Salt+Mud; a sermon reflecting on artist residency and that we are the salt of the earth.

I’m back--in a place that has become home to me--the quiet streets here have created a grid-like maze amongst the literal mountains of snow that pile outside our front doors.

I’m back in the common rhythm of my life, and even though I’m sure my absence has been clear to many (anyone can be famous in a small town), my experience felt very full to be enveloped by a community of the Grunewald Guild, a place where art, faith, and community intertwine.  There I worked alongside other artists as we together kept this community of retreats running and worked on our own personal art projects.

I had dreamt of this time to spend a few weeks cultivating more of my skills as a ceramic potter--and I have come away with over 100 mugs, bowls, and jewelry pieces to show for this work. But...I built all of these fragile pieces far away from this home of Valdez.

So I found myself asking a few necessary questions to deal with as I packed up these clay pots to be mailed to Alaska:

If all my pottery breaks or it all gets sold, what is left?

What do I have to show for this time being an artist? Am I only my production?

Would I feel empty if all these mugs are crushed and broken?

Would all of this time have been a waste?

If all is lost, what is left?

I asked myself these questions in hopes that I would not wallow but instead recognize all that this time to create art has been:

-a time away from my rhythm as a pastor
-a time to solely focus on producing art

-getting to play creatively with clay

-improve my pottery skills

-develop my own pottery voice

Even deeper than that, I was given the chance:

To love something that is breakable.

To create something fragile and delicate.

To build something that can die and crumble.

To love anyway.

Destruction or breaking cannot touch love + grace.

Breaking does happen to all of us AND love and safety can be intentionally created even when things are broken.

In the Gospel we hear today, Jesus tell us that “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?”

We need salt to survive: we use salt to make our food taste good and to preserve meats.  We use salt soaks in wounds to draw bacteria out of the body, to get rid of pesky wine stains, to safely put out grease fires.  The average human adult needs around 6 grams of salt as part of their essential diet.

We are called to be the salt of the earth.

Not the gold of the earth, not the mansions of the earth---we are the salt of the earth--we get to be the cheap stuff that everyone has a carton of in their kitchens, or the very expensive vials that were skimmed off of sea water off the coast of Japan. Or Himalayan pink sea salt put in a grinder that is sold at Food Cache/Costco. Take your pick, but you get to be the salt of the earth.

God believes that we are essential to creating a life worth living. We are called to be as common as table salt; we are called to notice how our lives taste good and we are called to help clean the wounds of this world.

But Jesus asks us an important question in this Gospel: “if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?”

So what if we are broken? What if we have lost our saltiness?

What if we have lost the essence of what makes us the salt of the earth?

What if we as a church have become too palatable or too weak that we no longer stand for anything?

These are important questions to ask ourselves, the same way I am asking myself how I am going to cope with having broken pieces of my created pottery.

And guess what? I picked a few of my favorite mugs to put in my luggage for safety and turns out, one of them did break. Delicate pieces made out of love do break, even when we do all we can to protect. But just because it's broken doesn't mean it cannot be mended or that all of it's worth is gone.

The truth is, there is brokenness everywhere in our world. And oh do we need that brokenness to be mendable.

Our politics is broken; our leaders choosing to feed into fear to continue the shouting matches across difference. Our world is broken; children are still being detained at our border and people who have been deported to their home countries are being murdered and assaulted. Our world has billionaires that have multiple homes while thousands of people slip into homelessness. People are broken--we are broken.  We focus on judging other people for their wrongdoings rather than looking at the ways we are a part of the brokenness of this world. We as the church too often remain silent or distant when we see the hurt right in front of us.

We are called to to speak about the ways we are broken and take actions to once again be the salty grace all over our communities.

What does it mean to create something that is breakable?

We love it anyway. We repair the broken parts of this world.

We find our way back to being the God-flavored salt of this earth.

North to the Future.

Alaska's motto is "North to the Future."

Since I'm new to Alaska and working on being in a posture of learning----nope, it's still a bit hokey. :)  But really, it does speak to the sense of hope that I hear from a lot of people when they speak of that yearning to move up here (whether it was 2 years or 35 years ago).  I keep thinking, Wow, these people have such gumption and courage!  I'm amazed by their stories of the future they hoped for in moving up here.

