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

For some people, this might be news. For anyone who has spent time around pastors, this information will ring pretty true. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/28/clergy-depression-_n_3830295.html

God gives to us divine Grace and there’s nothing we can do about it! As one of my professors used to ask, “What are you going to do, now that you don’t have to do anything? It’s a great question! Now that you don’t have to earn God’s favor (in fact, you can’t earn it and neither can I), how will you RESPOND? Or as we like to say around SOTH, how will you RE:Spond? How do you choose to live in response to God’s grace? Some folks just ignore it and try to make God love them by doing all the right things in order to prove themselves “worthy.” Some measure themselves by the things they can attain; others measure their “goodness.” Some folks do their best to rebel against God’s grace. They push every envelope to every extreme and deny that God could love them in any way, if, they say, he actually exists. But what of you? Or me? How shall we respond to the love of God in our lives? What shall we do now that we don’t have to do anything? I think the answer is to love God and our neighbor in the best way we can, always giving thanks to God in every situation. It’s much easier to write it, or say it, than it is to do, but we press ahead in gratitude for God’s love, grace and mercy in our lives. That gives us hope, which as Paul says in Romans 5, “will not disappoint us.” With that hope we can walk through difficult personal situations, in family, work, and health, knowing that God’s Holy Spirit will come alongside us to see us through. In that we can say “Thanks be to God!” But our response need not be limited to our personal circles. We respond to God’s grace by loving our neighbor wherever our neighbor is. We respond by helping those who are homeless, who are hungry, depressed or sick; abused, addicted or alone. As we serve others, we give glory to God! For my friends at Shepherd of the Hills in Fort Collins: I am excited to say that we can spend a good bit of time this year talking about how we respond to God’s activity in our lives and in the world. This fall we kick off a great theme for our 2013-14 program year, “RE:Spond!” We’ll spend a good bit of time looking at all the ways we respond: to God’s grace, to our families, friends, and to the needs of the community and the world. We’ll cap off our year with an all-congregation Faith Formation experience next summer, in which we will RE:Spond to the love of God in some fun and interesting ways. Together, let’s RE:Spond to the blessings God has given us at Shepherd of the Hills.

Some of you may know that I grew up with jazz as the primary musical influence in my house. While other kids’ parents were listening to whatever they were listening to, on the big console stereo in our living room artists like Basie, Ellington, Ella, Brubeck and Kenton were the standard fare. I remember my father lying on the floor in front of the speaker, so he could hear some intricate harmony better. I learned to love the dissonant chords of jazz, and to appreciate what a soloist could create as he or she improvised their way through the “changes” of a jazz tune. As a young person, I met many Twin Cities jazz musicians, and, if truth be told, spent way more time in smoky bars than most kids my age. It was all about the music. Jazz has many moods; it can fly the listener through a stratosphere filled with ebullient notes and rhythms, it can walk gently through a melodic garden filled with musical color, and it can sit in the gutter to wail and cry a mournful melody. I never cease to be amazed by the giants of jazz—their amazing ears, their ability to hear a riff where most of us could not even hum a couple of notes; their sense of time and ability to bring order out of chaos. I am awed by what they can do with only 12 notes. Is there a point to all this, you ask? Why yes, I say. In the rich chords, the haunting melodies, the talented musicians; in the improvisation and the complex structures, I see an image of God. I see God, who doesn’t give us a life with straight quarter notes; who makes life rich and complex and sometimes gives us “notes” that sound strange together when we first hear them, but as we live them out they become beautiful. I see God, who moves through our lives with grace and beauty, as a melody moves from one instrument to another, being changed and embellished as it goes. I see a Creative God, who spun the universe from nothing and, like the soloist, continues to create and make new all the time. I see God, who like the bass and drums, holds the rhythms of our lives together even when everyone seems to be doing their own thing. Whether or not you share my love of jazz, whether you have ever heard of Mulligan or Desmond or Parker, perhaps you too can reflect on the complex, rich, melodic, fresh, rhythmical, alluring nature of our God. Where do you see such a God in your life?

“Are you better off today than you were four years ago?” “Who will make you better off in the next four years?” These seem to be the litmus test questions that the candidates want us to consider as we prepare to vote. Surely our well-being is important to each one of us, and we will spend time considering which philosophy of government is more likely to help us be successful. But there is another question for us, and I hear neither candidate even acknowledging its relevance. It is a question that I believe Jesus would ask if he were in the audience at one of the debates, and it has import for our entire nation. It is this: “Who will help my neighbor in the next four years?” How would the candidates answer such a question? Which answer would make more sense to you? As followers of Jesus, we are called, in Paul’s words, to “look each of us not only to our own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:4). Increasingly, those at the margins of our society are being left farther and farther behind those of us who are more or less in the mainstream. We see the elderly, the poor and children at risk, and many are still discounted because of gender, ethnicity or social status. These people at the margins are precisely who Jesus calls us to serve. It is not, nor will it ever be, enough simply to throw a few dollars in a bucket or a collection plate and belief that we have answered Jesus’ command to serve. We are called to work to make a difference in the lives of those on the margins. Now, don’t misunderstand me…this is not a discussion of parties or politics. Politics will ask about the role of government and the role of the private sector in addressing the concern, and that is an important discussion. As followers of Jesus, we must ask the prior question: are we willing to do as Jesus commands us to do—to love our neighbors as ourselves? And we must remember Jesus teaching on the question “Who is my neighbor?” Once we have answered that question we can begin to discuss how we can do what we know we must do. I’m sure that neither candidate has a plank in his platform called “care for the neighbor,” but our country would be a better place if every candidate, and every public servant, took such an idea seriously. As you prepare to cast your vote, look not only to your own interest but also to the interest of your neighbor.

In her recent book, Almost Christian, author Kenda Creasy Dean describes an African’s understanding of Christianity. She quotes: “You American think of Christianity as a farm with a fence. Your question is ‘Are you inside the fence or outside it?’ We think of Christianity as a farm with no fence. Our question is ‘Are you heading towards the farm or away from it?’” The African’s concept of the Church is an important challenge for us, for many Christians seem to spend most of their energy judging the spiritual fitness of others, rather than looking at their own journey “toward the farm.” Our understanding of discipleship should move us away from a focus on the fence itself, concentrating us instead on our journey with and toward Jesus. Dean makes an important distinction about our faith; she says “The Church’s identity is not defined primarily by its edges, but by its center: focused on Christ, the sole source of our identity…” Because our identity is found in Christ and not in the color, shape, or location of the fence, we are free to focus on our relationship with Jesus and with the world. Although the “border” may be fuzzy without a fence, it means that God sets the dimensions of the “farm,” not us. This distinction means that all those who seek Jesus, disciples or not, will move back and forth, toward the “farm” and away from it, during the course of their lives. We engage the world, and the world engages us, without either of us being impeded at a fence. The freedom of no fences can be both life-giving and dangerous at the same time. As disciples mature, we learn where we choose not to go, even though we are free to go there. As disciples grow their identity in Christ, we learn how to work and play without a fence. With Christ as the center of faith, and without worry about putting up fences to keep others out, disciples of Jesus become less “guardians” and more “ambassadors.” Without fences, we invite others to journey toward the farm, that is, toward Jesus, rather than hoping they’ll figure out how to hop the fence. As Dean says, “Disciples are people who participate in God’s movement toward the world and are empowered by the Holy Spirit to represent Christ in the process.” Does a fence surround your Christianity? Are you more concerned about the fence or the farm? How might you move from guardian to ambassador?