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 …

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ.

My year as Moderator of Presbytery ends this weekend at the presbytery meeting at Ghost Ranch when I give a sermon during worship on Sunday and a new moderator is installed.

The outgoing Moderator gives a report to presbytery on the past year, and I share parts of it with you, in light of the wars, conflict, division, and pain in our world.

The Beloved Community.  It was never quite announced as presbytery’s official vision this year but in everything we did together, the Beloved Community was there.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who sought to break the cycles of violence and injustice.

These are tough times for growing the Beloved Community.

The now week-long war between Hamas and Israel is yet another reminder of humanity’s horrifying inhumanity to each other.  The world is not at a loss for words, everyone seems to have an opinion, but the loudest voices seem bent on exacting more violence where even more people will suffer and be killed.

I was in a conversation with a rabbi earlier this week…

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ.

A blessing of the animals.

Renowned Celtic teacher and writer John Philip Newell, who helped us in the formation of our Wednesday Celtic Evensong service, often tells the story of a woman he met during an Iona pilgrimage week.  She was around seventy years of age and over dinner she told John Philip about what happened to her some fifty-five years earlier when she was in church with her family.  A dog wandered into the sanctuary and moseyed up the center aisle and as it got closer to the front of the church it sniffed the air around the altar, then turned around and walked out.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ.

“I’m gonna git those injuns!”

I regret to say that I spoke those words as a 2 ½ year-old back in 1961 when my family took our first trip west from Ohio to spend a week at Ghost Ranch.  I wore my white cowboy hat, my black cowboy boots, and was ever on the lookout to “git those Injuns.”  I was a product, as most kids were in that era, of a culture of playing cowboys and Indians, shooting toy guns at “bad guys,” and learning about life through the lens of TV Westerns and movies.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ.

A sandwich board, a street corner, a beggar on the roadside, a special offering, and a shared ministry.

Frier was a middle school classmate of mine at Haven Middle School in Evanston, IL.  We lost touch in high school (there were 5200 students!) but he showed up again in Time Magazine after graduation.  Always a bit outside the box, Frier decided to raise money for college by standing on a street corner in Chicago with a sandwich board around his shoulders asking for money.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ.

“To the Glory of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior.”

This was written on the final page of a geology test by a college classmate of mine.  We all knew Chris and it didn’t surprise anyone.  I would have probably forgotten many years ago if not for the response from the professor when the test was returned.  At the bottom of the front page he wrote “You and Jesus got a D.”  Ouch.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who never stopped talking about love and compassion.

We need to plant seeds.

I am one generation from the farm.  My mom was the eighth of ten children on a 500-acre farm in central Ohio and she knew every crop by sight.  On car rides through the countryside, we would ask mom what was growing in the fields, and she always had a ready answer.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, whose stories reach us through all our senses, even smell.

It was the smell of honeysuckle on the hills that drew me back.

Three summers of my childhood in the 1960s were spent at San Francisco Theological Seminary (SFTS) in San Anselmo, CA, where my dad was pursuing a Doctorate in Sacred Theology, equivalent to a PhD.  My days were filled with…

This is the final of a six-part series on the Beloved Community.  May we continue to look for it, talk about it, and manifest it in our life together. 

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ.

Believeland and the Beloved Community.

If you’re not from Cleveland, like I am, you may not know that fans of the Browns, Cavaliers, and Guardians are apt to wear t-shirts and jerseys that say Believeland…

Each Friday through August Pastor Harry will be writing on Growing the Beloved Community to stimulate ideas and discussion on how we might live into this vision.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places:

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, the new Moses, who welcomed children into his arms.

Moses looked, and his life changed right then and there.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ.

“It’s not your fault.”

It was some twenty years ago, and I had just told my therapist, rather off-handedly, that I had caused my cancer. I had read somewhere (or did I make it up?) that Type A personalities were more apt to have heart attacks and Type Bs, like me, get cancer. The theory is a bit hazy now, but it somehow helped me make some sense of all that was happening to me at the time.

Each Friday through August Pastor Harry will be writing on Growing the Beloved Community to stimulate ideas and discussion on how we might live into this vision.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who taught us that all life is sacred and spiritual.