Someone told me recently that I am brave for moving up here; not the first time I heard it but this time it stuck in a deeper way.  I keep pointing to people in amazement in that they moved here with dreams about what they could be here share that similar perspective of my own yearning for what Alaska will transform in me.

What has it been like my first month living in a small town of Alaska? These thoughts have no order or reason to them, other than my random reflections.

The first thing I keep realizing is how well planned it has been to move during the end of winter, beginning of spring time.  I got to settle in with fresh snow and now the days are relatively long (6:30am sunrise, 9pm sunset).  The way the town and mountains change every day because of snow melting is astounding.

The birds here are so awesome. One bird's call sounds like a dog woofing, which really confused me for a few moments.  Another bird makes a sound similar a drop of water falling.  Yesterday, I saw this gorgeously blue and black bird that stopped me in my tracks for a bit.  I'm still hoping for more eagle spotings; my eye isn't trained to be constantly on the look out for them yet.

A family in this 3,500 people town of Valdez decided to let their bunnies go free around town, which quickly has turned into a town-wide bunny fest.  There are three that live underneath my home and they often like to be underneath my car when I'm attempting to leave (no bunny injuries yet).  This is a controversial topic: there are factions of people who believe the bunnies are cute and factions that believe that the bunnies would be dinner if it wasn't illegal to hunt within city limits.

Small towns make any social outing very efficient.  A run to the post office could involve an impromptu meeting with someone you were meaning to contact or a person who really needs a moment to chat.  Attending a local nonprofit event could involve conversing with the mayor, hospital administrator, and town judge all within two hours.  This is heaven for introverts who would rather have their outside of home time be as useful as possible.

For the amount of people who love the outdoors here, it's surprising how quiet the trails are.  I've been exploring various hiking/ski trails around town and most often, I am the only one.  It's easy to feel the wide open space here.

A posture of accepting gifts is important in this town of generous people.  The time that people have taken to get to know me (teaching me how to ski!!) and understand my likes and needs (dietary needs in particular) has been astounding.

Anyone who thinks that you can't be a foodie (or find good produce) in small town Alaska is not aware of Valdez and the powers of our local co-op coffeeshop/restaurant/grocery store (unabashed plug for Rogue's Garden).  One of my new favorites is a sweet potato crust quiche made with coconut milk, created by my now go-to foodie church member.

I am actively working hard to not jump into being on 4+ nonprofit boards; there is much need for people who are passionate to step into leadership roles.  This need for people outweighs the red tape involved in volunteering.  The other day I walked into the local food bank to get a tour and understand how it's managed and was put right to work (with proper food handling instructions, of course).  I kept thinking: "In the Bay Area, I would be on a volunteer waitlist and most likely have taken a 3 hour training before doing any of this work."  Training is important, yes, but wow it was cool to step quickly into a volunteer role.

Google doesn't work here.  I was headed out to catch a meeting and saw via Google that the place I was headed is a 40 minute drive into the canyon.  Luckily, I am connected enough that I knew who to call and say, "Uhhhh is this building really in the middle of a mountain pass?" The spot I actually needed to be was a 2 minute or 10 minute walk away (which is pretty similar to anywhere I need to go in Valdez).

My breezy trip to the DMV (no appointment) on a Friday during lunchtime was 27 minutes long and involved taking a written test, filling out a new license form, registering to vote, and an eye exam.  If the gorgeous mountains don't make you envious, that alone will tip the scales.

This adjustment from Berkeley to Valdez is not smooth by any means; the cultural shifts continue to show up for me in tiny and large ways.  It's interesting to note the visceral reactions people have when they hear I'm coming from Berkeley; there is rarely a neutral reaction.

It hurts that I need to have my sink dripping water in order to keep the pipes from freezing.  Recycling costs to much to ship out to Anchorage, so while you can put glass and paper into recycling bins at the dump, they often get mixed into the trash.  Composting is another controversial topic: some people compost in their yards in town and others who live in the woods compost, but the bear safety people in town note how dangerous it is as it attracts bears and keeps them coming back (rotting food is just so enticing).

The mountains continue to leave me with wonder and awe.

The ministry here for me as a pastor is more amazing that I can begin to describe and I'm so dang grateful to be walking with these people.

I feel immensely showered with love and care from my family and friends who have been reaching out with calls, texts, care packages, and letters in this transition time.  This is more helpful than you can imagine. Love, love, love to you all.

