Advent – Sunday, December 5

Author: Holly Reimer

Philippians 1:3-11

Reflection: v.10, ‘decide what really matters’

What really matters is about where we find our footing, what grounds us. Are we grounded in our Creator, the one who speaks of love, justice, and mercy? Or are we going to ground ourselves in the world, where we listen to messages grounded in a need for power and privilege? This is our choice and our responsibility, our decision regarding what really matters. If we are going to ground ourselves in our Creator—the one who created EVERYONE—then we are saying that people, relationships, and love matter. When we decide that people do in fact matter, then we are to live it out in such a way that the people around us feel and know that they matter. We live the kind of love that is enriching and life-giving, one that speaks to creating actual space for our neighbors at the table, creating shelter in an empty church for folks to sleep safely and find warmth. It means that we stop thinking about what someone can do to us or for us, but instead how we can be present with someone. If however, we choose to find our footing in the world and a culture where productivity, power, and privilege matter, then we have forgotten about love. We ignore, ridicule, and abuse one another. We have a choice to make, and it is ours to commit to and invest in. God has already shown us what that way looks like and what is expected of us. It is time for us to say that people matter (which is an act of love), and for us to live it out.

Prayer Lord, we pray that with courage and faithfulness we can live in such a way that speaks to love, justice, and mercy. May our hearts and minds be open to what matters to you. Amen.

Advent – Saturday, December 4

Author: Elizabeth Rogan

Psalm 25

Reflection: v. 2, ‘O my God, in you I trust’

Psalm 25 resonates with me because it depicts the journey of a wandering and lost soul seeking comfort and reassurance in God. I’ve had many blessings in my life, more than my share. But I’ve also experienced hardships and sorrow and made decisions I regret deeply. For most of my adult life I wandered lost and struggled to understand why I couldn’t find comfort in God, as so many others do. The answer has come to me as I spend time in the Mercy community: I was not opening myself to God. I was not trusting that God would forgive my transgressions and accept me as I am. I was not letting God teach me and guide me.

As the simple words of the opening stanzas of Psalm 25 teach us, though, we need only open ourselves and trust, and the Lord will be there:

To You, O Lord, I lift up my soul; O my God, I trust in You.

The Psalm continues with its message of faith as the path to forgiveness:

Show me your ways, O Lord; teach me Your paths. Lead me in Your truth and teach me, for You are the God of my salvation. Do not remember the sins of my youth, nor my transgressions. According to Your mercy, remember me.

Psalm 25, verse 10, concludes with the assurance that those who trust in God will find comfort, as I have:

All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth for those who keep His covenant and His decrees.

The simple message of Psalm 25 for me: Open yourself and don’t hide from the past. Have faith and trust in God. He is there for all who believe.

Prayer God, help us to open ourselves and not dwell on our transgressions. Teach us to trust in you, and guide us in your love and mercy. Amen.

Advent – Friday, December 3

Author: James King

Psalm 25

Reflection: v. 1, ‘To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul’

This psalm sounds like a beautiful love song: ‘To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul, in you, O Lord, I put my trust. Do not let me be put to shame.’ These are signs of protection, security, and love. To me, that sounds like a beautiful love song, a love story. ‘Make me to know your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths,’ that is an image of love. I feel that kind of love toward God. It is hard out here on these streets. God looks over me when I lay down. I sleep over there in the park across the street [from the church]. It can be so peaceful. There is nobody walking over me all night long. Nobody is all up on me while I sleep. You can hear the birds sing and the crickets singing, too. You can look up at the sky and see all the heavenly stars and see the full moon. It is so peaceful over there, and I know God looks over me. So, yes, I do care for God and I do love him. He means a lot to me, because the Good Lord looks over me and keeps me. Pretty soon I’ll be 65 years old and I’m not taking ten bottles of medication! I only take one bottle that I need, but that’s it! After that, I’m pretty much healthy. I can relate to this psalm, the love in this psalm, very much, because I know God loves me and watches over me.

Prayer Lord, I know that you watch over me always. Thank you.

Advent -Thursday, Dec. 2

Author: Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum

Luke 21:25-36

Reflection: v. 31, ‘you know that the Kingdom of God is near.’

