve become rude when an item we want isn’t available in the store and it will take a week to get it in. We don’t want to stand in line to mail a package. People think it’s great fun to manipulate photos to alter the truth of the camera lens. And just because we can send it out as soon as it’s finished on the computer doesn’t mean we should. Once you push that send button, it’s difficult if not impossible to recall it when you realize you sent that to your Uncle or your best friend and you didn’t mean to, or it had an attachment you DON’T want your mother or grandmother to see.

I think maybe we need to slow it down just a notch. We need to think about whether we did the job fast or we did the job right. We need to think about whether our haste will mean we have to re-do all that work because of an initial error or the initial idea was flawed in some way. How will we feel if the email we typed in anger is being sent to the wrong person or the text message we send is saying No when we meant Yes or vice versa? And how will you feel if that photo you know should be private gets attached to something and goes out into the electronic universe.....and your mother or your grandmother sees it?

Speed isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes slower gets it done right.

An Update on Pilgrim COVID protocols: Omicron Variant

Dear Friends,

I know that many of you are concerned about the omicron variant’s arrival and rapid spread in Gallatin County and across the country. I want to share some of the things we are doing at Pilgrim to keep each other and our neighbors safe and healthy.

First, we will continue to worship together in-person and online, to pray for healthcare providers and anyone dealing with Covid, and to “be the church,” in as many ways as we can.

Second, I have been consulting our church leadership, other faith community leaders, and the Gallatin County Health Department this week about what we can do to help slow omicron down. In my conversation with Brian on the Health Department Covid Hotline, (God bless my new friend Brian and all of his good work), he affirmed that we are doing nearly all we can to keep each other safe and keep our healthcare system and providers from overload and overwhelm. He also thanked us for supporting people spiritually through this difficult time. I felt really proud of us all, and I told Brian he would be in my prayers now too.

Two additional steps we can take right now, on a temporary basis are:

1-Take a break from treats and coffee after worship. Starting this week, we will put coffeehour on hold for at least 4-6 weeks (I know I could do with a break in my cookie consumption after the holidays…perhaps I am not the only one?). We can still visit in the narthex, outside in our coats and hats, and in the sanctuary after worship.

2-Encourage all of our church-related groups and committees to meet online for the next few weeks. (I think almost all of our groups are doing this anyway, including our weekly staff meeting.)

Here are the other steps we will be taking to continue to make Pilgrim a safe and positive place for us and our neighbors to gather during the ongoing challenges of Covid:

-Socially distance in the sanctuary during worship. Please leave 2-3 seats between yours and other households, or ask before you sit closer.

-We will stop passing the offering plate for a bit. There will be offering plates at the front and back of the church during worship. You can bring your offering up or back during the offertory, or drop it off as you enter or as you leave worship. Or you can give online on our website or set up an auto-bank withdrawal: 100% touchless and you don’t have to remember your wallet/purse/checkbook for church.

-Continue to allow readers, special musicians and other worship leaders to choose whether to keep or remove masks during their parts in the service.

-Keep the service as close to an hour (or less), as possible.

-Sing softly, or hum into our masks during hymns and congregational singing (or just listen).

-Make N95 and KN95 masks available to anyone who needs one (available in the church office and outside the sanctuary on Sundays). The blue medical masks remain available also. However, N95 and KN95’s are recommended to slow the spread of omicron.

-Send out a reminder to all of our renters about masking up in the building, and encourage them also to take a break on food/drink service for now (though they can still make their own decisions on this).

-Maintain high quality portable air filters and high quality HVAC system filters in the building, especially the sanctuary.

And, a reminder, in the spirit of love, health, and wholeness: Please stay home and participate in worship online, if you feel at all ill.

Let us know you’re under the weather, so we can pray for you, send a note, and ask you if you need soup (or anything at all). Seriously, please contact the church office if you would like a call, a visit, a meal, or other supports during this challenging time.

If there is one thing Covid has taught us in almost two years, it is that we can be and do church in a wider variety of ways than we ever imagined. Covid may be strong, but our spirit of love in Christ is stronger, and will last longer than this dang pandemic.

With you in love and faithfulness (and deep sighs too),

Pastor Laura

Letting Go, Holding On

"Parachute Games" by Tim Dennell is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

by Wendy Morical

When my child was small, he was timid in new environments. One day in Lindley Park, we saw an activity group from the Parks and Recreation department near the playground, lifting and lofting a brightly colored parachute in the air. Children squealed with the thrill of running into the space under the brilliant nylon and then darting back out from within the circle. Around the diameter of the parachute, adults and children gripped the handholds tightly, working together to move the massive fabric in smooth, billowing waves – up, down, up, down. My son, transfixed by the spectacle, hung back to watch the scene, not confident enough to run into the midst of the activity.

This memory came to me recently as I reflected on the conclusion of my term as congregational Moderator. Viscerally, I feel my hand releasing its hold on some of Pilgrim’s workings, but I am concretely aware of a circle of focused, joyful, and energetic people around me, ready to grip the handle as I release. In the past year and a half, some members of our Pilgrim family have really felt the effort required to tug the fabric of our church life upwards, and some have had to grip tightly to bring it back to Earth. Others of us have joyfully ducked in and out, taking pleasure from the beauty created by the lifters and adding our voices to the chorus of enthusiasm. Some, like my young son, have felt it more comfortable to sit at the side and enjoy the lifting and soaring from a safe distance.