All of these thoughts are jumbling together as I continue to build this life here.  Here's to more settling.  Here's to Nick moving here this week! :)

Finding Bravery.

she asked
'you are in love
what does love look like'
to which i replied
'like everything i've ever lost
come back to me.'
-nayyirah waheed

I was five when I was first rewarded for being silent.  My parents asked me why I brought some candy from school and I told them it was a treat for being quiet in kindergarten class.  My parents seethed because they were invested to raise me as a woman to saw value in speaking out (even when my five year old voice called them out).  I am proud to have parents who hope for me to choose truth-telling over placating kindness or erasing my voice in favor of comfort.  I know that my kindergarten class is not the only place that I learned the subtle ways of wanting to please people rather than listen to and act out of my gut intuition.  There are countless instances in which I have been praised or rewarded for being demure and quiet rather than speaking about what angers me.

I entered into seminary with holy fire burning within me; I came with questions and intense sense of call for my body to build bridges between what Christian institutions preach and what the Gospel of Christ beckons us into.  I came to theological learning with an absolute call that I hold to this day: be present with people in realities that are true, living nightmares.  I came with anger full of my own righteousness with questions about how people actually experience the grace of God here on Earth.

Near the end of my seminary career, I had a professor note to me that he was grateful to see a change in me.  He said I came in with palpable anger and am leaving seminary with such sweetness and sense of care.  I heard that professor's words, intended as a compliment, and couldn't help but question:  When did I learn in seminary that sacred anger was less important than being needed or liked?  Why does my burning fire feel like a tiny candle that could blow out with a strong wind?

I know that soaking in gorgeous theologies of liberation have given me places to articulate my perspective in ways I could not before.  I have circles of people who remind me that I am one of many who have a burning call for justice. And yet, I have the academically learned privilege of hiding my anger with big words or out of my own fears, hiding my anger from myself.  When did I learn to be afraid of my own potential to burn?

I am in love with my burning sense of call.  It feels like everything I've ever lost of myself coming back to me. The past months that I have spent as a chaplain have been beckoning me to live in the bravery already residing in my bones.  One of my talented musician friends, Emily Ann Peterson, has a podcast called Bare Naked Bravery that focuses on the places where people access their own bravery to do what they are meant to do.  I love Emily's reminder in each episode that bravery often looks like knees shaking or feels much more messy when we are at our most brave.  I urge you to listen in to find where bravery is growing within you!

My call to hospital chaplaincy is just that: BRAVERY.  Every day I get to step into precious moments in time where people ask me to be brave.  I am brave when I ask the tough questions that help someone see themselves in a grace-filled and transforming way.  I get to be the brave person who lives outside normal time, stepping into God's time of grief, joy, and sorrow.  I am brave when I speak the message of grace that all of us need to hear: You are loved, you are held, you are somebody.

I actually get to meet and love the people I preach about loving.  I met a man experience homelessness who felt utterly abandoned by God; he prayed to God every day for hope and felt like no one was listening.  I met a man who felt that when he dies, God's face will be a cruel person smiling and laughing at him.  I met a Muslim family who fear that they will be taken out of this country and still showed radical hospitality to me in sharing prayers and songs with me.  I have met countless African-Americans who share their stories of being misled, treated inhumanely, and hold deep distrust that people will properly care for them.  These are the people I get to love in my every day. These are people I get to pray with, sing with, share hopes with.  If that's not a sign of God's grace then I don't know what is.

Here is my candle of bravery growing in a strong force of action.  My bravery is growing into a strong voice that shows both care and conviction.  Here's to choosing truth-telling over placating kindness.

Where is your bravery?  How do you find it?

What the PNW Taught Me #prayingmygoodbyes

What the PNW Taught Me

Mother Nature knits;
did you know that?
She covers trees with sweaters
threads of moss, knit one, pearl one,
into a wondrous warmth.

"Moss kills," they said.
"It's a hazard and a danger," they said.
But
the poison lies in moss' natural longing to create:
bond with the roots, become one with the dirt.

Trouble is the dead objects in the way,
Skyscrapers, sheets of concrete.
Mother Nature never asks permission to permeate
because She dwells in the always living.

I walk in Her woods with one whisper:
"I'm sorry,
                   I'm sorry,
                                    I'm sorry."

