"On Finding Shark Teeth"

Dear WRC,

A few weeks ago, Sam, I, and the kids had the wonderful gift of spending a week in Juno Beach, FL. Over the first few days we spent plenty of hours on the beach soaking in the sun (read: trying not to get burned), looking for interesting seashells, and doing some rudimentary boogie boarding in the surf. Then, halfway through our trip, we ran into some friends in North Palm Beach who happened to mention to the kids that if you know where to look there were shark teeth to be found all over those beaches. That changed the trajectory of the next few days.

Searching for shark teeth can be hard work. It demands patience, time, and dedication to the task. We started with a few tips: look for the black triangle, look in the shell beds, and if the tide is right the waves will be a big help—turning over the shells and giving the teeth a sheen. It was enough to get us going.

It took a while to find the first tooth. I’d love to say that after that they came in spades, but they just didn’t. It took a lot of work to find each tooth. It took time I might have rather spent doing something else. It took perseverance against the eyestrain, scouring the mix of shells that littered the beaches after several storms. There was a constant temptation to space out, to look away, to walk on down the beach and give up on this patch—or altogether. But we worked, and worked, and worked, and then one of us would exclaim with joy, “I found one!” or “Come, look at this one!” Each discovery was a gift, totally unexpected even with all the work we’d put in. Then each new discovery would push us back into the work with greater resolve, renewed energy and focus.

It’s possible to just stumble upon a shark tooth while strolling the beach. Some people even happen upon them more often than most. Everyone will probably find one at some point, but then there are those who train their eyes, discipline their bodies, wake early and go out for the hunt. I’ve heard they can find hundreds. The work, the discipline, it’s all training them, preparing them, to receive those gifts in greater abundance than any of the rest of us thought possible.

Could it be that discipline is all about tuning our hearts to receive the living, holy fire of God, the greatest of all gifts? Everyone stumbles upon small pieces of God now and then—bits of excess, glory, and grace, whether or not they know what to call them—but if you want God in abundance, that takes patience, determination, hard work, obedience. It’s tempting to look away, to give up and go do something else, to take the small glimmer you might catch by accident here or there and call it enough. But if we’re willing to keep at it, slowly we train our eyes. Slowly we learn to see it. We may work and work, but it is never not pure gift when the holy one appears again.

In Christ,

Pastor Andy

"Beauty"

Dear WRC,

A couple weeks ago I saw something beautiful, and I want to tell you about it.

It was a Thursday, and at the end of a long day toward the end of a long week, families started to arrive in our new Family Ministry Space for dinner and some time together. The kids immediately began running around with huge smiles on their faces. The parents wore that look we have by Thursday evening of any given week. The Family Supper Clubs are new, but we’re figuring them out together. We gathered for some praise and a prayer, shared supper together, then sent the kids downstairs for their lesson and activity while we settled in around couches to talk. There weren’t a lot of us there that night, and it was slow to begin, but what happened next was holy.

The groundwork was laid, the space was carefully prepared, and then one parent after the other bravely stepped into it and spoke honestly and openly about areas in their lives in which they need God. Parenting is not easy. Being married is not easy. Being a human is not easy. But the difficulty and struggle and shame are often things we desperately try to hide, to bury down deep in an attempt never to be found out. We plaster on a smile, feign competence, and pray we hold it together until we’re at least back in the car on the way home. But not that night. That night I saw brothers and sisters be honest about the struggle, talk about the difficulty, and name the ache for God, for wholeness, for a way forward. That night they chose to be vulnerable, to be real.

And what happened next was even more beautiful. Instead of others jumping in on top of them to say, “Me, too!” and launch into their own story or jump straight to offering advice, solutions, and suggestions to “fix,” they just listened. I watched as parents just opened their hearts to each other, listened deeply and truly, and, when the time was right, prayed for one another.

There will be times for us to help each other, share resources, or offer advice, but that wasn’t it. The moment was far too holy for such things. When someone bears their soul the most practical thing you can do is to simply help them hold it and hold it before God. This is one of the great privileges that we have as the Body of Christ.

The moment was beautiful. It was a sign of God’s presence and work among us. Isn’t that what beauty, real beauty, is?

