I started reading the newspaper to begin my days in graduate school at Iowa State University–The Des Moines Register.  It was an excellent newspaper from an era that now seems as far away and quaint as fading memories of my parents watching Walter Cronkite on a black and white TV.

The news is not black and white these days, as we all well-know; facts go begging and we are awash with options and opinions–it is all so exhausting, conflicted. 

A few months ago, weary of it all, I broke a habit and started a new one.

I stopped reading the newspaper in the morning, quit looking at my phone or iPad to start my days, and started reading poetry. This small change of habit has been such a blessing, such a relief, and such a gift, shifting my sense of time and feeding creativity.

Currently, I am reading Jim Harrison’s last collection of poems, Deadman’s Float.  Here is favorite poem, which I would be glad to quote for you by heart:

Warbler

This year, we have two gorgeous 
yellow warblers nesting in the honeysuckle bush.
The other day I stuck my head in the bush.
The nestlings weigh one-twentieth of an ounce,
about the size of a honey bee. We stared at 
each other, startled by our existence.
In a month or so, when they reach the size 
of bumble bees, they'll fly off to Costa Rica, without a map.

Much of pastoring is about poetry, learning to find the lyrical rhythm of our lives together, the beauty of it, ways we are startled by our existence, times we discover our stunning ability to fly like warblers into chartless lands.  

Pat Feldman loved birds and flowers and the startling joy of our mutual existence–loved poetry And when we celebrated her life, the church full to capacity with people standing in the aisles, granddaughter Scout and her son Jason shared poems they wrote in her memory.

These poems below are offered in memory of Pat, to be sure, but also to remind us all that in all the news of the world, poetry reveals truth that sustains us.

May  God bless you and keep you,
Pr. Craig Jan-McMahon

Be Like You
by Scout Feldman
 
When I was young
And staring at the multiplication tables that you brought when you came to visit
I never imagined I’d want to be like you
As I stared at that paper, filled with multiplication, 
Having no idea how to even add double digit numbers,
You told me to multiply by two
You told me it was the same thing as adding the number to itself
 
Three times two
Three plus three
Six
 
Multiplication is replication
You taught me to replicate
To duplicate
To recreate
At the time I had no idea how appealing replication could be
But more appealing than the replication of numbers 
Was the replication of your smile
I wanted to make people smile the way you did
The way you made people laugh
 
I wanted to be like you. 
Something I never thought I’d do.

Untitled
By Jason Feldman
 
Rest: While we mourn the loss of you
 
A collector of things
 
Custodian of friendships
       - epicurious relationships, toasting to the meaning
       - literary discussions turned to laughter, over knowledge
Celebrations of talent, as if they were her own, knowing she played a part
 
Prayers, with eyes shut so tight and hands clasped so strong 
              Knowing she will hear and provide
              Keeping us all safe, so precious
 
A woman to whom Cardinals sang
                in pre- dawn spring
Calling for her to awaken- acknowledge life
 
To her:
Loons have swooned while discussing a sunset 
              Shimmering on the water
              before the fire begins to crackle
                                         and children's laughter makes the stars brighten
 
Her classroom was a child's refuge
          - Knowledge, Energy, Growth, Safety
New paths to intellect - welcomed and pushed away
        Old ways still ring true
Look me in the eye
I care about you 
Your success is a reflection
My Effort
My Kindness
My Sweat 
My Tears
After years of hope we pause for breath and celebrate
 
Even though in the beginning of this chapter she asked, "Why me?"
However, show me no pity.
I have lived and loved.
 
Cause in the end we circled around, 
                 While she asked, "When will it be over?"
She took the time to roll her eyes and gasp 
Smile, and pray for us.
 
Rest: As we celebrate the memory of you.

Dear Congregation,

2021 was a hard year.  We witnessed all communities groaning under the strain of the pandemic, wondering how this time will change us, asking how the effects of 2021 will shape our lives in the coming years. We begin 2022 more aware than ever before that our lives are in the hands of God. How will we respond in faith to become light in the darkness?  What will it mean for us in 2022 to answer the call of the Holy Spirit though we are weary and suffering losses we are yet unable to name?

Last year, our first full year together, began with four months of online worship followed by a survey to develop a plan for our phased return to in-person worship.  Following Dane County Health Department Guidelines, with the help of our Medical Advisory Team, we organized an online sign up process to meet capacity limits, set up the church to ensure social distancing, and wore masks, believing all of this was transition to emerging fully from the pandemic and returning to normalcy.  

Our efforts to install an AV system were delayed, first by the challenge of making such a consequential financial decision during a pandemic, and then, when funds were generously given, by the Evergreen container ship running aground in the Suez Canal, of all things.  

As summer ended, with hope of emerging from the pandemic stronger and more united, I recommended we continue to worship together in the fall, combining worship times and styles.  As it turned out, we have not emerged from the pandemic but find ourselves adjusting to evolving conditions.

We have responded in faith as best we could, each step along the way bringing new challenges straining our resources–time, patience, good-will.  In all of this, we are united in a sense of loss most often expressed as a desire to return to normalcy.  

We enter 2022 like Mary going to the tomb on Easter morning, heart broken, eyes blinded by tears:

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. John 20:11-12

Faith calls us to mourn our losses, grieving the many kinds of death we have suffered, trusting God will wipe away our tears and transform us, like Mary, into witnesses of resurrection. 

I am thankful to God for the faithfulness of many and for the new life emerging in our congregation. I am especially grateful to Terry Anderson, who completes four tumultuous years serving as church Moderator–pastoral resignation, interim process, search and call process, pandemic, transition to a new pastor.  In normal times serving as Moderator is demanding; the past four years have been more demanding than any four years in our church history.  

As the Apostle Paul encourages the early church to grieve with hope, so I pray you will be encouraged,

“so that [we] may not grieve as others do who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13c). 

With Stubborn Faith and Steadfast Hope,

Pr. Craig Jan-McMahon

On a snowy night in February 2020, I met with the Search and Call Committee for the first and only time. Less than a month later, COVID 19 began disrupting our lives and all of our plans, as it continues to do today. 

Back in February 2020, as we discerned whether God was calling us together, we had no idea how the world would shift and change, nor could we have foreseen the challenges our congregation would soon face.  But then as now, we all strive to faithfully answer the call of God on our lives, and our desire to do so unites us together.

With thanksgiving that the Holy Spirit called us together, and with prayers for our coming year, I offer the same prayer for our congregation in 2022 that I shared with the Search and Call Committee that snowy night two years ago, The Merton Prayer:

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,

though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Thomas Merton, from Thoughts in Solitude, Farrar Straus Giroux

God bless us as we walk the road ahead of us in 2022, wherever the Spirit leads us, trusting we will be led by the right road, and our lives will be pleasing to God. 

Yours in Christ,
Pr. Craig Jan-McMahon