Assuming a role in lay leadership over the past years exposed me to the many hands and hearts at work around Pilgrim. There is so much life in our church – even when our doors were shut and the search for our minister went on! Daily acts of support, both visible and behind the scenes, are performed by a vast number of Pilgrims: changing light bulb ballasts, delivering meatloaves, caring for our elderly members, writing poetry, trimming fallen branches, sweeping dead flies, shoveling the walks, cleaning the closets, reading scripture, collecting essentials for needy neighbors, writing blogs (!) and legal documents, planning, praying, and simply being present for one another.

What a joyful, colorful celebration this community is! Whether your hands are some that are doing the work of lifting and holding, ones that are moving with your body in the shelter of our circle, or ones in prayerful repose as you watch from a comfortable space, you are part of our wondrous, billowing, loving endeavor. May God bless us in our togetherness and our joy.

LOVE

by Sarah Hollier

It feels like the older I grow and the more I learn.... the less I truly know. These days I'm more interested in the questions than in definitive answers. There is one thing I can say I believe in with certainty though: love. And I'm not speaking of romantic love, but something wider, deeper. But what do I mean by that?

As a child and family therapist and crisis clinician, I was often in highly emotional situations with people under extreme duress. Some of this distress got aimed at me and it was easy to become defensive. It was easier to care about the children, especially the young ones, and tempting to blame their adults, who had often fallen short of providing the physical and psychological safety every child needs in order to thrive.

This challenge led me to a practice of taking a breath and reminding myself that even the angriest, most belligerent adult was once a lovable, little baby with infinite possibility. It wasn't hard to see how along the way, hurt, neglect and worse had affected that little person, who in turn, was now affecting the next generation. When I pictured the adult in front of me as the vulnerable beautiful little child he or she once was, and still was, buried deeply within, that image became a conduit for compassion, and my heart was able to expand and connect more effectively to everyone in the room. In doing so, I became less likely to add more shame or blame into the equation, more able to identify the fragments of hope and possibility and healing in what had initially looked like a hopeless mess. I know it sounds unconventional to count love as a critical component of a professional job, but I experienced the miracle of it – the necessity of it – over and over.

Maybe that is one reason Jesus arrived in the form of a helpless tiny baby, to remind us that each one of us started out as a miraculously beautiful small being, unquestionably lovable. But the theme didn't stop there. That baby Jesus grew up to challenge and invite us to love all of our neighbors – and our selves – and then – and this is one of the hardest parts – he went on to expand the definition of neighbors way beyond the obvious and the easy to love ones.

When Christmas is Blue

by Rev. Laura Folkwein

As a kid listening to secular Christmas music, I was so tickled when I figured out who Mommy was really kissing. However, these days at my house we are more likely to play quiet winter solstice albums (and Storyhill’s Bethlehem, of course). Have you heard Sting’s If on a Winter’s Night? It is gorgeously subdued. Music leads me deeper into the melancholy undertones of the season, which I suspect most of us carry beneath the holiday hum.

Who hasn’t experienced a loss or emotional wounding that tugs against the expectations of celebratory joy? Family estrangement, grief for loved ones who no longer grace our holiday tables or call home, or the heaviness of ongoing pandemic uncertainty all linger. Some of us struggle especially with mental health or issues of addiction this time of year. Most of us in the U.S. northwest yearn for longer days with more daylight.

How does a person get through the holidays when one is not feeling so merry and bright? Over the years I have collected a few tips from mental health professionals and chaplains that have truly helped. Here are a few:

• Give yourself an out. It’s ok to leave a party early or to skip an event or two. It is also ok to hide in the bathroom or step outside for a breath of air.

• Let the people close to you know that you are feeling a little blue this season and may not be up to your usual traditions.

• Tend to your physical needs by getting enough rest, a little exercise, and eating something a little healthier than cookies and eggnog all season.

• Find comfort. A cozy nap? A walk with the best listener you know (might be your dog). A favorite treat. Soft socks?

• Let the tears or the melancholy be your companions for a time. Try not to fake it or ignore your feelings hoping they just go away. Sadness and grief tend to hang around until we pay them the attention they require.

• Let melancholy music carry you along and limit the loud stuff if it shakes your nerves.

• Hang an ornament or light a candle to honor yourself and your loved ones.

• Volunteer if you have the energy for it. Helping someone else can be a welcome and wonderful distraction.

• Find mental health resources if your thoughts become worrisome to you or others, or if it feels like the cloud will never lift. Hospice workers, chaplains, local mental health workers, and even your pastor can all refer you to someone to talk to, if they are not available themselves.

Know that your blues are probably not permanent. Grief and sadness ebb and flow, shift and mellow over time, especially if we welcome them in as part of life and love, even at the holidays.

Here are some additional resources from my favorite folks at Tamarack Grief Resource Center: https://www.tamarackgrc.org/tipsheets

It may also help to remember that the beloved characters in our Advent and Christmas stories were not strangers to pain and grief, nor was Jesus himself. Elizabeth dealt with infertility. Zacharias lost his voice. Mary was a teen mom, and with Joseph she parented a child who would die young. The shepherds were social outcasts who likely did not have enough to eat or stable housing. The wise men were late to the party at the manger. Jesus’ closest friends betrayed him. You and I are not alone in our struggles. These lonesome paths have been trod by others before us. Whatever the season holds for you, may Christ’s gentle and enduring presence comfort you on your way.