Jesus describes some wild times in this passage–the earth in distress, nations confused, signs in the sky, and the roaring sea. ‘Pay attention,’ he tells his followers, for these things will happen, yes, in your own lifetime, and they mean that the Kingdom of God is near. Now, I am not a doomsday ‘the end is nigh’ kind of preacher, but it is hard not to hear Jesus’ words and compare them to our own generation’s struggles. It is hard not to read this passage and think of the very times we too are living in. Nations confused? Check. Roaring, rising seas? Check. Fear ruling over us? Check. The earth in distress? Need I go on? You get where I am going with this. While I do not espouse a rapture-style apocalypse, it’s hard to look at our groaning planet, it’s hard to look at God’s hurting people, and not say, ‘Yeah, I see the signs in our generation, too.’ So what are we to do? Are we to succumb to fear and hopelessness as we stare into the void of climate change, war, global poverty, and violence? No. Jesus tells us we must pay attention. We must see and acknowledge what is right before us, and we must make sure we haven’t numbed ourselves to it all. We must make sure that we are alert and ready to respond however we can–which is likely with love, compassion, and action. The Kingdom of God is near. That part shouldn’t scare us though. In fact it should assure and encourage us. Look around. Pay attention. There is much to see and much to do. And when we are paying attention, we may also notice all the ways that the Kingdom of God is pouring out and surrounding us–it is within our reach and oh so very near. How can we help bring it in?

Prayer Help us to pay attention, O Lord, that we may do what we can for your planet and your people. Help us to care about your Kingdom.

Advent Devotional – Wednesday, Dec. 1

Author: Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Reflection: v. 12, ‘love for one another and for all’

In our modern cultural context the Advent and Christmas season has become a time that many of us gather with family and friends. We have cozy Christmas parties with treats and presents at work, at home, and at church. We participate in seasonally themed activities curated to give us warm fuzzies and fond memories. We fill our calendar with visits to see the people we love. Of course there is nothing wrong with any of these practices, particularly as such festivities can evoke that ever-wonderful feeling of the love we have for one another. However, I would challenge the Christian community to remember in this season of preparation and anticipation, that the love we are called to is for more than just our inner-circle. The love we are called to is for more than just our close family and friends. The love we are called to is for more than just our neighborhood, our church, our company, or our country. In his letter to the Thessalonians, Paul implores the early church to remember to abound in love for one another, yes, but also to abound in love for all. This Advent season as we are tempted to nestle into the comfortable patterns of loving our own nearest and dearest, may we be challenged to love in deeper ways too. May we be challenged to love when it is hard and feels little like warm fuzzies. May we be challenged to love when it is different and requires solidarity, empathy, and understanding. May we be challenged to love when it asks of us and requires us to think beyond the scope of our inner-circle of existence. Love can look like many things, but the love of God that we anticipate and pray for in this season is a love that is for all of us.

Prayer May our love overflow beyond just those we know.

Tuesday, November 30

Author: Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum

Psalm 25:1-10

Reflection: v. 2 ‘do not let me be put to shame’

‘Do not let me be put to shame’ the ancient writer of this psalm asks of God. I find it reassuring and at times amusing how some things never change. Some things seem inherent to human nature–always relatable. I reflect on this phenomena often when reading the psalms, so full of the wide spectrum of relatable human emotions. How could someone living in such a different context and culture so long ago convey with these old ancient words the same feelings and emotions I experience, too? It must be that some things never change for human beings. As I read this psalm today, it is the prayer for acceptance and freedom from shame that strikes me as relevant. Still today, like all those many years ago, so many of us struggle to find acceptance and belonging. So many of us plead not to be put to shame. And yet many of us are shamed for things beyond our full control–our poverty, our mental health, our gender, our bodies, our upbringing, or our addictions. We are shamed for things for which there should not be shame attached, and in turn we too often shame one another, wielding our own hurts and disappointments like a jagged heavy sword. But like shame and fear and the plethora of other human emotions that inhabit us at different times, dignity is also something that is inherent to human beings. We must remember that we are lovingly and intentionally created in the image of God–perfectly suited just as we are. And in that image there is great dignity. We must internalize the voice of our loving creator and ignore all others that would shame us. And when that doesn’t work? When the voices around us would judge us and ridicule us for being who we were created to be? We, like the psalmist, can ask God to step in and remind us of who we are. We can ask God to remind us of our inherent dignity. And in our own honest self-respect, may we too participate in the godly work of not putting others to shame.

Prayer God, do not let me be put to shame, and do not let me shame my neighbor.

Art and the Image of God

Tracey Lynn uses art to honor the image of God in our community. With an introduction by Pastor Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum.

Throughout our sixteen years as a church, the Mercy community has always enjoyed creating art together. You have likely seen some of our members’ pieces in our Advent and Lenten devotionals, and if you haven’t, make sure not to miss them. Over the years we have had many art teachers and facilitators who faithfully encouraged the many creative artists our community boasts. You see, we believe that humans, created in the image of God, are creators too. Art is one way that we get to share our creative sides, work on projects together, enjoy one another’s company, and share our stories and perspectives. We believe all human beings have something to share and art can be an outlet for creativity and joy in community.

