Neighbors!

“And who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:29)

I have neighbors I know and neighbors I have yet to meet. I learned that lesson again last week. On Thursday came a text from our dear neighbor Nancy. She lives a couple of streets over and her dog Bodie and our beloved Silas were best buddies. Nancy and her family belong to the Winnetka Presbyterian Church, just down Hibbard Road from our church.

Well, the text was asking if we could help with our church bus. Nancy asked if we could help transport thirty Afghan refugees from the Residence Inn hotel to their church, where a big party was in store.

I was floored! That hotel takes me 432 steps to arrive at. It is literally just over our backyard fence.

Arriving there Sunday afternoon, I found out that these refugees have been my close neighbors for a couple of months, as a lack of affordable housing keeps them from moving into a place of their own. I have walked back and forth past them for some time without even knowing they are there!

I don’t know how many times I have treaded the tar of Hibbard Road over the last two decades. Has to be in the thousands. The ride on Sunday afternoon was the one I’ll remember the most. I had all the kids! And they were singing songs in English, evidence of their technique for quick learning. The one dad sitting in the passenger seat didn’t speak, but kept looking at me, smiling, and putting his hand over his heart, saying more than words ever could.

The church was ready! A cadre of smiling faces welcomed us, along with Chai tea and snacks familiar to these new neighbors. Hugs and tears and hands over hearts evidenced deep human connections. The church was a holy mess! The sanctuary space filled not with people but with bedding and furniture and lamps and diapers and towels and TVS, just waiting for a chance at an apartment! The hallways were filled with shoes, and classroom transformed into toy and clothing stores.

Plowing through a number of football pizzas and fresh fruit with some of the boys, they pointed as if to say, “teach me.” “Strawberry.” “Watermelon”. “Banana.” “tell me your names” I asked them, and they laughed as I tried with little success to repeat them. One of them led me by the hand as we all went over to the foosball table, where I was on the losing team every time.

We left in the dark, everyone of them, large and small, hauling heavy bags of new necessities. he bus has a great storage space in the back! Unloading at the front door, my new neighbor boys lined up, gave me fist pumps, and said, “Bye Peter!”

All this, because one neighbor connected me to another.

Refugees are people forced to flee their country due to war or persecution. They want to return home, but can’t. Most often their fleeing is sudden and unplanned. They leave behind family, friends, homes, belongings, jobs, and everything familiar in order to save their lives. The vast majority of refugees end up in refugee camps in a neighboring country where they will likely live for years and continue to experience suffering. Estimates are that there are currently 26.4 million refugees world-wide, the largest number ever recorded. Less than one percent of all refugees are resettled to a new country each year. About half of the world’s refugees are under the age of 18.

And, and, I have found out they are now my neighbors, 432 steps away.

I hope you will have the chance to meet these friends soon. Our church has one thing that the Presbyterians do not, and that’s a GYM! So we’re planning for some times to welcome our neighbors into our space. And who knows if we can finally start some joint refugee re-settlement ministry with our friends down the street?

One thing I deeply feel is that this ministry of welcome, hospitality, love and care will be front and center for us in months and years to come, as it should be, because our Lord Jesus, who himself with his parents were refugees, places at the center of life the love of neighbor. And as now millions — imagine this number! — millions run for their lives out of Ukraine, you and I have new refugee neighbors right down the block, who are waiting for us to help them find home again.

Let’s get to holy work on this! Let’s turn our church into a holy mess! We have neighbors we know and neighbors yet to meet.

Peter Hawkinson

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This blog post is dedicated with gratitude to Dan and Joan Erickson, who have generously gifted our church with a magnificent new bus. May it serve as yet another vehicle expressing the love of Jesus for our neighbors.

The Time It Takes

As I sit here, writing this, in my office – mask off, puppy at my feet, window shades open to see the sunshine outside, I’m keenly aware of where I was sitting two years ago today.

At home, anxious. Watching the news more than was helpful – but at a loss for what else to do. It was a Saturday, and I was contemplating the first Sunday in my ministry life when I wouldn’t be at church not because of weather or travel plans or unforeseen illness, but because of a pandemic.

Over the last forty-eight hours previously, I had met with Pete and Joel over pancakes (little did I know, the last meal I’d eat inside a restaurant in over a year) to discuss a temporary closure to WCC because of COVID. The next morning, I met a friend at Jewel Osco to panic shop for vegetables, baking materials, comfort food, and – yes- wine before locking down in my apartment for…two weeks? A month?