In Christ,

Pastor Andy

"Remember you are dust"

Dear WRC,

Last week we launched our way into another Lenten journey. I grew up in a church that marked Ash Wednesday as the beginning of Lent, but didn’t actually impose any ashes. I have since come to deeply treasure physical practices like the imposition of ashes. Anything that gets our faith and worship beyond our heads and into our hands and feet and embodied existence is such a gift. Jesus left us two key practices as signs and seals of his covenant grace—Baptism and the Lord’s Supper—but there are plenty of other lesser practices like ashes that also become visible and enacted pictures of otherwise internal or invisible realities.

Several years ago, this power of this practice was hammered home during an Ash Wednesday service in our sanctuary. We came to the part of the service when the congregation is invited forward to receive ashes. The line formed. One by one you bowed your heads to receive this reminder of your mortality, and I declared over you the same well-worn words: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return

It is a powerful thing to speak this over someone. I do not lightly remind you of your impending demise. I don’t want to think about it any more than you do.

 I noticed a new family in the church had joined the line. They had joined WRC that year and had brought their newborn daughter Jessica to the waters of baptism to be joined into the family of God. As they now waited patiently in line, they held Jess in their arms with all the delight and caution of first-time parents. They made it to the front of the line. Erica bowed her head and received her cross. Mike followed suit. Then something happened that I didn’t expect. Mike didn’t step aside and let the next person come forward. He stood there with his baby in his arms looking at me expectantly. It took me a moment to realize that he expected me to mark Jessica with those same ashes, to speak over her those same words.

 Everything in me recoiled. Do you have that same gut response? This child was a symbol of joy and life, even in this fragile state—especially in this fragile state! We were struggling to have kids at the time. I knew the improbability of life and the absolute darkness of death. Here was a tangible symbol of the triumph of life amidst all the obstacles. Here was a child with so much life ahead of her, God-willing. How could I mark her with a symbol of her death? How could I announce confidently that she too would die one day and return to the dust from which she’d come? 

 Inside I screamed at Mike, “DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!” I didn’t want to say those words. I didn’t want to speak that truth. I wanted to deny it and hide from it and pretend it wasn’t so. Mike didn’t hear me, he just kept looking at me. He was insisting that I tell the truth, insisting that I remember the hope that we profess, trust the power of the ashen cross that accompanies those words. He held Jess out to me.

 I couldn’t delay any longer. I didn’t know what else to do. I recited the words: “Jessica, remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return,” and I sealed her with the cross of Jesus her savior.

 Not an Ash Wednesday has passed when I haven’t thought about that moment and about the remarkable joy, peace, and freedom that are available only on the other side of those ashes.

In Christ,

Pastor Andy

"Nearer"

Dear WRC,

I had the great privilege this past week of attending the latest Confirmation class, and I want to tell you a little about what happened.

Sara and the students invited me to join them for a session to get to know each other a little better. It was my own little version of an Ask Me Anything, and as you can imagine, that’s a little daunting. Giving a group of teenagers the reins to ask you whatever they want comes with some fear and trembling.

There were a few random questions asking about my favorite color (blue), food (tacos), and animal (Great Horned Owl). My personal favorite asked how I felt about pickles, specifically dill. There is a story there. Also: I’m for them.

For random questions, though, that was it. They didn’t really mess around in the shallow water; they went for it. What struck me, though, was that they also didn’t dive into tense political or ethical arguments. As a pastor these days, you sort of expect to have to answer for all the Church has ever done wrong or be thrust into the center of a raging public debate about whatever hot-button topic is in the spotlight. But they didn’t do that. Their questions went right to the heart of some of the most important things they could have possible asked. Questions like: “How did God find you, or how did you find God?” “When did you start truly believing in God?” “How often do you pray?” “Since no one knows for sure, what gives you confidence that you’re right about life after death?” “How did you get so close with God?”

Their questions point to the quest that they’re on, to a yearning, a searching, hidden just below the surface of their teenage lives. When given the opportunity, they didn’t mess around, they went right for what matters most. This is something we can learn from them. There is so much else that distracts us. There is so much else that starts to cloud up this business of being the Church here in Wyckoff, or of being Christians in the world. So many other things begin to seem so important, begin to cause us to worry. We need reminders now and again to focus on what really matters.

They didn’t need that reminder. They weren’t distracted. They went right for the jugular.  Because if this isn’t what all of this is about, then what are we even doing?

How do we get near to God? How do we grow up in Jesus? How do we recognize and receive God’s presence, nearer to us than we are to ourselves?  Aren’t those THE questions?