Laura Folkwein (she/her) is our current pastor at Pilgrim Congregational UCC. Laura is currently working on a writing project with her family to re-story her family’s western pioneer narratives alongside local Indigenous histories.

Actively Waiting

by Kerry Williams

I’ve been thinking about the Advent Season a lot this year. I know it is often characterized as a time of waiting and anticipation. Years ago I even participated in one of our Advent services describing how the Spanish word “esperar” translates both “to wait” and “to hope,” which I think is beautiful and especially fitting. What I’m realizing this year is that I am in a mode of active waiting which is new and different for me. Personality tests often peg me as a “wait and see, slow to warm up” type in general, and during Advent that usually looks like taking in the preparations that others are making and appreciating their efforts while quietly checking off my list of what needs to be done without any fanfare. This year, through a series of calendar alignments, our family has acknowledged Hanukkah November 29-December 6, Sinterklaas on December 6, and are getting ready for Santa Lucia on December 13, all before celebrating Christmas. We’re not going overboard by any means, but by coming together to eat special food and decorate for the occasion we are actively marking the time during this period which has so much meaning for so many different people. It makes me want to know more about how traditions are kept around the globe, and I remember fondly the course that was offered at Pilgrim a long time ago, where we learned about other religions and were introduced to their stories and practices. I especially remember seeing the I Ching for the first time and being taught how to use it. It was a mind-altering experience for me, not because the book itself pointed to anything, but because it hit me that the human experience is one of making meaning. It kicked off a restructuring of my thoughts that maybe I wasn’t supposed to figure out the meaning of my life on earth but actually create it. I forget that important tidbit over and over again, but this Advent season has been a time when I’ve been able to hold that idea a little more naturally. So, as I wait to see what this particular season will bring, I am involved in small changes to set a path that will move me forward, not to a place that was destined, but in a way that feeds me and makes the world a little brighter as I go. Showing up to wait with others and making their experience lighter simply through the presence of another human being seems to be where I am finding the most meaning right now. I hope that you also are able to create meaning right now, and if that’s difficult, as it often is, then you stumble across the ones out there who will meet you where you are and lighten this time, actively waiting together with you.

Lost: a meditation

by Tim Dolan

In this time of world history we are being challenged and even traumatized by by personal and public events I find it important to notice the flood of media information and gently turn it off temporarily and find a quiet place and time to contemplate.

What do I do when I’m lost in the forest?

Poetic rendering by David Wagner:

LOST

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you are not lost.

Wherever you are is called ‘Here’

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger-

Must ask permission to know it and be known.

Listen, the Forest breathes, it whispers, “I have made this place around you.

If you leave it you may come back again, saying, ‘Here’.

No two trees are the same to Raven. No two branches are the same to Wren.

If what a tree or a branch does is lost on you, then you are surely lost.

Stand still. The Forest knows where you are.

You must let it find you.

As we approach the darkest time of the year let us sense with our whole being the dawning of the Illuminator himself, the miraculous birth- miraculous because is it was mothered and fathered from the Holy Spirit and not by the will of human parents.

Here is an image to contemplate from the book of 1 Enoch:

His body was white as snow and red as a rose, and he had hair on his head that was white like snow, and his thick curls were beautiful. And when he opened his eyes, the whole house shone like the sun- or even more exceedingly...

As you sit in stillness, listening, breathing an openness into your chest, let the “Forest” find you. Let the Christ be born in you as the sun rising and filling your whole being with light.

Ponderings

by Susan Wordal

I find myself occasionally blessed with "windshield time". For any of you who find yourself on a longer drive than just tooling around town, this is a time for contemplation, unless you are fortunate enough to have a really good radio/CD player or MP3 connection in your car, or an audiobook to listen to while driving to occupy your mind. It's hopefully not a time when you are juggling your cell phone and your computer or your tablet, or your kids are not hollering at you every 5 seconds "When are we going to get there?!?" OR "Stop touching me!".

But what do you do with this blessed "windshield time"? I know some people who just enjoy the view and appreciate the natural world as it is revealed as the miles go by. Living in Montana, we are truly blessed with a natural world that is ever changing and full of color, even in that in-between period from fall to winter. I know others who are constantly alert, as they should be in Montana, for the wildlife that can cross their path. And, I know others who work on that paper they have to write for work, or that project that just landed on their desk. While they can't really write things down, some people have figured out how to connect their technology so they can speak and have their thoughts recorded for later transcription or to remind themselves of what they worked out. But whatever they do with that time, they don't realize, always, that they enjoy that first blessing: Nature in all its myriad glory.

I found myself driving home from a meeting last night and in the Bridger Mountains at 10:30 p.m. Usually, I like that time of night, except for the deer, elk, and other critters who decide to be out and about. However, the road was just slightly snowy and I needed to keep my eyes on the road. But, despite the roads, and my need to go really slow because I don't like driving in the snow with my not 4-wheel drive vehicle, I found time to appreciate the state we live in and the wonders to be seen in our beloved Montana.