We ask forgiveness for littering Your body
with crumbling buildings that do not breathe.
I cry to you, O Holy One, to remember me,
I will not refuse your growth in me,
You never need to ask forgiveness in order to create
on this body.

Dwell in me, knit me into Your
web of trees, roots, and leaves.
Buildings and institutions are rotting,
but this body trembles with life,
so grow all over me,
like you do on the trees.

The Business of Asking for Forgiveness: Unnamed Women (Luke 7:36-8:3 sermon)

I spent a few years as a daycare teacher in a two year old classroom where the biggest lesson that the kids were learning was how to own their actions; we were teaching them how to say sorry. I remember the exasperated sighs that would occur as one of the two year olds pouted, not ready to admit their fault for having pushed one of their peers down to the ground. There might have been a few excuses, such as, “But they hurt me first!” or “They were mean to me earlier today!” But I would stand with these two children until the words, “I'm sorry,” would be quietly mumbled and the child who was pushed down would speak words of forgiveness. This business of learning to own up to our actions and ask for forgiveness is hard work and one that we don't stop learning after preschool.

But here's the problem with the ways that we continue to learn how to say sorry in our culture. There is a group of people who are conditioned and told over and over that they need to apologize for the actions that someone has done to them. Women are both culturally and statistically known for saying sorry more often than men; a psychological study that asked participants to record when they heard sorry reports that 75% of the apologies were spoken by women (Holmes, 1989). If we were to set ourselves back into the preschool context, it seems absurd for the person who was pushed down to say sorry to the person who pushed them. This is the reality of living in a culture that continues to place blame on women for actions of violence and immorality. Don't agree? Don't believe that women are type-casted as the ones in need of forgiveness? Let's take a look at our Gospel text chosen to center God's word for us this week.

We hear about a woman who comes to be with Jesus while he is in the middle of having dinner with an esteemed Jewish person who strictly holds purity laws, or a Pharisee. This woman is described in the version we read today as a woman who is a sinner.

This isn't a clear description for me, so I read through many translations of this text and found other ways that people have described this unnamed woman: someone who is known as a sinner, an especially wicked woman, a sinful woman, an immoral woman, someone who lived a sinful life, a bad woman, the town harlot, a notorious woman of ill repute, one with a reputation, a woman of the streets, a prostitute. Sigh. This exhaustive list varies from speaking about how this woman is known and spoken of alongside a reputation, to her entire being shrouded in sinfulness, to this woman being called a prostitute. We don't know what these sins look like or even if she committed them; what we hear is that this woman was known for sins. Saying these many words already makes me feel that heavy weight of shame and sin that must have been burdening this woman; the story of sin was the identity that was placed on her shoulders.

There are many scholars who focus in on this woman being covered in sinfulness and speak of this woman as a prostitute in deep need of the heavy sins weighing her down being forgiven by God. This is a story that we have heard over and over again, because it's the one that our culture tells us is truth. Women are given the reputation and the label of sinner because women are placed at fault for the culture of violence that says that women's bodies are objects. There is no evidence that this unnamed woman is a prostitute. The only evidence that we are given is this weeping woman who comes to Jesus and lovingly washes and dries his feet, anointing him with ointment.

I've heard this story before; the one where we ask women to say sorry for immoral actions without even mentioning that sex is an act that takes two people and prostitution is possible because men are buying a woman's body as a commodity. This is the story that I cannot and will not proclaim. Because that description of the unnamed woman as a sinner? We don't need to buy into this story because there is no biblical evidence for this unnamed woman to be an immoral person who is a prostitute. I refuse to continue to tell a story that asks for the person who got pushed down for ask forgiveness. Us as hearers of this Gospel do not need that story; we are hungry for the grace of God that loves us for who we are and points to the ways our perspective on world and Scripture can be distorted. Today we see that we must tell our own stories or they will be written for us.

Today I hear a story of a woman who shows gratitude for the love that Jesus displays to all people, especially those that society would not touch. I see a woman weeping; her tears could be ones of pain, or joy, or gratefulness. I see a person whose tears are welcomed; I see a person who spreads ointment on her Teacher with care. I see a person who goes out of her way to provide hospitality for someone who sees her for who she is: a beloved child of God. I see a woman whose heavy burden of stories told about her are lifted off her weary shoulders by Jesus' forgiving words. Do you see this woman? This woman is part of us.