In Christ,

Pastor Andy

"Christmas is Like God Sitting Down at Your Kitchen Table"

The enduring significance of Christmas is that it represents the most distinctive feature of the Christian faith—the belief that God took human form in Jesus. "And the word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth."

We have all seen sunsets. At the end of a day we have all watched the sun inch lower and lower until it touches the earth. In a far more personal way, Christmas is when another Son touches the earth. Christmas is when God came down from his heavenly home into this world of mangers and mismanagement, of shepherds and stress, of wise men and war, of stars and stupidity, of hope and homelessness, of angels and anger, of loving parents and unloving prejudice. Because of Christmas, heaven is no longer some place "up there," while earth is "down here." The birth of Jesus broadcasts to all who will listen that there is now a permanent link, an everlasting connection, between God and humanity. John stated it best in his Gospel when he wrote, "And the word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth."

All of which is to say that Christmas is very personal. The Rev. Tom Tewell, the former pastor of Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in NYC, liked to say that "Christmas is like God sitting down at your kitchen table." "And the word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth."

Throughout history, in a variety of ways, God's message was that he loves us. But throughout history, people never fully understood what God was saying. So, finally, God wrapped all the words and all the truth about himself in swaddling clothes. Finally, God came as a person with flesh and bones and muscles and blood. "And the word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth."

And ever since that time there have been a growing number of men and women, teenagers, and boys and girls, on every continent, in every nation, speaking every language, who, after hearing or reading about Jesus, have said, "If God is like that, then I will serve him until I die; and if a person can be like that, then that is the kind of person I will strive to be."

It has been said that a good example is worth a thousand words. And that is what happened in Bethlehem. On Christmas day God came to earth in the person of Jesus thereby communicating, once and for all, who he is and what he calls us to be. "And the word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth."

by Rev. David Bach, Pastor Emeritus (1973-2015)

"TEN YEARS"

Dear WRC,

Ten years ago, October 17, 2012, Samantha and I packed up our VW Passat wagon, waved goodbye to family and friends, and rolled out of Holland, MI.  We set out for the foreign land called New Jersey filled with excitement, expectation, and a healthy dose of uncertainty.  It was 3 or 4am on the 18th when we dragged ourselves up the steps of the Klomburg parsonage to collapse for our first night’s sleep in our new home, only to discover that the full-size air mattress we packed to survive until the moving truck arrived in a few days was actually a twin.  Sam let me sleep on it so that I could get into the office at 8am to meet Sue Fasano and my first bulletin deadline.

We had no idea what we were getting into, but God did. God had been long at work creating a path for us, a place for us, a people for us. How could we have known all that was to come, let alone be even remotely prepared for it? Hindsight makes it clear that that was never what ultimately mattered—our planning and preparation. What mattered was God.  What always matters is God, the definitive reality of our life and being. And for a decade now in this calling there has been one place more than any other where we have seen God working clear as day, one place where God has showed up over and over and over again: you.

Thank you. God has been so good to us through you. You have been there for us from the first day until now, partnering in this work of the Gospel. It is in you that we have seen and heard and tasted that the Lord is good.  It is through you that we have felt God’s love, care, and provision. It is from you that we have received God’s grace. In each thank you card or encouraging voicemail, each offer to watch our kids or work on our house, every meal delivered or dog walk after the kids were born, every prayer offered and song sung, every meal shared and tear shed, in every single one God was working among us. In each of those moments you likely had little idea of the weight of your actions nor of the tapestry you were weaving, but after ten years the picture is clear: the Kingdom of God has come near.

“I thank my God for every remembrance of you, always in every one of my prayers for all of you, praying with joy for your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

Philippians 1:3-6

In Christ,

Pastor Andy

“GIVE US THIS DAY”

Dear WRC,

This past Thursday, Glenn Dykstra and I brought communion to Ruth Perrotta. It’s one of the remarkable privileges of my job—not only being welcomed into people’s homes and lives but to bring this visible sign of invisible grace into their lives as well.

Ruth was quiet during our visit. She still looks great but is 96 and starting to feel it. Dementia has been slowly setting in, too. It was clear she heard and understood us but that day she was slow to reply and offered only short answers to our questions. Our visit was a fairly one-sided conversation. Glenn and I telling Ruth about things going on at church, and remembering Ruth’s beautiful singing that blessed our congregation for decades. Ruth didn’t really respond; she didn’t really seem to have much energy.