Ponder this the next time you get behind the wheel. You might see something you didn't expect.

Blessed Be.

Social Media: the Wizard Behind the Screen

by, Carl Krieg

The largest human psychological event/experiment in history is happening as you read, involves everyone, and has momentous consequences. To learn the details, tune in and watch “Our Social Dilemma”, a Netflix documentary featuring young former top executives of social media companies such as Google, Facebook, and Instagram. The common message is simple. Entities, business or political, pay the companies to influence the way people think. The influence can have two purposes: either entice people to buy my product, or entice people to behave in a certain way, such as voting, demonstrations, or activism of any kind. How do the social media companies achieve these goals? They know us, individually and collectively, as they continually gather data about us from the choices we make that are constantly being recorded on our computers, tablets and cell phones. Every day, all day. Huge memory banks hidden away in non-descript buildings contain the voluminous data that defines who we are. Given that information, which includes our personality traits deduced from our recorded behavior, they know how to fill the screen with suggestive material, the most obvious of which are advertisements, but also include content that is “suggested for you”. Raw Story, a small news organization, recently posed as a 13 year old, celebrating his birthday, who entered “Muslim” on tik tok, and within 10 days was receiving videos about killing Christians and Jews. Having initiated a search, algorithms lead us on. With the advent of biometrics [eg heart beat recorded on your watch] the algorithm has that much more with which to work. Our excitability, as measured in our biometrics, provides suggestions as to what may be next suggested for us. Not only so, but the Artificial Intelligence, aka an algorithm, is able to identify thousands more who have the identical profile, and an army of consumers or activists becomes suddenly possible. Meanwhile, the tech companies make more money.

Dopamine, along with oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins are referred to as the “feel good” chemicals that activate the pleasure center of our brain. Inasmuch as we prefer pleasure and not its opposite, we trend to those activities and thoughts that trigger the dopamine. Integral to the grand experiment going on today is the identification of what it is that activates the pleasure center. Different individuals can be under the influence of different triggers, which can change as life moves on, but there are also triggers that appear to be quite common, if not universal: violence and community.

Yes, violence, strange as it may seem. We have long known that sex, food and drugs can be addictive, and we have more recently learned that money as well can have that effect. Big Tech has seen, in actual real time human behavior, that violence entices a person to click to the next screen, indicating that dopamine has been released. Studies with animals have also shown this to be true. Bar brawls apparently excite us, and social media knows how to manipulate this violent behavior to turn a profit. Of course, it’s not only Big Tech and it’s not only social media. The insurrection of January 6, 2021 is a prime example of violence feeding on itself in a dopamine feedback loop.

Integral to that loop is a second major trigger of the feel good chemicals: community. Or at least some kind of togetherness with others who share our profile. We can accept it as well-established fact that homo sapiens is a social animal. We enjoy being with others who share our worldview, just as we find it uncomfortable to be with others who have a different perspective. We much prefer to have our biases confirmed rather than challenged. Here again, social media appeals to our sense of belonging, either through advertising that draws us into a community of fashion or product, or through the spouting of social critique and commentary that draws us into a certain brand of populism and activism. We have “friends” with whom we “like” things. Thousands of people will travel thousands of miles to join up with others who share the same belief, no matter how ludicrous. Being together validates the belief, incites the violence, and activates the dopamine.

Why, we may ask, do community and violence create that good feeling? From a historical, evolutionary perspective, given that we have evolved and continue to evolve, community and violence must have proven advantageous to the survival of the species. The reason might lie in our hunter/gatherer days. We once existed as small tribes who hunted and gathered the food needed for survival. Although there must have been interpersonal tension in a tribe, the overarching necessity was tribal cooperation for survival. The opposite might have been the case for inter-tribal competition. Constantly moving, it was critical to have access to areas where food was plentiful, and it is easy to see how competition and conflict between tribes could arise. However, whether in peace or in conflict, intra-tribal cooperative community was mandatory and desirable, and in inter-tribal conflict, on the other hand, violence may have proven advantageous.

In addition to evolutionary analysis, we can also analyze the situation from a logical perspective. We all come into this world and are bombarded by stimuli. We order the stimuli and create a worldview through which we filter future stimuli, and in so doing create a rather limited and egocentric view of reality. Two choices present themselves. We can either realize that our worldview is limited, and through contact with others seek to learn from them and expand our understanding accordingly, or we can become closed in upon oneself and live in the illusion that your world is the real world and that everyone must agree with you. The danger in becoming open to others is that one must become vulnerable.

Suppose you are aware of your limitations, meet another, share what you know, and seek to learn from the other. Unfortunately, the other takes advantage of your honesty, learns where the good hunting is, and misleads you with false information about a watering hole. The peace-lover dies out, the violent competitor wins, and he is chemically rewarded for his deceit and violence with a good feeling induced by dopamine.

This might explain why egocentrism is a universal situation. It just won out. That seems to be the point of the Cain and Abel story. Cain was a farmer while Abel was a shepherd, so it could be that this is a mythological explanation of why farmers and shepherds are always fighting. But there could be more. We don’t know much about Abel, other than that God looked upon him with favor and he was happy. The impression one gains of Cain is that he was a competitive crybaby [God likes Abel better than me], was sullen and angry, and took it out on Abel by killing him. It appears to be a case where the peace-lover loses out to the violent competitor just because that’s life, and, as a mythological statement, is meant to apply to all of us.

