Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. (1 Peter 1:3)

One of my favorite Easter hymns as a child was “Because He Lives.”  Donning our Easter finest, I can still vividly visualize my family sitting in the fifth pew on our sanctuary’s left hand side.  Excitedly, I would wait for the moment we would all stand and sing “God sent His son, they called Him Jesus.” Oh, how for a moment I long to go back to ten-year-old me.  Life seemed so safe, so easy, as I rested in the shelter of my parents 40 years ago.

Then, it hit me.  Today I still rest in the shelter of my parents, but that shelter is called my Father Almighty.  As the chorus to the aforementioned song goes, “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone.  Because I know He holds the future, and life is worth the living, just because He lives.” 

I don’t know what tomorrow or 2 weeks or 2 months from now may hold, but I know the One who does.  Yes, I worry about my family and friends, but Christ alone is able to drive out that fear. I don’t know the financial impact this may have on our nation or how different life will look when we return to “normal,”  but thankfully the future is not in my hands. I am just grateful for a new day, a new sunrise, a new flower blossom, new life, because life is truly worth living within the shelter of the One who loves us!

Father, remind us today that this Lenten season will soon give way to Easter morning!  Hallelujah!

Written by Deana Green

It’s here,
in the morning,
on our side deck,
that I am reconnecting with my God.

I get away from the news for a while;
I get away from my thoughts for a while;
I get away from the preparation for days of isolation for a while.

The cardinal sings his beautiful song and I see him fly from tree to tree.
The mockingbird sings every bird’s song…
the crow fills in the quiet in between.

Leaves drop from the camphor tree above me.
Sometimes hitting me lightly on the shoulder,
sometimes making a sound as they hit the varnished shining wood.

Ripe peaches call to me for picking from across the fence. Blossoms shine bright white on the pear tree.
I notice the pecan tree, the last to leaf out, has started it’s spring job…
the leaves bright green in the sun.

Poem by Kathy Lopez

I received a newsletter from Jim and Jodi McGill today.  Jodi teaches nursing, Jim engineers systems for clean water and sanitation.  They do this in the middle of Africa, specifically South Sudan and Niger.  They live and work without what we would call “sound infrastructure”, reliable supply chains or even personal safety.

They wrote to share their great joy about the opening of the ESPERANCE nursing school in Niamey, Niger and the water sanitation training course in South Sudan.  These achievements are the culmination of years of work and prayer.  Now, student nurses are being trained in areas such as neonatal health, pain management, the uses of ultrasound technology, and much more.  Community leaders are now able to bring improvements in hygiene and sanitation to their villages. They can drill clean water wells and build small reservoirs for rainwater catchment.  Adults and children have a better chance to stay healthy.

With the stream of anxious news and uncertainty we are absorbing these days, I thought you would want to know how the life-giving work of God in the world – through the Church and beyond it – goes on.  It continues through the dedication of people who do not seek the spotlight – like the McGills – and it continues because of the faithful generosity of Riversiders who have supported them over the long haul.

There are reasons to celebrate and give thanks, even now.  Perhaps they are found in other lands and distant lives; perhaps some can be found right here.

Written by Bill Hoff

Six More Weeks of Lent

Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.

-Paul (Romans 6:4)

    A couple of upsides to this challenging time have already made themselves apparent to me. First, I have grown in appreciation for my mundane patterns in their absence. I will smile broadly rather than grumble about the ordinariness of life when it returns. Second, my far-flung, busy family has way more time on their hands than usual. We will have more recurring Facebook meetings; at least for a while. With a toddler grandbaby in the mix, the episodes often devolve into hilarity. I hope the laughter persists as we plod through these days.

    One humorous text message hitched onto our family chain. It had to do with Pope Francis canceling Rome’s Easter celebrations. Wow! Amazing…and sad. Humans seek humor even in tragedy, however. A responder announced that Jesus saw his shadow, so there will be six more weeks of Lent! I chortled mightily at the comment, even though my mind’s ear heard my late-mother’s disapproving response. Ouch! Truth is, it looks like a more-Lenten spirit will overshadow us past Easter Sunday. More preparing the ground. More introspection. More looking at our own lives. More wondering who we have been and who we will become. More realizing that we WILL be different in some ways, major or minor. HOW then will that be? We’ve got time to contemplate that question.