This unnamed woman labeled sinner lingers with us as our media has been consumed this past week with the news of a male college freshman who assaulted an unconscious unnamed woman behind a dumpster at Stanford University and was convicted of three felonies, yet sentenced to only 6 months in jail.

This unnamed woman who was assaulted wrote a statement about the irreversible pain of her experience. Like the ways that our Gospel's woman is described as immoral, this woman who was assaulted shared the ways that her actions and sense of morality were called into question during the trial of her rapist. This woman had to answer questions like: “How old are you? How much do you weigh? What did you eat that day? How much did you drink? What were you wearing?”

Blame is placed on this woman of the Stanford assault case, interrogating her about past for why she put herself in a vulnerable position to be taken advantage of INSTEAD of interrogating the rapist about why he would drag an unconscious woman behind a dumpster and sexually abuse her.

In her statement, this woman writes: “I am no stranger to suffering. You made me a victim. In newspapers my name was “unconscious intoxicated woman”, ten syllables, and nothing more than that. For a while, I believed that that was all I was. I had to force myself to relearn my real name, my identity.” Do you see this woman? I see this woman as someone who has come out of the ashes of hurt and emerges with an immense strength of character.

Today we hold two unnamed women whose stories are written for them. Two complex people whose lives are whittled down to a few words: bad, vulnerable, intoxicated, immoral, sinner.

In the midst of this immense hurt and blame placed on women's bodies, who is in need of repentance? Who needs to be forgiven in these stories? This is so much bigger than one woman who is known as as sinner who washes Jesus' feet with her tears and anoints him with perfume. This is much deeper than one woman who was sexually assaulted behind a dumpster last January. 1 out of 4 women will be assaulted in their lifetime. Behind each of these assaulted women is person who committed an act of violence that shatters both of their lives forever. This story of a victim and a perpetrator is too common and one that lingers underneath all of our communities. Our whole world needs repentance for these stories. We are still learning the business of saying sorry and asking forgiveness when it comes to the culture of violence.

In our Gospel text, this highly esteemed religious person that Jesus is eating dinner with witnesses this woman wash Jesus' feet and exclaims, “Don't you know this woman's reputation? You are letting her touch you? You can't be prophet if you don't know of her sinfulness!” Jesus calls out Simon the Pharisee for placing her into the space of the blamed and unclean. The one who is in need of repentance here is not the woman who displays loving care by anointing Jesus with perfume; Jesus speaks to Simon about how all of us are debtors when it comes to being in communion with God. It is not just any one person who is in need of forgiveness. When we speak about one individual's need for forgiveness from God, or we focus in on one woman's sinfulness and debt to God, we are forgetting that the community of Christ does not function as one individual. Our culture does not function out of one individual; the system of oppression that makes it possible for countless cases of rape to go unheard, unseen, and untouched is what we need repentance for.

In the face of violence and shame, we stand together as a community that is in deep need for forgiveness that includes new life for both the victims and the perpetrators.

Jesus looks at Simon, who renounces this unnamed woman, and says, “Do you see this woman?” Do you see this pain? Do you see the systems that are in place that make it unsafe to be a woman walking alone at night? Do you see the ways that we teach boys that violence is the way to get what they want? Do you see?

We are called to see this unnamed woman of this Gospel. We do not know her name, we do not know her past or her future, but we know that she is seen and loved by God.

We are called to see this unnamed woman that was assaulted. We do not know her name but we do know her story. We cannot forget her story. We must tell her story to our children, to our friends, to our families, to ourselves. Today the Gospel calls us to see the people in our world who are suffering and to pay attention. Do you see this woman? God sees this woman. We see this woman. This woman is part of us. Her story is us.

Jesus walks with this woman and lightens the burden of the stories that people use to identify her. We are given the words of forgiveness and love: “Your faith has saved you; Go in peace.”

In order for the unnamed women to go in peace, we must stay alert to the culture of violence in our world. That peace is not an easy peace; we go in that challenging peace together. We do not do this work perfectly but we are learning. Together we learn the business of asking forgiveness; when someone is pushes another person down, we do not let it be forgotten. We stay here, seeing the pain of being pushed down, and head towards the path of peace that makes room for every single one of us to be forgiven. We are all together sinners, alongside this woman, asking for forgiveness from a God who readily accepts us with open arms.