While we used to have a cozy little ‘art room’ decked out with the projects and pieces of different community members, when our community moved outdoors due to Covid-19 we stopped having regular art classes. Fortunately, last year our community was blessed with a talented and creative Columbia Theological Seminary intern, with a heart for art and pastoral care. Tracey Lynn helped us re-imagine a community ‘art hour’ outdoors safely, and now most Thursdays you can find a little group gathered around a pop-up table outdoors, making beautiful things together during Bible study. Tracey has faithfully nurtured, encouraged, and accompanied some of the artists in our community, while also imagining ways to use art for pastoral care and a tool for inclusion and sharing our stories. As a project for her theological education Tracey created and featured beautiful portraits of two of our community members. She utilized ethnographic practices to learn Herman’s and Ms. Kim’s stories and created beautifully and collaboratively-created pieces of these members for our community. Ms. Kim, Herman, and the entire community were delighted with the end results of Tracey’s project and are honored by all the ways she shares her time and talents with our community. Below, you can read Tracey’s thoughts on the creation of these pieces. We hope you enjoy them as much as we have! Behold, the image of God in Herman and Ms. Kim.

Tracey Lynn’s Artist Statement

The concept of my ethnographic project began with the idea that each of us is important and valuable. That we are all worthwhile and so are the stories we carry with us. Simply stated, ethnography is getting to know people while participating together in a community. After spending nine months with the Mercy community, I wondered about the stories of the people. I wanted to somehow convey the importance and value of their voices. I was honored by the trust and willingness Ms. Kim and Herman placed in my proposal to speak with each of them. The authentic interchange they shared with me created a life-giving source and image of humanity.

I ended each of my conversations with this question, “What do you believe it means to be made in the image of God?” I chose this question because I think it is a theological way of revealing, “You are beloved,” and “You matter.” Listening to them answer the question was striking. Each gave beautiful, poignant, and sound theological answers. Witnessing their body language, introspection and engagement with this question was the best part of our conversations. 

When conceptualizing this project, including a visual art piece was something I thought could add dimension to the ethnographic process. As I listened to Herman and Ms. Kim share a little bit of themselves and respond to my question, there was a great deal of our interchange that was difficult to put into language. Ms. Kim is so genuine and so true to the earth and all that surrounds her. She exists in the here and now. We were sitting by a tree when I presented her with my question. She paused, looked around and centered herself on the beauty of the tree we sat next to. To listen and just be in the moment with Ms. Kim as she spoke was indescribable. The photo of Ms. Kim is adorned with dried flowers and leaves from the forest to capture the unity of her, the tree and earth. The glass heart showcases the beautiful window that Ms. Kim freely and innately opens from within which allows light and love to exquisitely pass through. Crushed sea glass is sprinkled about the entire canvas to represent the illumination that Ms. Kim’s being exudes. Herman shared so openly and honestly about his life. He spoke about his childhood all the way through his adulthood. His stories instigated laughter and tears, heartache and grace. Herman is courageous. Herman is humble. Herman perseveres. Herman is compassionate. Herman is a conqueror. Herman emphatically teaches that this life is a process. That we are all in process. When I asked Herman my question he instantly responded. He knew his answer. For him, to be made in the image of God is to look at surrounding humanity that exists outside the window of the bus or the person in his neighborhood that needs a few dollars and see himself. Herman’s portrait is embellished with wire mesh glasses painted gold. The juxtaposition of Herman’s story is represented through these glasses. They are rough and frayed around the edges and smooth in the center. There is visibility through the lenses but also obstruction. They are gold and distressed industrial metal. Herman’s life is precious like gold, it has been a rough road from the past to the present, and it is a constant process to see life with an unobstructed view. The faces of the people in the bill of Herman’s hat is a gesture toward the portrayal he envisions as what it means to be made in the image of God. The image of each face was singed with fire and when painted onto the canvas the ash from the burned edges created a sepia tone. Herman’s ability to see his past, present and future God – created self in others is beautiful and messy.  In the end, my hope was to honor each of these beautiful individuals and engage in the practice of  looking toward one another as God does. 

Easter Sunday – April 4

Author Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum

Mark 16:1-8

Reflection: v. 8, ‘terror and fear had seized them… they were afraid’

The abrupt closure in the Gospel of Mark is my favorite of the Gospel endings. I love the touching relational details and interactions, the resurrection stories and reunions of the other Gospels. And sure, it can be nice to tie a big bow around the end of a story like a prim Easter bonnet and rest in the resolution that it all finished according to plan. But there is something strikingly real and relatable about the frantic open-endedness the writer of Mark leaves for us. I feel that especially this year. As Christians, some 2,000 years after Mark’s writing, we know how this story ends, and yet, we also know that the hope and promise of resurrection do not make everything instantaneously easier or resolved.