Whatever the cause, be it rooted in evolution or logical inevitability, the fact is that today violence and community are dopamine triggers. The question is: is there a different way to put the pieces together? It may be that evolution has brought us to where we are, but inasmuch as evolution is an ongoing process, we have the potential to move on to a different place and need not remain as we are. Considering community, it is the case that belonging to a community does in fact trigger good feelings. That is not at issue. The issue is: to what kind of community do we belong? The best guess is that belonging to a loving community would precipitate all sorts of good feelings, creating a powerfully uplifting environment. We already know that sexual attraction makes us “in love” through release of oxytocin. Perhaps immersion in a community of agape love would trigger a cascade of chemicals, both known and unknown.

And perhaps that cascade would suppress the ability of violence to be a trigger. Think about that. We already know that nurturing love is required for an infant/baby to have a chance for a happy life. Might it not be the case that nurturing community is required for a happy life? Perhaps this was what Jesus was trying to do. He gathered a family of friends to be an example of what fulfilled life could be, a microcosm of a humanity wherein it is love that triggers the dopamine. After the manner of Jesus, it is our challenge today to offer an alternative algorithm, in which clicking leads forward in a healthful, helpful direction. The community within our grasp can begin with as few as two and grow from there. We have reached a moment in our evolution where cooperation in community is necessary for survival. We know the way. Can we do it?

Disclaimer: I am neither a neuroscientist nor a historian of evolution, and, though unintended, might be in error on some of the suggested connections. Comments most welcome!

Not My Terms

by Mindy Misener

I have always been a little suspicious of sayings like Be gentle with yourself. Sometimes this is framed in the negative: Don’t be so hard on yourself. But I don’t need to be all that kind to myself if I can be fair with myself, right? And I know that I have to be fair with myself. That I have limitations. I know, for example, that I need a certain amount of sleep each night to function in the long run. If I lose a lot of sleep for a few days or more, I start to struggle. I make mistakes. It’s hard to think. But I don’t get mad at myself about this fact, because I am reasonable with myself.

I would wager, though, that one of our biggest obstacles to offering ourselves true kindness is thinking that if we can “reasonably” forgive ourselves in some areas, we can be “reasonably” hard on ourselves in others. We think we can keep our worst impulses toward self-hatred in check, at least most of the time, while still giving ourselves little talking-tos every day. That was the wrong thing to say. Do better next time. You shouldn’t have made that mistake. You know better.

Have you ever messed up, and had someone tell you it’s okay, except that everything else about their demeanor suggests that it’s very much not okay? That’s what I think our “reasonable” self-criticism is like. It’s sort of okay, except it’s not really. Which leaves us in the position of needing to appease our judgmental selves somehow: we must be sorry enough, or mean enough to whatever part of us made that mistake, or make enough promises to never ever ever do that again.

Recently, I was reminded that true self-kindness—not the “It’s okay for now, but do better next time” version—is actually good for us, good for our relationships, and good for our communities. This insight came thanks to an episode from one of my favorite podcasts. According to psychologist Kristin Neff, who was interviewed for the podcast, people who are kind to themselves do not slowly go bad, like fruit left on the counter too long. They are productive and, in an interesting turn, actually more capable of taking responsibility and making apologies when they need to.

I would argue that self-kindness offers more than a backdoor into a healthier psychology. Something about it is a little astounding. It feels, in fact, like brushing up against the love of God—or better yet, letting the love of God brush up against me. I want to keep looking over my shoulder as if there’s some catch. But there is no catch. You can try this at home. Start pulling on any stray strand of your belovedness that you can find; let the silver thread pool at your feet while you search for its opposite end. Good luck!

Self-kindness is, paradoxically, an exercise in humility. We let God love us as we are. We do not force our standards or ideas of goodness or worthiness upon ourselves or others. We say, “The terms are Yours, not mine.”

— Mindy Misener teaches creative writing at Montana State University

Church Surprises

by Rev. Laura Folkwein

A clergy colleague of mine accepted a new call a few years ago and spent the first few months sharing “church discoveries” on social media. These were little tidbits, and sometimes big surprises, that she encountered as she learned about the people and the place she was joining in ministry.

I have decided to steal her idea.

I am looking for “Church Surprises,” large and small. In my mind, surprises are small winks from the Sacred, that remind me that something greater than myself is alive and active among us in daily life. An unexpected bit of joy from the Spirit says, “Hey, I see you. You are loved. Keep going,” or “Stop. Take a breath right here.”

Here are a couple of surprises I have encountered at Pilgrim.

Last week, I found flowers on my desk after the beautiful church service of transition between Rev. Dick Weaver and myself. Beauty lifts the spirits, soothes the soul, and is better when shared. Thank you.

Yesterday, I went rummaging in the church kitchen for a spoon for my soup. I found drawer handles in the shape of the silverware inside, indicating spoon, knife, and fork-drawers! What a gift of hospitality and help in an unfamiliar place. God bless you, Kitchen Design Saints of Pilgrim! What a creative and helpful surprise. Thank you.