When it comes to what God has taught us about grace, we know that God sees all of us; the messy parts, the pieces that we are shameful about, and the actions that we need to hold ourselves accountable for and ask forgiveness for. God sees that for us, staying awake to the pain of sexual abuse is uncomfortable, difficult work. The Gospel of Jesus is not one that is easy to stomach; the peace of God calls us to be active against the suffering of this world. Today we stand in the same grace that Jesus shared with that unnamed woman when we go in the peace that passes all understanding.

Go in the peace that receives the gifts of hospitality offered up by a weeping woman.

Go in the peace that asks us to see the people who are suffering.

Go in the peace that challenges us to call each other out.

Go in the peace that burns for us to tell the stories of unnamed women.

Go in the peace that asks us to see.

Go in the peace that gives us grace.

Go in the peace that forgives.

Go in the peace that loves.

Go in peace.

Walk the Labyrinth with Me.

So many stars aligned for me to preach the Gospel in a room full of many people who have watched me grow, inspired me, mentored  me, and supported me in the Rocky Mountain Synod.  I'm grateful to share these words and continue to ruminate on how powerful it is when we come together as a community to envision what God is already up to in our lives.

Ephesians 4:1-16 (I'm attaching only a snippet, 1-6, of the text)

I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called,  with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love,  making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Parent of all, who is above all and through all and in all.

Have you ever walked a labyrinth? Raise your hand if you have.

Labyrinths- ancient Christian tradition of walking a path that leads to a center and then out again.

For anyone that has not experienced a labyrinth, let me take us all into one.

Mercy Center labyrinth, photo credit Connie Winter-Eulberg

Imagine your feet firmly planted on solid ground, with a slight spring breeze swishing on your skin.

A path lined by stones lies at your feet, the path looks to be winding back and forth as if it is a maze.

You can see the center of this maze from where you stand and you long to plant your feet on that patch of dirt.

Take a breath, and lift one foot to take a step into this path.

Feel the crunch of gravel as you continue to weave your way on this path of twists and turns.

You aren't thinking of the to do lists that are waiting but are focused on placing one foot in front of the other to reach the center.

Labyrinth walks often seem to represent the path that we are on in our lives; we enter this path focused in on the center and continuing to weave around, sometimes so far from the center that we can't even see the point of being on the path. Sometimes the path turns in a way that makes us feel like we are going backward and getting farther away than where we are meant to be.

In this Ephesians text, we hear this letter from Paul who is urging a community to lead a life that is worthy of the calling that they have as a people of faith. In this we can feel Paul's fervent hope that each of us will live out and use the gifts that God has given us. Paul speaks to this journey that we are each individually on as we walk our labyrinths while calling us to see the ways that we as a community are called to be unified in the Spirit of God.

Now this community part of this labyrinth, in which we are all walking on paths that are leading us to the core of God's calling for us, is the tricky part. Because it's not just us walking the labyrinth; we share this path towards the center of God's vision with many others. Sometimes we get hung up on comparing where we are on our own journey to someone else that seems to be farther ahead then us, or worrying that we are walking the path wrong. Or there might be someone next to you who tells you to be on another path entirely and you find yourself trying to walk on a path not meant for you in order to fit into expectations.

I walked a labyrinth this past month and as soon as I stepped in it, I realized that during my day-to-day life I had been praying so hard to be anywhere but the path that I'm meant to be on. The further I stepped into that maze of walkways, I realized that there is only one life and one path to live into and that's to keep walking on the path God meant for me.

God is calling us unto the path that is for us in which our spiritual gifts shine. But life isn't like being in a labyrinth where you can see the path curving and shifting towards the center.

How do you can you discern where God is calling you?

Because God is calling us; in this Ephesians text we hear that Christ has filled all things with grace and calling, including us.

What does God's calling feel like? It might be whisper, it could be a shout, but the way that I would describe it is a buzzing in my soul.

Have you ever had that feeling? A moment that stands out to you as one that is precious, exciting, gave you the goosebumps, or made you feel like crying?

I've had many of those moments.

Hearing young women voice their prayers and questions about God as a camp counselor at Sky Ranch Lutheran Camp and leading a day camp at Luther Academy of the Rockies.

Or being nominated and chosen to have a full tuition scholarship to seminary with the Fund for Leaders.

Or preaching my first sermon on Maundy Thursday to the supportive community of Bethlehem Lutheran in Los Alamos.