I think it’s helpful to look back because sometimes time feels so strange and fluid that it’s hard to know how I got here. Here, where I’m finally feeling safe and brave enough to venture out, to eat indoors, to travel, to entertain, to take more risks and bigger ones because maybe, just maybe, it’ll be ok after all.

Here, where I could not have anticipated being two years ago. Or six months ago.

The truth is, it took a lot to get here. A lot of care to protect myself and others. A lot of patience, when it felt like forever to get back to “normal.” A lot of thought and prayer about what normal should actually look like; what I wanted to get back to and what I was glad to let go of. A lot of time.

I was reminded of all this, today, when I read our prompt in Backyard Pilgrim. It talks about gardening; specifically, about the long, slow work of it. Matt writes, “There is something about gardening that grounds us in the basics of being human: the time it takes, the relationships that grow, the fruit that finally comes.”

And he asks: “What can a garden teach you about your relationship with God, your neighbor, and yourself?”

We’re in that time of year, finally, when little shoots of green are starting to peek out of the ground. In the midst of brown, dead-looking grass and old leaves and dirt, a few tendrils of early flowers are appearing. I am beginning to hope again.

I am remembering that life comes after death. That spring comes after winter. That the snow and the cold allowed the land to rest, and it is coming back to flower and bloom again.

Just as we are coming back, in many ways, again.

But it is long, slow work. It has taken two years, and it will take yet more time.

Gardeners know that kind of time intimately, and I am learning it now too.

And still…I am starting to see the fruits of that long time, those two hard years; the knowledge of what God has been doing in the midst of great pain and suffering:

the gift of people coming back together genuinely grateful for companionship and community, the recognition that all of life is precious, the awareness of how interconnected we are and how much we need each other – all of that is deeply good. All of it is deeply God.

It takes the time it takes. But be reassured, that God is working all the while.

God’s peace be with you today.

-Pastor Jen

The Time It Takes

As I sit here, writing this, in my office – mask off, puppy at my feet, window shades open to see the sunshine outside, I’m keenly aware of where I was sitting two years ago today.

At home, anxious. Watching the news more than was helpful – but at a loss for what else to do. It was a Saturday, and I was contemplating the first Sunday in my ministry life when I wouldn’t be at church not because of weather or travel plans or unforeseen illness, but because of a pandemic.

Over the last forty-eight hours previously, I had met with Pete and Joel over pancakes (little did I know, the last meal I’d eat inside a restaurant in over a year) to discuss a temporary closure to WCC because of COVID. The next morning, I met a friend at Jewel Osco to panic shop for vegetables, baking materials, comfort food, and – yes- wine before locking down in my apartment for…two weeks? A month?

I think it’s helpful to look back because sometimes time feels so strange and fluid that it’s hard to know how I got here. Here, where I’m finally feeling safe and brave enough to venture out, to eat indoors, to travel, to entertain, to take more risks and bigger ones because maybe, just maybe, it’ll be ok after all.

Here, where I could not have anticipated being two years ago. Or six months ago.

The truth is, it took a lot to get here. A lot of care to protect myself and others. A lot of patience, when it felt like forever to get back to “normal.” A lot of thought and prayer about what normal should actually look like; what I wanted to get back to and what I was glad to let go of. A lot of time.

I was reminded of all this, today, when I read our prompt in Backyard Pilgrim. It talks about gardening; specifically, about the long, slow work of it. Matt writes, “There is something about gardening that grounds us in the basics of being human: the time it takes, the relationships that grow, the fruit that finally comes.”

And he asks: “What can a garden teach you about your relationship with God, your neighbor, and yourself?”

We’re in that time of year, finally, when little shoots of green are starting to peek out of the ground. In the midst of brown, dead-looking grass and old leaves and dirt, a few tendrils of early flowers are appearing. I am beginning to hope again.

I am remembering that life comes after death. That spring comes after winter. That the snow and the cold allowed the land to rest, and it is coming back to flower and bloom again.

Just as we are coming back, in many ways, again.

But it is long, slow work. It has taken two years, and it will take yet more time.

Gardeners know that kind of time intimately, and I am learning it now too.

And still…I am starting to see the fruits of that long time, those two hard years; the knowledge of what God has been doing in the midst of great pain and suffering:

the gift of people coming back together genuinely grateful for companionship and community, the recognition that all of life is precious, the awareness of how interconnected we are and how much we need each other – all of that is deeply good. All of it is deeply God.

It takes the time it takes. But be reassured, that God is working all the while.

God’s peace be with you today.

-Pastor Jen