In equal parts today, I rejoice that death has been conquered by love in Christ, while I also mourn the stark reality that I do not always quite know what to do with that as I face another difficult day. I believe in resurrection, but I am also well acquainted with the death we experience here and now. I can see hope breaking like the dawn, but I do not quite yet feel its warm rays. Right now, the chill of the morning dew still feels a lot like fear and questions left unanswered. And yet, the tomb is empty. I stand before it in awe and fear. This year I feel a deep companionship with the women still vacillating between terror and amazement, running toward they know not what, filled with new hope still strongly spiked with fear. This Easter, I embrace that this is an acceptable place to be—maybe its even a faithful place to be, as we find ourselves caught up in a cautious hope that yearns and runs toward life.

Prayer May the hope of resurrection break upon us like the dawn. May we run toward you, O Lord, in our fear, our awe, and our rampant, reckless hope.

Holy Saturday – April 3

Digital Version of Devotional

Author Chad Hyatt

John 19:38-42

Whether it is because of disease or racism, political chaos or the disruption of so many ways of being community, we have experienced profound, almost overwhelming loss this year. If we are to find wholeness, we must find a way to grieve. Grief is the hidden gift— perhaps the unwanted gift—of these holiest of days, as we move from the cross to the resurrection. Sometimes we want to move so swiftly from death to the raising of the dead that we scarcely pause to pray.

But I’m not entirely sure we can sing again our joyful songs of Easter unless we stop to tend to the bruised depths of our hearts. Worship without grief—praise without lament—drifts perilously close to something so superficially shallow and hollow as to hardly be fit to call worship at all. Scripture invites us to praise God with our whole being; grief makes sure that all of me is present. It’s clear, both from common sense and from Scripture, that the crucifixion of Jesus was a major trauma for those who followed him. Some hide together, while others isolate. Some find their way to the tomb. Grief is what we do when we don’t know anything else to do in the face of loss—when we can’t do anything else, really. That’s what I like about the Gospel for Holy Saturday: here are people doing the little things they can—caring, burying, maybe even just doing the next right thing, going through the motions because there’s nothing else to go through. They couldn’t stop Jesus’ arrest, torture, and execution. They can’t raise the dead. All they can do in that moment is bury their friend—together. Perhaps in our rush to resurrection, we forget that Jesus really and truly died. If we don’t grapple with Jesus’ death—and feel the connections to our own experiences of loss and trauma—then the resurrection itself loses some of its power to heal us. I invite us to find a place this Holy Saturday for our grief. It doesn’t have to be long or drawn out, nothing extravagant or burdensome. But have the courage to bring all of yourself to worship without shame or guilt. Don’t despise your doubts or fears or feel you need to pretend that you’re not angry. If you feel like you have nothing to feel, that’s okay, too. Grief is about finding and bringing your whole self back to the table after loss has ravaged what used to feel certain. We don’t have to put on a good face or play the hero. All we have to do is just be. And that’s more than enough.

Prayer Lord, today I grieve what we have lost and trust you to heal us.

Good Friday – April 2

Digital Version of Devotional

Author Chad Hyatt

We sure do like to blame other people. It shows up in our personal relationships and makes it’s way into our politics. It helps us to hold on to destructive addictions long past the time we should’ve let them go. It leads to wars and genocide—and every other hateful, vengeful act by which we defend ourselves through shifting the blame to someone else.

We scapegoat to explain the evil we sense in the world around us by laying it upon the shoulders of others—even whole groups of people, absolving ourselves of any responsibility in the process. We can end up heroes as long as someone else plays the villain—and all just by pointing the finger away from ourselves. But if we are to be saved, we must stop finger-pointing and take a long, hard look at who we are. That is precisely what the cross invites us to do. As we look upon the broken body of Jesus hanging on the cross, we realize God will always be on the side of those who have been victimized by violence and oppression. God saves us by standing with us in our suffering, in our forsakenness, in our wounds, in our death. God not only hears our cries of anguish but cries out in dereliction with us. Everywhere there is a cross, God’s solidarity with those who suffer has made it a sign of protest against violence, torture, and death. As we continue to behold the lonely figure upon the cross, we begin to realize he doesn’t belong there. And neither does anyone else. The cross is not only a protest against injustice, it breaks open the mechanism by which so much injustice has covered the face of the earth: our willingness to make scapegoats out of other human beings in a vain attempt to save ourselves. Looking at the cross, we are called to own up to our part in the injustices of our world, in the violence that robs others of life, in the ways we bow before the idols of death in hope of comfort and security. Yes, there is misery in beholding such mercy. But God’s love will have the last word. God chose the cross we had made for others and made it God’s own—and destroyed the power of death by it. God’s love saves us; it doesn’t destroy us. The cross isn’t about punishment but delivering us from the broken ways we harm one another and ourselves. It isn’t about guilt; it’s about being honest with ourselves and about our world. Let us look again upon the cross, and let us be saved.

Prayer God of saving mercy, by your cross you have set us free.