Over the past few weeks, I have been poking around the church locating the HVAC closets (are there seven? Five? Oh my!), but more importantly I have seen so many memorials: plaques, benches, gardens, photos, a small sign on the edge of the conference table. These are precious surprises and reminders that many have gone before us on this journey. They are not forgotten. I am enjoying the chance to stop and read names, dates, and stories as I find these little surprises and stories in prominent and mysterious corners. Thank you.

A surprise is fun (some of us like them more than others), but perhaps there is more to it than that. These surprises are also crumbs on a path of generosity, offered without expectation of recognition or thanks. Someone created a bouquet, designed a kitchen, or built a memorial in hopes that later on someone like me or you would find and enjoy, remember, or get some use from that very item. Perhaps its originator has left or forgotten about their efforts. All the more joyful, to be continuing the pleasure after its initial inspiration is long gone, don’t you think? Small miracles are everywhere. Maybe you will join me in taking a little time to look and appreciate these bits of love, left just for us.

We are the Elders: Insights from Generation X

By Danielle Rogers

I was having a conversation with my husband the other day about health and wealth inequalities and changes that can be made to better serve our community. I casually mentioned the work our Elder generation has done and how I learned to advocate for myself and others through their good deeds. So many of these wonderful people have transitioned or have their own health concerns that coincide with aging. I realized that the Elders I fondly remember were younger then I am now when they began their social justice work. As I become more engaged in various projects, I realize I have become the Elder.

I was astonished and a bit scared knowing my generation shoulders the responsibility to mentor and learn from our younger brothers and sisters while serving and learning from our Elder brothers and sisters. It is a strange feeling when your age demographic is listed towards the bottom of the survey, or when society no longer considers your age group culturally significant.

In a way I should have been prepared for this realization. I am a part of Generation X, categorized as those born between 1965 and 1980. We are mostly known as the "forgotten generation." We were latchkey kids, faced two recessions during our prime working years and are considered highly self-sufficient and individualistic. I always feel a sense of melancholy with my generation. We were raised at the height of the self help era, watched family sitcoms and exploitative talk shows. Our generation was undefinable; once thought to be lazy and without challenges, our perception has morphed to being highly reliable and, dare I say, pessimistic?

Generation X has seen so much: The rise of the video game era, personal computers, internet usage, recessions, war in the Middle East, terrorist attacks, the rise of the AIDS epidemic, global warming, school shootings, trickle down economics, and much more. We are the generation that saw these things first hand, and our collective memory is long.

I often think of the disciples and how they continued the teachings of Jesus Christ after his crucifixion. The myriad emotions they faced are palpable and their constant fear persisted, as the Roman Government was quick to end any sort of conceived Political Agenda different from their own. How did they keep going? What motivated them? They were at the helm of a ministry that ended in the gruesome death of their beloved teacher, yet we know the ministry continued and survives today.

There is a tipping point in every civilization since its inception where new ideas surround the government, and societal norms are questioned and often evolve. The tipping point for Generation X is now. Our experience and close connection to both the Baby Boomer and Millennial generation helps us understand and create dialogue that can rectify certain qualms and misunderstandings. Our voices need to be a part of the discussion and we can no longer be seen as undefinable or simply languishing into our own inner trials.

Aging is a gift not all are afforded. It can bring confidence and wisdom and stability. Our Elders have set the societal frame but the framework is being redesigned. We, as the new Elders, need to pick up our collective hammer and do what our generation does best, get the work done.

-Rev. Danielle Rogers is Director of Christian Education at Pilgrim

Grace And Adolescence

by Kerry Williams

My family is currently experiencing a full circle moment in our sons’ lives, as our youngest entered his freshman year in high school and our oldest finishes his senior year. It is only the second time they have been in the same school together, the only other time being the year our youngest started kindergarten, so they will have a shared school experience only during one's very first year and one's very last.

I am not inclined to romanticize the high school experience, but I am interested in beginnings and endings. I wonder about the difference between the times we are aware of moments of transition and the times we don’t know they’re happening. There are so many instances when we look back on our life and see the seed of a new beginning that we didn’t know was there, or sense that something is winding down and changes are coming though we aren’t sure exactly what they’ll be.

This time of parenting for me feels like I have a keen intellectual understanding of the endings and new beginnings I am witnessing, with the added sense of having no idea what this transition will look like for both my kids and for me. It perfectly parallels this season for our church. We here at Pilgrim knew that there was an ending coming a couple of years ago, as a minister’s retirement is a tangible thing, but we thought we would be celebrating that ending and a new beginning simultaneously, with maybe a hiccup or two but basically keeping on keeping on.

Little did we know that we would be spending so much time in the space in between. In between ministers, in between pandemic surges, in between economic forces, you name it!

So now we might feel a sense of relief, purpose, and maybe a healthy dose of weariness as we look for a very clear new beginning with our new minister joining our flock. But I wonder if “beginning” is the right word for our state of being at the moment. We began the transition to a new minister as soon as we started writing the profile of our church to try to capture who we were, who we are, and who we would like to become. In a process that very much mirrors adolescence, we seem to have so many different ways we could grow and a few insecurities about what our future may hold. We are starving for some guidance and yet certainly don’t want to compromise our identity and independence. Can you pinpoint the time your adolescence began and when it ended? I doubt it. We all tend to flail about for a while before we realize we’re not flailing anymore, and we don’t know exactly when that shift occurred.