    One thing I always say about Lent is that we remain Easter people, even as we make a forty-day effort to tone down our personal and corporate lives. We schmear ashes on our foreheads and put on our somber faces…but we know the end of the story: Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father! We do our best to feel the awfulness of Good Friday; AND we know that Sunday’s comin’! Even during Lent, we are Resurrection People!

    Each year we have the date of Easter posted on the calendar. Not this year, in some ways. Yes, the listing denotes April 12^th as Easter Sunday. Pretty good chance our lock-down situation will mandate six more weeks of Lent. We aren’t yet so sure of the end of this story. When will our not-always-beloved routines return? When will be not have to fight crowds to buy hand sanitizer and toilet paper and milk? When will our kids get out from under our feet? When will we happily return to our work cubicles? When will we pile into the Sanctuary, pull out all the organ stops, and scream, Jesus Christ is ris’n today, Alle…? We don’t know. Sigh!!

    Of this, with Paul, I am sure: Therefore we have been buried with [Jesus] by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. Our Celebration of the Resurrection may be postponed this year. The truth of Jesus’ resurrection will never change; nor the new life that is ours because of that one day long ago. All the other ordinary stuff can be taken away. Good grief, I’m a part of the susceptible population! I could die of Covid-19. I count myself a part of the Resurrection Crowd, however. I will cling to, live, and die (someday for sure) in that truth. Even though it feels like Lent will be extended for six weeks, every morning remains Easter morning…from now on!

Prayer: Gracious God, as we travel though whatever the “here-and-now” has to offer, we hold fast to this unchanging truth: we are your resurrection people! We thank you; in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Blessings, Pastor Zomermaand

Lenten Devotional

Every now and then I experience what Steve Goyer terms a “God moment,” as I expect you do.  At the Presbytery meeting in January, I met Ricardo Green, the new pastor at Nueva Esperanza (New Hope) Presbyterian Church in Orange Park.  Our meeting led to a God moment for me.  

Ricardo was recently installed as pastor to that little church, which is striving to succeed and grow.  He moved from Atlanta, in advance of his wife and son, to Orange Park to begin his ministry.   

One Sunday recently, he met me at Riverside for early worship and attended our confirmation class.  Diane Tuttle and I alternate Sundays teaching the class, and that Sunday was my turn.  I had prepared the lesson based on Jesus’ three parables about being lost:  the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost boy (prodigal son).  We read each of the parables, and I talked about my impressions of their meanings in a fairly simple way.  Then, Ricardo asked if he could tell his story.

He began by sharing that he was one of nine children who grew up in a fatherless family in Honduras in the 1960s.  At age 16, a friend encouraged him to join a group of boys traveling through Guatemala and Mexico to the United States to seek out a living.  He was reluctant, but agreed.  Their journey, much of it on foot, took two months.  During the trek he was often hungry.  At one point, having gone without food for three days, he found a dried tortilla on the floor of the old bus in which he traveled some of the way.  No food, he said, had ever tasted so good to him.

After Ricardo crossed the border checkpoint into the U.S., he was “found” by a small Hispanic Presbyterian church, which took him in, fed him, and helped him to find work and complete his high school degree.  He sensed a call to the ministry and proceeded to obtain a college degree, completing his education at Princeton Theological Seminary.  Subsequently he married and became a father to three daughters and a high school son.  All three of his daughters have graduated from college and moved on to successful careers and families.

Ricardo had been like the prodigal son, traveling to a distant land with hope for a different life, fatherless on his journey.  In America, among a Presbyterian community, he found welcome, inclusion, and help.  For Ricardo, the modest little church that found him, like the prodigal’s father, became a welcoming parent to him.  As with the prodigal, metaphorically speaking, the church placed a ring on his finger, slew the fatted calf, and granted to him a life of grace and joy he had never before known. 

