“Excuse me, that’s my seat, can you move over?”

“Excuse me, that’s my seat, can you move over?”

Not such a welcoming way to be invited into a new worship space. Yes, those words have been spoken at my church. When I first heard it, I stood in disbelief. I mean I know we joke about how we are creatures of habit and often sit in the same area, but to ask someone to move?

This past week, as I was walking down the aisle prior to worship I was stopped by two regular worshippers as they were getting their seats. I greeted them and they said, “We had to come early this week because other people were in our seat last week.”

I questioned, “Did you ask them to move?”

“Of course not, but we did come early this week.”

Is this because we know what we like? We want the right view, close to a speaker, near a fan, far from an A/C vent. It really is about comfort – I know on my couch at home I have a certain spot I like to sit in. Comfort is great – but it seems there becomes a point when comfort becomes a hindrance.

I was talking to a friend of mine who will occasionally attend an organized church service. I encouraged her to worship this week since it is Holy Week. She responded, “Well, I fear I’ll sit in someone’s seat.”

The visitor is showing empathy for the regular worshipper’s comfort – now that – blew me away. I never thought of it that way before. Then I realized that Jesus and his disciples never really had a chance to get comfortable. They were always on the move and in a new place. Maybe a reality we face in our current culture is that the church today has become too comfortable. And if that’s the case then is this a reason why so many don’t attend organized church services? People don’t know how to get in the club? or People don’t want to be a part of a club and therefore worship on their own?

Whatever the answer’s I cannot deny there is so much more behind, “Excuse me, that’s my seat, can you move over?”

Hostess in June

By Johanna Johnson

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews 13:2)

One of the first things you could see walking into my grandparents’ home was a shelf full of guestbooks. These two dozen or so volumes contain the names of people well-known and un-known from all over the world, reflecting the many places my grandparents lived in their lives: South Dakota, Germany, Mexico City, Ethiopia, New York City, Pennsylvania, Los Angeles… Were these people all their dearest friends? Perhaps not before the door was opened to them, but by the time they had left the warm home my grandma cultivated, they had become brothers and sisters, leaving their mark, as so many others had, on the lives and hearts of the entire Solberg family.

Grandma June was the epitome of Hostess. Whether it be a stranger at the door, or a friend of a friend, or someone she had known for years, one was invited in, offered food and drink from what was sometimes a humble supply, and soon enough made to feel like the most interesting, important, and wonderful person in the world. This was the gift of June. Her warmth was undeniable and contagious, and she treated everyone she met like he or she was indeed an angel, sent from God to change June’s life. Beautiful artwork that decorated my grandparents’ home reflected the love they shared and received, as the people in their lives imparted these lovely gifts to them in gratitude for all that they had to give.

Grandma June now lives in an Alzheimer’s unit, hardly able to speak, but still bestowing her warm glow on everyone she encounters. Just to be in the presence of this amazing woman of faith is to feel the very warmth and love of God.

Orange Tree

This past week I had the pleasure of walking a labyrinth. I don’t know if you’ve ever walked a labyrinth. Most people think it looks like a maze. However, it’s not a maze. It only has one path to the center and the same path out. One purpose of walking a labyrinth is to go on a journey and rid of all the noise in our head so we can listen to God. I often focus on a word such as hope, joy, or Emmanuel. Once you reach the center then you are blessed to let go, sit down, and listen to God. Ideally, after you find peace with God in the center, on the journey out of the labyrinth, you can focus on how you can take that peace into the world.

As I was on the way out of the labyrinth I had not accomplished my ultimate goal. The noise in my head was still loud. I was actually looking at an orange tree off in the distance and thinking about how I really wanted to pick an orange from the tree before I left. While thinking this I stopped on the path for a moment, looked up to the heavens, and said, “Why can’t I simply be quiet.” Looking upwards I noticed that there was an orange tree right over my head. I had already walked the whole labyrinth and hadn’t noticed. And there was a tree right over my head. I noticed it after I had that desire.

As I paused I thought, “In life how often do we tend to only see what we’re looking for?"

We try to see what God wants for our life. We try to see where God is leading us. We try to be open to God's time and not our own. Yet, we can't help but look with a very focused lens. We tend to look for what we're looking for... we can't see the whole picture?

Lent is a time for renewal. Let's take time to renew our understanding of God and how we see God at work in our lives. Sometimes there is an orange tree right over your head - and you didn't even see it!