I think that’s where we are during this time for Pilgrim. We are embarking on something that we know is new but we’re not sure what the journey will bring. We know what we value and we are ready to become something we haven’t fully envisioned yet. The thing we need to give ourselves right now is grace. Grace to try new things, grace to make mistakes, grace to get where we’re going in the time it may take, grace to be a little unsettled. It is an exciting time! We may not want to experience adolescence again (I know I don’t) but we can’t deny that that time of stretching and figuring things out made us who we are today. So let’s enter this time of transition as a church family with all the grace we can muster for ourselves, for the process, and for everyone else along on this journey. And maybe we can check back in this time next year to look back and see ourselves flailing just a little bit less, stronger and far more interesting for all we’ve done together.

— Kerry Williams is a member of the Minister Search Task Force
and serves as Vice Moderator for Pilgrim Church

A New Season

by Dick Weaver

It’s time for a final report and reflection on the whitetail deer who hung around Camp Mimanagish all summer.

They were beautiful, frail-looking creatures—especially compared to mule deer—smaller than I am used to seeing in whitetail deer. At least one of them must have spent the winter and maybe the entire 2020 summer season too, hanging around under the tall trees near the camp’s gazebo. When Dilynn and Jonna showed up, she even bedded down for a brief time within yards of them. Almost unheard of for whitetails, in my experience.

We enjoyed them almost all summer. Two does and a spotted fawn. We theorized about the does being a lesbian couple, but this pattern is apparently quite common. They would watch us carefully if we walked by, and sometimes they would scurry off, but occasionally they let us come pretty close as long as we weren’t focusing too much on them. It was one of my most pleasant experiences to see how they’d adjusted to this small amount of human activity.

But in late August, they pretty much disappeared. I don’t think I saw them at all as we got closer to the Labor Day weekend. It was disappointing, but I knew they were doing what deer do, and didn’t concern themselves with whether we missed them or not.

As with many animals, whitetail deer follow patterns that, while not rigid, are noticeable in their regularity. By August, the availability of food changes, and the needs for certain kinds of nutrition in their diets change, too. It’s early for the mating season, but the does were moving in that direction, following those age-old biological urges. So their disappearance from camp was not a reason for concern.

Autumn brings change. I’ve been worshiping with you, virtually or in person, for over a year, now. Who knew it would go this long—the search for your new “designated minister?” But the pattern has shifted, in a normal if somewhat delayed fashion. We have spent some time and energy being together and getting to know one another, and now we’re moving into a new phase—a new season. You’re ready for a new experience, a new period in the life of Pilgrim Church. I’m ready for new experiences, too.

It’s been a good season! I’ll miss you. I know that God has been with us in this time, and I know God will be with us in whatever the new season brings. Thanks be to God.

— Rev. Dick Weaver currently serves as Supply Pastor for Pilgrim Church

The 60s and Today

by Carl Kreig

Our understanding of God is impacted by the historical context in which we live, and often changes with the season. A comparison of the 1960s with today is a case in point. It is also a span of time that brackets the theological journey of some of us, including myself.

It was almost 60 years ago in 1963 that I started a three year course of study at Union Theological Seminary in NYC. Imagine 200-300 future pastors, theologians, and musicians, all would be revolutionaries, along with their spouses and a few children, living and learning together in a Gothic quadrangle in Manhattan, but a few blocks from Harlem, surrounded by theological dialog, and immersed in both the excitement and horror of the 60’s. We gathered in the evening to hear Walter Cronkite and Eric Sevareid detail the latest body count from Viet Nam, describe the confrontations between justice-seeking Blacks and hostile Whites in the north, and show us freedom-singing Blacks attacked by night sticks, dogs, and fire hoses in the south. Martin Luther King Jr inspired us with the voice of God. The culture war, embodied in long hair, beards, and free sex, challenged and threatened the status quo of the 50s established after WW2. It was all happening at once.

And there was hope. Hope not as against the odds, but hope as knowledge and expectation that a new day was in fact arriving. Too often we remember the 60s as a time of turmoil, and it certainly was that. But it was also a time of great hope, at least in my corner of the universe. Dylan was singing about how the times they were a-changing. Demonstrations were everywhere. Freedom and justice were on the march. The old was passing, and the new seemed just around the corner. And a beacon of this certainty was Union Theological Seminary in the heart of it all, an embodiment of community, faith, dedication to right the ills of the world, and the expectation that we were and would continue to be part of that divine process. It was not naive, -after all Reinhold Niebuhr with his Christian Realism had taught there for 30 years-, but neither was it down-hearted, because, after all, we were working with God. Certainly Union was not alone in this optimism. It was everywhere.

The theological bedrock of this hope was the belief that God was active in history, doing things in the political arena to bring about justice and freedom. Actively political, that’s who God was, leading the Hebrews out of Egypt into the Promised Land, leading today’s dispossessed into a new promised land. That vision informed progressive theology of the time, inspiring a whole generation to hope and to carry on the divine purpose.