As Ricardo spoke, I watched our confirmands spellbound, following his words carefully.    I sensed the strong presence of Christ in the room, surprising me and bringing tears to my eyes.  Something remarkable was happening.  Ricardo’s telling was so modest, authentic, and real—just as Jesus’ telling must have been.  How I wish I could be more like that!  

All the next week, I considered my own prodigal journey, as many of us will consider this Lent.  It is a journey each of us takes in one way or another.   I remembered again that God, in whatever form our Creator comes to us, is always the prodigal’s father waiting with open arms at the end of the long walk home.  

I don’t know what our confirmands will write in their faith statements this year, or even (because of rescheduling) when Confirmation Sunday will be.  But I am certain that in writing their statements they will remember Ricardo’s moving story of finding, in a little church, his father.  I hope they will recall that we are all prodigals and remember that, collectively as Christ’s body, the church, we can be a father, too.

Written by Chris Wrenn

Home-made Yogurt

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, 

even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. 

-Jesus (Matthew 6:28b-29)

I was sitting in my quiet office at RPC a few days ago. Bill Hoff was preaching the following Sunday at our online worship service, so I didn’t have a sermon to prepare. My oldest daughter, now working from home, sent a picture text to our family group of the yogurt she had made at home. My kiddie’s Momma (my wife 😊) used to make yogurt when the girls were young. I think she gave it up by the time Arden arrived on the scene. If you’ve tried, you know that yogurt is not easily manufactured. All kinds of issues arise…like consistency and tartness. Family texts flew fast and furious for a while, as we were mostly working from home, or at least close by. “Hey,” one of the tech-savvy crowd opined, “let’s do a group video chat.” So we did. Doesn’t happen often with six scattered, highly-scheduled people. We presently call the northwest, southwest, southeast, midwest, and northeast (OK, the northeast-ish part of the midwest) “home.” Much against our will and desire, Covid-19 slowed us down enough to pay attention…to each other!

God didn’t send this latest coronavirus to make my family communicate with one another. We do that already. Still, in the middle of this disrupted time, we are prodded to stay in touch: to remember, to laugh, to support each other. I actually pride myself on doing nothing pretty well. It’s biblical…called Sabbath. When I was growing up, Sabbath was enforced in my home. It’s kind of being enforced again. I didn’t like it so much then; and I’m not crazy about the enforced kind now. You know, after six days/eras of creative activity, God rested…and looked around. “Very good!” God concluded. Creation remains very good in bucketsful of ways. We are enduring a time of enforced Sabbath. Follow the Creator’s example and look around. Be like Jesus and “consider the lilies.” We’re itching big time for the Monday of normalcy to return. It might be a while. We’re stuck in Sabbath mode—Sunday, in the way we count the weeks. I’m not telling you to be happy about it. I am inviting you (and me!!!) to make good use of the time. ‘Cuz right now, time we got! We WILL learn some important lessons because of Covid-19. Be sure you don’t miss them when they whack you (figuratively) upside the head.

Prayer: Creator God, your grace has always been sufficient for us to meet all the challenges of life. We continue to pray for those who are ill, who are at the front lines battling disease, and who are making policy recommendations at the highest levels of society. We also pray for ourselves, that we may not lose heart but remain steadfast as people of hope. Guide us in all we say and do, that we may be agents of healing and grace in our world. We ask this in our Savior’s name. Amen.

Blessings,

Pastor Zomermaand

My mother is in Assisted Living.  She is also under hospice care.  She is bed bound so she never leaves her small bedroom. She is extremely hard of hearing so she is unable to make any sense of a phone call.  She is still smart as a whip like you remember her, although at times forgetful.  She spends most of her time watching CNN and waiting for visitors to drop in.  Up until last week I tried to go every day – perhaps more for my benefit than hers. 