I asked if she’d like to have communion with us. There was a pause. “Yes,” she said softly. Her voice isn’t what it once was, weakened by age and no longer able to soar to the heights of glory. I began to set out the crackers and juice before us. I got out the communion liturgies. I asked if Ruth would like one to follow along or if she’d like us to do all the reading. Again, a pause. “You,” she said softly, again. So, we began. We worked our way through the liturgy for “The Lord’s Supper in Home and Hospital.” I led. Glenn read the responses. Ruth listened quietly.

 Dementia is cruel, as anyone who has encountered it knows full well. It robs you of your memories, which is a way of saying that it robs you of your self. There are good days and bad days− days when memories flow freely and days when everything is a fog. I was thinking this was a bad day for Ruth. I didn’t know how much she was really even with us, or how much of her was still her. Through the conversation and now through the liturgy she sat quiet, still, with a slightly distant look in her eyes.

Right before we receive communion itself, the In-home liturgy invites us to pause and pray the Lord’s Prayer together. I invited Ruth and Glenn to join me. I paused for a moment. As we began to pray it was only Glenn and I: “Our Father, who art in heaven.” We continued through the prayer, perhaps more perfunctory than I would like to admit. But as we rounded the corner “on earth as it is in heaven,” and began to ask for daily bread, I heard something. I leaned in as we prayed for forgiveness and it was there again. A third voice had joined in our prayer. It was soft and quiet, but it was there. Ruth prayed right along with us as we prayed against temptation and evil, and she seemed to gain confidence as we closed together, “For thine is the Kingdom and the power and the glory forever, amen.”

 It was one of the most beautiful things I have heard in a long time. I wasn’t sure if Ruth was with us through most of that liturgy, but the old and sure words of the Lord’s Prayer, words she has prayed thousands of times, called something out of her—called her out of her. They brought her back to us. Their familiarity created space for her to lift up her heart with us in worship.

 Dementia has stolen much, but it hasn’t yet stolen the grooves these words have worn between her synapses. And even if it does one day, those very words point us on to a hope that will never crack or fade. Our hope isn’t located in ourselves. It isn’t our knowledge, it isn’t our effort, it isn’t our net worth, it isn’t our ability, it isn’t our memory or anything located in our self. Our hope is Him, our Father, who art in heaven. We have hope because His is the Kingdom. His is all power. His is all glory. We are His, and He is faithful.

 That still, small voice was a reminder that God was with us in that holy moment. That third voice, woven into ours as a reminder that God does not see what humans see, looking at outward appearances. The prayer itself a reminder that we live every day—from weakness, to strength, to weakness again—relying on the faithfulness of God for every breath, every day’s bread, every thing. We had brought the bread and the cup, but it was Ruth’s voice—like it has so many times before—that opened our eyes to something so Holy, right here under our noses. God. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.

In Christ,

         Pastor Andy

Resonance

Dear WRC,

Well, somehow school starts next week. I’m not really sure how, but we’re here already. And if the whiplash of realizing summer is over isn’t enough, we’re about to step hard on the gas pedal of our collective lives as we lurch into this new season. It seems like things are just moving faster and faster and faster, doesn’t it? Like a camp song that speeds up with each new verse until no one can keep up anymore, every time we feel like we get a handle on things they hit a new gear. There is constant pressure to keep up, to become more efficient and productive, and to adapt to an accelerated rate of change technologically and socially. Technological advancement continues to save us time, and yet more than ever we feel the sense that we need to catch up. And the result of all of this is a growing sense of anxiety and guilt. German social theorist Hartmut Rosa calls the result “alienation.” Life is moving so fast that we feel more on the surface of it than in it. Things are moving so quickly that we don’t necessarily know how to live the good life in the present, but we have a sense that if we can just gather enough resources now (money, experience, degrees, capital), then we can live whatever full life we want to in the future. The result of this unfettered acceleration is a sense of disintegration, of alienation from community, relationship, God, and even ourselves. Do you know that feeling? It’s a sickening and disorienting feeling that leaves us feeling anxious and lost. Rivers Cuomo sang it well: “The world has turned and left me here.”