But something happened, or rather, did not happen along the way. Life continued as it had, with the rich and powerful becoming even moreso, culminating in today’s morass. Parochialism and nationalism are on the rise. Out-of-control irrationality, conspiracy theories, and rejection and distortion of truth, all throw into question our ability to deal with the crises facing all of us. Half of Americans refuse vaccination while poor countries remain unable to even get it. The earth becomes hotter and our collective ability to reverse the process requires a collaborative perspective that seems beyond our ability. Racism, sexism and suspicion of the “other” are as strong as ever. Of course there is anecdotal evidence of all the good things that are happening, but if one had to offer an overall judgment about the direction of the US, if not the world, optimism would come hard. The broad scope of the 60s hopefulness about the future of the planet has given way to a much more disheartened- some would say realistic- perspective today.

The basic question for Christianity is whether our view of God has changed, and it seems it has. God has a dual nature, as Person and as Being, as One who loves, on the one hand, and as the Ground of all that is, on the other, and the duality of this historical/ontological Presence can neither be understood nor explained. It is a mystery that just is. If one emphasizes the political activity of God, one tends to ignore the givenness of what is, thereby hoping for more than is possible. In retrospect, I think this is what happened in the 60s, including the theology at Union. We became overly optimistic, somewhat but not totally like the Social Gospel of the 20s that expected the imminent arrival of the Kingdom of God. We today may be making the opposite mistake, ignoring the active involvement of God in history, and focusing on Being, of which we all are a part.

Personally, if we have to indicate a preference, I prefer emphasizing the involvement of God in history, and speaking of a God who is active in this world to make things right. This is the prophetic tradition that leads directly into social change. The world today needs this prophetic critique more than ever.

— Carl Krieg is the author of ‘What to Believe? the Questions of Christian Faith’ and ‘The Void and the Vision.’ He is a regular contributor to the website Progressing Spirit.

My Kingdom is Not of This World

by Tim Dolan

There are many references in the Bible referring to the “Kingdom of God” even at the very end of Jesus' earthly life as He stands before Pontius Pilot: “Are you the King of the Jews?” Pilot asks. Jesus responds in the affirmative. In Mark 4:10-12 the inner circle of disciples requested Jesus to tell them parables and He said, “To you is given the mystery of the kingdom of God; but to those outside all things are done in parables...”

All this points to the esoteric nature of the kingdom of God. Esoteric refers to hidden spiritual teachings or “Gnosis.” Some people take exception that there should be anything obscured in the Christian teachings and that it must all be simple enough for a 5-year-old to understand. The mystery of the kingdom is more of what Jalaluddin Rumi termed, 'an open secret' — that when one truly opens oneself to truth and goodness in humility, then the truth is revealed.

The nature of the kingdom of God is a life long journey of discovery and practice for those of us on the Christian path. We should not be distracted or diverted by worldly kingdoms that compete for our loyalty. Presently trust in authority is at an all-time high, with people lining up to defend one political party or the other. One side wants to completely silence the other party. Families are divided according to their affiliation with opposing camps. Sometimes we are lucky and a ruling party will be acting in harmony with life-serving values and other times not. Everything should be measured against what furthers the kingdom of God and what does not.

I remember the beginnings of the Peace Corps where young people were recruited to help less fortunate people in other parts of the world, which was life serving. In contrast you see governmental blockades of food, medicine, energy, and building materials to vulnerable countries in efforts to dominate them. And in other instances, sadly, bombs are dropped.

Beware the rise of 'medical authoritarianism' in our home country, surveillance, and control. Let us keep our eyes on the prize which is a heart guided by the spirit of the Living Christ. Judge all things by their fruits.

— Tim Dolan is chair of Pilgrim’s Spiritual Life Committee

Being Human

by Wendy Morical

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

— Rumi, from Rumi: Selected Poems, trans Coleman Barks

Children are taught from an early age to love others as they love themselves. This is a Christian lesson that derives from the gospel of Mark, although it becomes a cultural universal when it morphs into the Golden Rule, connecting people across all lands and faiths.

The second [commandment] is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” (Matthew 22:39, NIV)

This succinct admonition is intended to serve as a reminder to be as kind to all humans — including those we don’t know or don’t even like — as we are to ourselves. It’s a reminder to not be selfish in our love.

In the day-to-day reality of being human, however, many of us don’t act as though we love ourselves. We find fault with ourselves, are disappointed in ourselves, and act in ways that are not representations of our true selves. We can be our own worst critics, rather than seeing ourselves through eyes of love and acceptance.

Months ago, in our service on March 14, Edis and Cliff shared a song written by Karen Drucker that reminded us to be gentle with ourselves. The lyric “I will hold myself like a newborn baby child” was particularly poignant because those of us who are parents — and, here in Bozeman, I might even include dog parents — know that a loving parent’s heart doesn’t feel disappointed or find fault; it lifts up and cherishes the good, and gently redirects the less-welcome behaviors. What if we could love ourselves as if we were cherished in the way a newborn is cherished?

I believe we don’t need to love others as we love ourselves, we need to love them better.

In the meantime, we can work toward loving ourselves as whole, conflicted, imperfect, and wonderful beings. As Rumi suggests in “The Guest House” we can embrace the aspects of our lives that do not align with our expectations for ourselves or do not feel comfortable to us. We can welcome and entertain all elements of our experience – and be gentle with ourselves when we fall short of our self-imposed expectations. Then, perhaps, we can love ourselves as much as we love others.

— Wendy Morical services as Moderator for Pilgrim Church