Yesterday was her 94th birthday.  Her facility has been closed to all non-health care personnel for over a week. I wrestled with the fact that she is spending what may be her last birthday without family and without visitors. The grandkids and greats sent her cards and I asked Deborah, her daily caretaker, to please retrieve them from her locked mailbox downstairs.  I knew she was receiving them because DeeDee, her favorite in house caretaker FaceTimed us so I could see her admiring the cards the little boys had drawn.  And still I felt great sadness.  It seems so cruel to live to 94 and have no family to celebrate the milestone with you.

Late Friday afternoon DeeDee FaceTimed again.  She and Deborah were throwing a birthday party. They had bought balloons, and cupcakes and a tiara.  There sat my mother, in her bed, in her prettiest nightgown, wearing a tiara and eating cake and ice cream while DeeDee and Deborah sang her Happy Birthday!  She looked as happy as I can remember. I blew her a kiss.

In this strange and unsettling time we may be offered  gifts that we never expect or look for.  DeeDee and Deborah have made a new family for my mother and brought her joy.  They have brought me joy and peace.  Jesus said, “Blessed are the merciful for they shall receive mercy.”  I am sure he already knew DeeDee and Deborah and was talking about them. I pray that God will extend the mercy of continued good health to them as they open their arms and hearts to the most vulnerable among us. 

Amen.

Written by Mary Coxe

Julian of Norwich, a 14th century Christian mystic, had a series of visions from God while gravely ill (she later recovered and recorded them). In one, she saw a tiny object like a hazelnut in her palm, and God told her it contained all that God had created. As she marveled at its smallness and fragility, God revealed to her that it contained three key truths of all creation: God made it, God loves it, and God sustains it.

In these unprecedented pandemic days, I find myself turning to this and other revelations from Dame Julian. She grew up during the Black Death, in which an estimated ⅓ to ½ of her town’s population was decimated. She also survived political and religious revolts. In short, she knew her fair share of suffering and uncertainty. And yet she held to an unshakeable faith in the deep love of God for us, his created ones. 

I need to be reminded of these truths in these stressful days full of unknowns: God made us. God loves us. God sustains us. This was true in Dame Julian’s day, and it remains just as true in ours. We may not know what the future holds, but we can rest in the sure foundation of God’s love and sustenance for us. And we can pray with Dame Julian one of her more famous writings, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

Written by Jessica Means

–David, Psalm 4:2

    I am the father of four kiddies. We proudly owned and used up two minivans through their growing-up years. We made trips in them. So you know that I have heard the question above about…a millions times?

    The Psalmists, David and others, raised that question often, too. Usually pointing their fingers at God, directly or indirectly. Truth was, God didn’t often cause whatever problem they were railing against. They held the notion of God being in charge of EVERYTHING even more tightly than we; so ultimately, God was responsible. We still affirm that God holds the whole world in the Divine hands, for sure. We are less likely to blame God for everything, however. We persist in holding tightly to the notion that God can—and will—bail us out. So…how long before that happens in 2020?!?

    We don’t like not knowing the answer to that question. We don’t know the answer. And we won’t for a while. Of course, two days is longer than we like. Two weeks a really long time. Two months?!? Argh!! That’s forever! Just like the Psalmist, who railed and flailed against the seeming-Diving indifference, we realize, usually in hindsight, that God is not indifferent at all. We are challenged to pay attention a little more closely. Which fits right in with our Lenten theme of Preparing the ground. Listening. Journaling. Praying.

    Be as honest and angry with God as you need to be. God can take it. Been taking it pretty much since the plague that descended on Eden. After you got the questions out of your system, be prepared to be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46). Being still means waiting. Wait! We’re already doing that!! That means we’re already ahead of the process. We grab the certainty we can; and we ask…and listen…and wait in faith and hope. Even though we are keeping our social distance, we are still waiting together.

I am in the office regularly. It’s almost like staying home for me. So stay in touch! Give me a call. We’ll wait together.

Prayer: O God, we affirm that you are the giver of every good and perfect gift. Right now, we and our leaders need wisdom. Some of us also need a really big dose of patience. Bless us with everything we need for these days; in Jesus name we pray. Amen.

Blessings,

Pastor Zomermaand