In some of the work I have been doing recently, I have had occasion to reflect on how much of who I am, or for that matter who any one of us is, comes from our family of origin. First, there are the physical attributes. I have my dad’s coloring, my mom’s nose and ears (thanks a lot, mom!), my dad’s eyes, and so on. I am taller than both of my parents, so who knows… But there’s so much more than physicality. Our attitudes, our mores, our perspective on the world, our likes and dislikes are all fueled by our family experiences. Sometimes we emulate what we grew up—“Our family always votes Republican,” sometimes we move away from it—“I’m the only card-carrying Democrat in our family,” and sometime we reject the whole concept—“I never vote.” How any one of us develops is strongly influenced by those family belief systems in one of those three ways, from our attitudes about money, to food, or to conflict. While some of these things can be negative, many of these attributes are very positive parts of one’s life. A sense of responsibility, generosity, love of art, books, music, sports, and faith are often nurtured in our family settings. All of us have attributes from our families for which we are grateful and which we hope to pass on to future generations. The first Sunday in November is All Saints’ Sunday, a day when we look back to remember the saints among us who have passed away in the last year. But it is also a day for a much larger remembrance; we remember all the saints, our Christian “family of origin,” and celebrate how much of who we are has come to us from them. We use words in worship today that have been used by our Christian family for 2000 years. We have been taught to pray, to sing and taught to study the scriptures by our forebears, as well as how to be generous to those in need. Our faithful family of origin taught us to be gracious and merciful, to stand up for the marginalized, and to see Jesus in the face of our neighbor. All of these “traits” have been passed down from generation to generation just like those physical characteristics from our biological families, handed from faithful fathers and mothers to faithful daughters and sons, until they came to us. In their brokenness and frailty the people of God have continued to be the hands of God in the world to this day. So it is for you and me, in all of our imperfection, to carry on what we have been given, to share the love of Christ with the next generations, and take our place in the family tree of faith.

I have been thinking about my dad recently. He died October 7, 1999, so it will be 14 years this coming week. Dad, I want to say thanks for a few things. I hope I said these things sometime when you were still here, but I’m sure I never said it all at one time. You had a couple of passions that rose above all others: hockey and jazz. And as I go through this season in my life I am a little surprised at how both of these things you taught me to love have come back into the center of my life. Thanks for giving me a love for jazz, for teaching me how to listen for those unusual harmonies and appreciate their complexity, for loving syncopation, and for teaching me to clap on two and four (which is against many Lutherans’ DNA). Thank you for making Mulligan, Desmond, and Brubeck household words. I am drawn to listen to them regularly these days. What interests me these days is that the sounds of their kinds of jazz feel like home for me in a season where notions of home a bit fleeting and untethered. I am drawn to Mulligan’s rich, full bari tones and his groove, to his melodies and his artistry. While it’s true that his music has always been part of my life, it is a grounding thing for me these days. You gave that to me and I am thankful. I’ve spent a fair amount of time in conversations about your other passion, too. I have been able to meet so many interesting people and have great conversations because of hockey. Memories of nights spent watching the North Stars or the Fighting Saints make me smile every time they come to mind and to watch that little kid skate out to center ice at the X and plant the flag for the State of Hockey chokes me up whenever I see it. Go Wild! And I will always bleed Maroon and Gold. Anyway, these are loves that you gave to me because they were things you loved, and I love them still. Thanks, Dad, for all the gifts you gave me. I still miss you. Kyle Peterson 1931-1999