Or voicing out loud that God can be described as a Divine Mother for the first time.

Or being in this room, on this stage, proclaiming the Gospel in a worship service that includes my father's liturgy and witnessing the next leader, Pastor Paul Judson, be installed to a call at Lutheran Campus Ministry, my home faith community.

What do a few of your soul abuzz moments look like?

When you feel that tingle or that buzz, that is the call of God showing you that you are on your path.

Most of these buzz moments for me include the people that supported me and acted as God's reminder of the calling that I'm being led to. It's almost like they act as the stones that mark out the path that God is calling us to.

One of those stones in my life is my great-aunt Darline, who I got to journey with in her last years of life. I would cook her dinner and tell her about my days or worries, and she would look at me and say, “Let go and Let God.” I will always appreciate her reminder to trust that God is leading me to the calling even when I cannot see it.

Who are some people in your life that have guided you?

Let's imagine that as we have been supported by those guides, we have now stepped into the center of this labyrinth. Pause to breathe in the core of God's grace.

Let's try on the call that God has envisioned for us. Here let's listen to the buzz that we feel in our souls. We thank those people who have said YES to us especially because those YESs are not the only piece of walking on the path.

There are certainly no's and opposition we come up against when we live into who we hope to be.

There are many times in this journey of answering God's call for me in which I have felt insecure or discouraged and wonder, “Is this worth it? Can I really do this? This calling is hard.”

And while we have come up against moments of worry and perhaps even people in power that say no, I think I've learned just as much from the no's and the rejections than I've learned from the people who have said yes.

Those no's have given me the opportunity to listen into the fear and the rejection and respond by trusting that God is calling and answer the buzz of the Divine in my soul.

Obstacles on the path that are just as much a part of our path and calling; together we trust into the path under our feet and step forward into what we cannot know, trusting that God is leading us.

One of the most powerful labyrinth's I have experienced is the one at Bethlehem Lutheran in Los Alamos. This labyrinth was created on the property after a forest fire moved through that town, destroying homes and even came close to reaching the church building. So this community built a pathway that weaves through trees that were scorched and blackened by this fire, as if to say that our path is one that has destruction and pain; we walk on this path to witness to that sorrow, knowing that in those dark moments, God is there.

I also want to share a story about an inspiring woman named Jess whom I've met while on internship in Seattle. Jess experienced the buzzing of her soul a year as she wondered what a young adult-led ministry could look like in the Ballard neighborhood of Seattle. As soon as she began to share this vision that God was tugging for her to do, there were some people who asked her why she didn't just drive 15 minutes to another ministry that was already happening or checking out a pastor-led ministry close by. Jess continued to follow that path where she felt God was leading her and now I can tell you that a group named Renewal, led by young adults, meets twice a month for worship, fellowship, service, and pub theology.  In this year of ministry, Jess discerned a call for ministry as a deaconness that enriches her passion for environmental justice.  When Jess began to tell people about her call to be a deaconness, one of the first questions she heard was: "Oh, but you'll soon get on the track to being a pastor?" Those questions don't stop Jess but rather affirm how vital her perspective is needed in this church.  I am so grateful to be one of the many stones on Jess' path that say yes to where God is calling her to grow and lead.

In this Ephesians text, Paul proclaims that some are called to be apostles, some preachers, some pastors, some teachers, and some evangelists. Today we hear that all of these roles are needed in our world and that Christ has filled all things with grace. No gift is better than the other; each of our paths is important and necessary.

Because Christ has filled us all with grace, I think there are a few more callings that can be added to this list. God calls some to be diaconal ministers, some to be on the altar guild, some to be protestors, some to be church council president, some to be communion assistants, some to be tenor in the choir, some to lead overnight lock-ins, some to be on the outreach committee, some to make the coffee, and the list could go on and on.

We are called here together at this assembly as a people of one united body that are each uniquely called to be on this path. As we have this time set apart to dwell on hard questions and listen to each other, let us heed Paul's proclamation to live a life worthy of our calling and pay attention to where God is moving within you.

Listen to the call. Listen for the buzz of God's word.

Some of us feel eager to run towards that call, some of us might feel lost and wondering how to even get on the path, and some of us are trudging through the call angrily. God is present in every piece of our calling.

Listen for the buzzing in your soul because it's time to pick up your feet. God is calling; the adventure awaits.