Welcome
Each week one of our pastors or staff members writes a column observing what is going on in our congregation, the Church and the world, and offering reflections on the Christian life and faith. Through this series of columns, we hope to connect your and our story to the enduring story of Christ; to offer pastoral reflections on our ongoing congregational life and mission; to report on news of the Presbyterian Church and Church universal; and to invite further reflection and deeper discipleship. We welcome your comments and suggestions. In other words, our words here are an invitation to continue the conversation.
If you are someone who notices changes in the liturgical lineup on Sunday mornings, then you may have observed that in our desire to retain the ritualized act of offering as a part of worship, we have introduced the phrase “Invitation to Discipleship.”
We have come to call the first Sunday after Labor Day when we kick off a new program year “Rally Day.” To rally means to come together again to renew an effort; to join in common cause; to recover and rebound after illness; a mass meeting of people for a purpose. Each of these definitions seems appropriate just now as we begin a new program year of Christian nurture and discipleship. Continuing to emerge from this long pandemic season we have much to celebrate as a community beginning to regather.
Some of our students are a week into school, while others are enjoying a few more days of vacation. As the school year begins, our students are facing another year filled with uncertainty in addition to the normal back-to-school worries. Some are worried about going to new schools; some are concerned about new academic pressures; and others just want to make a friend. Our children are navigating this strange world as their teachers, administrators and families balance worries around health, safety and community.
Sixteen months into the pandemic, I didn’t think I could be more overwhelmed with everything going on in our world.
Then came August. Clearly, I was wrong.
Like some of you, I am a transplant to this area. And because ordained ministry can be fairly nomadic, clergy often find ourselves settling for seasons in locations far from where we grew up. Which leads me to think about how we talk about “home.” Is home a place? A person? A feeling? An idea? A dream? Is it something we can taste or smell? How often do we go home?
I have frequently shared stories and fun facts from the time that our family lived as Mission Co-Workers for the Presbyterian Church in Cairo, Egypt before we came to live and work among you here in Bryn Mawr. While we loved the experience, I don’t often share publicly how hard it was. As the pandemic has taken yet another turn in recent days, I am reminded of how difficult our first months in Egypt were, primarily because of the revolution/coup that took place just three days after we arrived.
Almost from the start of my Christian journey I’ve wanted to know God’s will for me. I desired a clear message that would let me know I was on the right path, that I was being faithful. I dismissed my own faculties of discernment, convinced that any conclusion I reached on my own couldn’t be correct. I’m not God, after all. I sought a voice from the heavens to tell me what to do and point me toward the right path.
