Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, whose birth we are celebrating now until Epiphany on January 6th. Two hundred.  That’s how many Letters to the Saints I have written, week by week, month by month, year by year, thus far.  Hopefully they have addressed some of the happenings in the world, in the church, and perhaps even in your own life.  Two hundred.  It’s not a special number really.  Forty is much better.  In the Bible forty signifies a lifetime...

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who often prayed when life became overwhelming. Christmas Prayer 2023-- Wonderful Counselor, Mighty and Everlasting God, Prince of Peace: Come to us now, in Joseph dreams and Mary songs, in the generosity of strangers and on angel wings. Remind us again of your story of Christ’s birth, and your love for all humanity.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, whose very name connects us with joy. O Come, All ye Faithful. As I think back through my sixty plus years of Christmas’s this carol holds my most cherished memories.  It was the first song we would sing at every Christmas Eve service (isn’t this always the first carol?), with robed choirs majestically processing and trumpets trumpeting, and voices coming together so much better than alone, all accompanied by my squirming-in-the-pew excitement of returning home, all but thirty feet from the church doors, when it was all finished, where I would find my presents under the tree... 

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, whose Gospel comes to us in unexpected ways. Christmas story 2023. A young couple is forced to leave their home because it is too dangerous to stay in the land of their birth.  Empire showed up. They flee for their lives.  The woman gives birth in a neighboring country but soon they are forced to flee again, heading north on a treacherous and dangerous 3,000-mile journey mostly on foot.  Fear and unscrupulous people along the way add to their mounting trauma.  It is a miracle they survive.  They finally reach a land of promise, only to be taken advantage of again.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, of whom Mark wrote about in the first gospel ever, anywhere. “What in the world am I doing here?” These words marked my beginning in ministry uttered late at night in a basement of the church I was called to after seminary while trying to get some sleep on a youth room couch, staring at the ceiling and shaking my head, as various high schoolers were running around me and making way too much noise when they should have been asleep hours ago.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, whose life expressed a deeper joy. It was in a Florida outfield some 20 years ago.  My Ohio church gave me a gift for my ten-year anniversary with them as pastor.  One early suggestion was a week on a silent retreat in a monastery somewhere, but wiser ideas prevailed, and they surprised me with a week at Fantasy Camp with the Cleveland Indians.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who saw, listened, and asked questions. Where is God? Whether one believes in God or simply lives in these tumultuous times, the question bubbles up from the soul. Where is God? Where is compassion? Where is hope? The Israeli hostages, the beleaguered hospitals in Gaza, the cries from mourning families following yet another bombing, in the rubble, in the anguish, in all the unspeakable ways humans treat each other, the plaintive question arises again, and again, where is God?

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who wept at the death of a friend. “Stop crying and don’t tell mom.” These were the first words I remember in my life.  I was two years old and crying in a teepee in Teepee Village at Ghost Ranch, long ago replaced by others building on the way toward Box Canyon, when I heard these words by my oldest brother as I cried on his lap.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who held the world’s trauma in his arms. I spent six hours with trauma the day of the eclipse a few Saturdays ago, and three hours the night before. It was the first class of the “Trauma and Spiritual Care” course I am taking through July 2024 with San Francisco Theological Seminary, and when I pressed “leave” on my computer I felt exhausted and a bit depressed.  A dullness came over my spirit.  The darkening of the eclipse mirrored that of my soul.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who showed the world what God’s reign looks like. A dime begins a life pattern. When I was four years old my mom would give me a dime each week to take to church school to place in the offering.  Since dad was the pastor and we lived right next to the church I wasn’t tempted to spend it on an ice cream cone—the detour was too great and mom would have found out, I’m sure. So, I would hold the dime in my hand waiting with anticipation ...