If this alienation is caused by unbridled acceleration, then you might be tempted to think that the solution would be to slow down. That may be the case, but Rosa is careful to point out that the problem isn’t specifically the speed, but the alienation from connections to the world and others. The solution then isn’t necessarily to slow down, but to find ways to relate differently to the world, others, ourselves, and even time itself. The path forward is to cultivate what Rosa calls “resonance.”

Have you ever had an experience where your whole being seems to resonate? When time isn’t sped up or used more effectively but made full and thick? For many, these are experiences when relationships are attended to, when we reconnect with God’s creation, when we get back into our own bodies, when we find ourselves moving with the grain of God’s ways. In fact, our unique Christian contribution to the conversation may be to point out that what Jesus describes as his “abundant life,” is the way that living in his ways moves us along at the resonant frequency of the universe he so lovingly created, sustains, and is working to redeem.

As things speed up again this fall, how can we work to tune ourselves to resonance? Well, the first step is recognizing it when it happens, and the second step is seeking it out. I’d love to hear about some of the places you’ve experienced resonance this summer. Here are a few places where I have in the last couple weeks:

·                     Gathering for breakfast with six of you at Country Café to laugh and share life.

·                     Singing loud and dancing out the motions of VBS songs with parents and kids alike.

·                     Sitting around the Memorial Room and talking with other parents about the joys and

                    difficulties of parenting and getting to pray with and for them.

·                     Stand up paddleboarding with Owen at Camp Brookwoods, feeling the rhythm of the

                    water, balancing together, and laughing every time we fell—whether it was on purpose or not.

·                     Gathering for worship with friends and singing an old song, long-imbued with meaning.

What would be on your list? How can you pay attention to spaces of resonance this fall? What

would it take to find a few more?

In Christ,

    Pastor Andy

Dear WRC,

I’m back! These past three weeks away for rest and revitalization were wonderful and I’m brimming with gratitude. I’m excited to be back and dive back into life with you, catching up on what God is doing in your lives. If you’re around, reach out! I’d love to see you. I’d also be remiss to not thank all those who stepped up to fill gaps while I was away, from worship leading to pastoral care. Thank you for using your gifts to build up our community and give glory to God!

I’m continuing to process my time away and will end up writing a lot more about it for my D.Min. project, but I wanted to share some brief things I learned/remembered:

·         Being part of a church family is a sacred and beautiful gift – I missed you and gave thanks for you and our life together while I was away. I also worshiped at another church for 3 Sundays in a row and was hit between the eyes with profound gratitude for the gift of a local church. I saw grandparents worshiping beside grandchildren, friends laughing and catching up, parents coaxing their children forward for a Children’s Moment, saints rising to sing together. I also felt the immediate bond between us for no other reason than that we belong to Jesus and share a deep love of God. What a beautiful thing the Church is, and we ignore that beauty at our peril.

·         I love my family! – I didn’t discover that for the first time, nor had I forgotten it, but there are times in life when we need to be invited deeper in, right? When we need to be reminded of all the ways it’s so, of all the reasons why, when we need to say it out loud, bring it back to the front of our awareness. Sam is such a gift, always ready to give and put others before herself. She is open to wonder and beauty, passionate in her love and convictions, compassionate and courageous. My kids are sweet and beautiful. Owen is goofy, smart, and more confident than I’ve ever been. Hannah can be so tender, curious, and relational. I love ‘em!

·         God is more present to us than we are to ourselves – That’s a rough paraphrase of St. Augustine of Hippo that I use quite often in preaching and conversation. I believe that; I know that; but I don’t always feel that and live like it. I entered my silent retreat somewhat anxious about the time, wondering if God was going to show up and how and if I was going to “do it right” and if my worrying about that was going to be the thing to actually sabotage it all. Then I shut up, and as the distractions and noise faded away, I was left with God: quiet, patient, intimately present. In swirling thunderclouds, in a tree of goldfinches, in skipping stones, in a field of fireflies, in a silent, ancient oak, in simple meals, in the tides of the Hudson. “The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge” (Ps. 19:1-2). God is here. God is with you.

In Christ,

    Pastor Andy

Sabbath

“Restore our fortunes, O Lord, like the watercourses of the Negeb.”

— Psalm 126:4

Dear WRC,

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ!