Look, hmm, toss.  That became my cadence year after year upon receiving a missive in the mail from the Ignatian Spirituality Institute.  I would look at it, wonder what in the world Ignatian meant, then toss it in recycling.  Look, hmm, toss.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who opened his arms and welcomed children to come to him.

Infants and children and youth.  Oh my, what a Trinity!  Add their parents and we have four gospels teaching us how to love, cherish, listen to, and support young families.

So, get your scorecard out (you may need it!) and I will explain the changes happening on the third floor and the reasons for them.  After weeks of discussions with various parties affected by the changes, the following was approved unanimously by the session…

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who envisioned and embodied the Beloved Community.

Growing the Beloved Community is our vision, grand as it is.  We’ve talked a lot about it, now how do we put that vision into practice?

Just last week my wife Jenny and I attended the Wild Goose Festival (a wild goose is a Celtic symbol for the Holy Spirit) at a farm in North Carolina, along with 1600 other people of all ages including more youth and young adults than I have seen in a long time.  …

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who wept over the death of a friend, and who I imagine is weeping still over how we continue to treat one another.

June is Pride Month, and it couldn’t come fast enough.

On Wednesday the Southern Baptist Convention, the nation’s largest Protestant denomination with around 50,000 churches and 16 million members, voted overwhelmingly to oust two churches because they had women pastors…

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who began a movement to change the world.

Since then, Christianity has changed and grown and diversified.  Lately, though, I hear more about Christian Nationalism and strident views than I do about a religion based on a compassionate God who loves the world and everyone in it.

So, I wrote something this morning that I have been thinking about for a long time.  I share it with you first…

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who often looked to the prophet Isaiah who spoke of turning swords into plowshares and imagined a world without weapons.

Now Farmington, yet another community rocked by gun violence. What’s more, I just learned the shootings happened very close to the Farmington Presbyterian Church whose building and parking lot are still cordoned off.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, the one whom others asked if anything good could come out of Nazareth.

Now, I am wondering, might anything good come out of Nashville?

We’ve heard too many names of individuals and cities falling victim to gun violence, resembling the cadence of a litany too difficult to finish, name after name, day after day, year after year. Almost unbearable . . ., no, it is unbearable, to imagine the pain and loss this lengthening litany represents.

We now include Louisville with yesterday’s shooting at a downtown bank…

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who is leading us through Holy Week.

While the world seems fixated today on New York City and the arraignment of a former President, Jesus is in Jerusalem confronting the powers and principalities of the world.

It is far too easy, and done without much thought, to jump directly from the excitement of Palm Sunday (though what a beautiful day on the Plaza as we gathered with the Cathedral Basilica and Church of the Holy Faith!) to the joy of Easter.  Rather, we are called to follow Jesus, day by day, not look away, and stay close.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places,

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who wept at the site and sight of death.

Another shooting, this time in Nashville.  And this time we heard our name:  Presbyterian.

It doesn’t matter if it happened at a school run by another denomination, this time the Presbyterian Church of America, the name is ours, the tragedy is ours.  We are connected.  We are part of the same family, the same country, the same world.  The victims are related to us.  The children are ours.  The grief is ours.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places:

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who often shared meals around a table.

Potluck:  a communal meal to which people bring food to share.

Merriam-Webster helped me with this definition, but they needn’t bother.  Since my earliest memories I have been part of such occasions, always at church.  I had a chance to pick what I wanted under no watchful eyes, go back as often as the food lasted, and usually ended up consuming sloppy joes and a vast array of casseroles.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places:

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who continually calls us to love one another.

“We have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.”

Remember this part of Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech spoken sixty years ago this August, and 100 years after the Emancipation Proclamation?

Dear Saints in Santa Fe and other far-off places:

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who taught “blessed are the peacemakers.”

I want you to join me in the work of peacemaking in 2023.  Get together, talk it over, form a group, be part of movement, do something small, consider something big, make a difference, if not for the world, then for you.  And me.  And our community.  Will you?

Now if you haven’t yet scrolled to something else then allow me to make your deliberation a bit easier.  I have already listed your objections (but you can still come up with your own!).