This next month is going to be… interesting. I wrote to you a few months ago to announce that the consistory had blessed my application for a Clergy Revitalization Grant that our denomination was offering through a generous grant from the Lilly Foundation. I had been awarded a grant and the accompanying three weeks for that time of revitalization. Well, those three weeks are here. Starting on July 11, I’m going to stop doing and be for three weeks.

I’m approaching this time as both excited and nervous. The excitement seems more obvious. This is an incredible opportunity and gift as well as something that I need to care for my mind, body, and soul in order to return and help care for yours. But I’m also nervous. I'm nervous because I've never done anything like this and have no idea what to expect. I am also nervous because I want so much to happen, but trying to force it is precisely the way in which to thwart its happening.

 The truth is that, like so much else in the Christian life, I can’t make happen what needs to happen. I can’t generate intimacy with God and force an awareness of God’s presence. I can’t renew my soul. I can’t manufacture rest and restoration. The Gospel is not a self-help manual with 10 steps to self-actualization. This is not the realm of pulling yourself up by your boot straps. What needs to be done is what God alone can do. Jesus used a really helpful metaphor in John 15: “I am the vine and you are the branches…apart from me you can do nothing.” We can’t make the fruit grow. We are not in control of our spiritual lives.

But there is one role in all this that is ours, the most important verb in John 15: abide. We abide in the vine, in Jesus. Abiding means giving up any illusion that we are the captains of our souls, that we are in charge of things. It involves surrender to the will of the vine and the vinegrower.

 Spiritual Disciplines or Practices seem to be all the rage in some parts of the Church these days, but my fear is that they are being taken up as techniques to control and improve our spiritual lives, instead of what they are: a means of surrender, of abiding in the vine. My teacher and mentor, Tim Brown, once described practicing the Disciplines as digging irrigation ditches. We can’t force the rain to fall, but we can work the soil of our heart so that when it does, that rain doesn’t just flow over us but waters our souls and produces a harvest.

 With all that in mind, I’m trying to enter into these three weeks in order to sabbath: to cease. To stop working and striving and all my anxious attempts to be in control and instead to surrender. To patiently attend to God and trust that at some point the rains will fall.

WHAT AM I ACTUALLY GOING TO BE DOING?

I’ve been working with a spiritual director over these last couple months to give some shape to this time and to how I will be entering into silence and prayer during these weeks. I’ll meet with him again on day one to start things off with time in prayer together and doing our best to listen together to what God is doing in me. From there, I’ll head off on a four-day silent retreat at Holy Cross Monastery in West Park, NY. Week two will include another appointment for spiritual direction and five nights in a little cabin on Lake Champlain just north of Burlington with Sam. We’ve only been away from the kids together for one night in five years and are looking forward to some space to be together, to pay attention to our relationship, and to rediscover some habits of prayer together (special props to Esther who is coming to watch the kids!). Week three is largely unplanned. We’ll all be together, likely here in Wyckoff, and the goal will be to rest and continue to make space to listen to and be with God. I’ll meet with my spiritual director again this last week.

 The rhythm of the whole thing moves from the center out and is like a giant reboot button for all my most important relationships. I’m beginning with God alone in prayer and silence, then spending time with Sam, then the kids, and in the fourth week back to work and to this community. All along the way trying to saturate each of those spheres with prayer and with an awareness of the presence of God.

 While I’m off doing this, I want to invite you into three things. First, practice sabbath, too! From the very beginning of creation God has invited us into the rhythm of work and rest. In six days, God created the heavens and the earth and on the seventh day God rested. Over this next month, how is God inviting you to stop? To surrender? Where are you convinced that you are absolutely necessary and that things would fall apart without you? How could you step away, not entirely, just one day every seven to practice wonder, delight, and the fear-of-the-Lord?

 Second, don’t contact me. Haha. Seriously, though, one of the requirements for the grant is he church’s committing not to contact the pastor during their time away. If anything comes up during that time there are Elders and others standing by to offer pastoral care. There will be a pastor on-call at all times, too. Reach out to the church office if you need anything. I can’t wait to catch up with you when I return on Aug. 1.

 Third, pray! Please pray for me, for Sam, for Owen and Hannah. Pray for God’s blessing on this time. Pray for restoration. Pray for God’s presence and faithfulness to be known. Pray!

I’m still not sure what this month is going to be like, but I believe that the discernment and the preparations were faithful, so I am entering into it patiently expectant to see what God will do.

 In Christ,

Pastor Andy