God's Word, Our Lives

by Johanna Johnson

Two years ago, the day after a very difficult break-up with my boyfriend, Psalm 73 came up in my monthly Psalm cycle. In the midst of the fear, questioning, and sadness surrounding the break-up, I experienced more profoundly than ever before the sense that God truly was speaking to me specifically through these words.

21When my soul was embittered,
when I was pricked in heart,
22I was stupid and ignorant;
I was like a brute beast towards you.
23Nevertheless I am continually with you;
you hold my right hand.
24You guide me with your counsel,
and afterwards you will receive me with honour.
25Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire other than you.
26My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever.
27Indeed, those who are far from you will perish;
you put an end to those who are false to you.
28But for me it is good to be near God;
I have made the Lord God my refuge,
to tell of all your works.

This Psalm came up again in a recent Bible study. As we worked our way methodically through it, I had another profound experience where God seemed to speak to me, this time through my own mouth with God’s words; I began with the intention of saying one thing, and at the end I realized something else entirely had come out. I was explaining that my major hold up with the Psalms was this sense of “me vs. them.” The Psalms are always talking about “my enemies,” “those who hate me,” and how “they” will be punished. But what if “they” are not other people, but my own sinful nature? It’s not me against them, it’s me against me, my saint against my sinner. “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” (Rom 7:15)

As I said this to the group gathered, I had another moment of pristine clarity, a moment that consisted primarily of, “Oh...” And my Lenten journey was laid out before me, with all its ominously dark corners and unknown curves and hills, but also the promise of joyous light at the end. It is a path on which we eagerly seek to distinguish sin from righteousness, to have our hearts cleansed, and to discover God’s will for our daily lives. Even as I look out upon that path with trepidation, I also feel my heart full of anticipation, hunger, longing, and satisfaction – all at once! As I (we!) traverse this scary road, I am comforted by the Psalmist’s words, “It is good to be near God; I have made the Lord God my refuge.”


Let us pray…. God of mercy, God of light: In our darkest moments, you are there. In our clearest moments, you are there. You are our compass, and our tent; you are our refuge. Lead us as down the path laid before us, helping us to know that wherever we are, there you are also. Amen.

Get Down!!

My father and I love to go canoeing. We have been down many rivers together. We were actually a great team and decided one year to take on one of the toughest rivers in Michigan, the Pike River. I didn’t realize what I was getting myself into. The river was very fast and extremely small so there was not much maneuverability. Most surprisingly it had so many turns that I couldn’t see what we were about to encounter 50 feet in front of us.

We were on the river for three days. I’ll never forget rounding a corner and all the sudden I saw a tree that had fallen all the way across the river. It was so low that I wasn’t sure the boat could fit, the river was fast and we didn’t have much time to react. I yelled at my father… “GET DOWN!” We both hit our knees so fast that we had bruises the next day. We luckily made it under the tree! On that trip down the river I was “on my knees” more than in the seat. When canoeing the lower you are in the boat the more control you have of the boat.

This lent maybe we need to get down on our knees so we can give control to God.

Deep Water

by Johanna Johnson

“Jesus said to Simon, ‘Put out into the deep water and let down your
nets for a catch.’… When they had done this, they caught so many fish
that their nets were beginning to break.” (Luke 5:4, 6)

Deep water. Actually, and metaphorically, this translates to: danger.
Deep water is scary, unknown, and dangerous. You don’t know what you
might find there. It could hold something very beautiful and exciting,
or it could be hiding something we don’t want to see or don’t
understand. With so many unknowns, why does Jesus ask Simon to move
away from the safety of the land, even the relative safety of the
shallow water, into the Great, Deep, Unknown?

The fact is, faith is not unlike that deep water. It is at once
beautiful and exciting, and scary and unknown. It sometimes sparkles
on the surface, and gets more interesting and complex the deeper you
go. When Jesus asks Simon – and us – to “put out into the deep water,”
he is asking us to take that risk, that risk that puts us beyond the
simplicity of the sparkling surface, and into those parts that are
unknown and even scary. In the deep water – that is where we will also
deepen our faith.

But Jesus says something else here, too: “let down your nets for a
catch.” This excerpt comes from Luke’s account of Jesus calling the
first disciples – where he tells them that they will be “catching
people.” In the deep water, Jesus says, is where they will be
catching people. When Simon and his companions put down their nets in
that deep water, there are so many fish their nets begin to break,
and the sheer number of fish starts to sink two boats. And this after
they had caught nothing all night! Here, that deep water becomes not
only a deeper understanding of faith personally, but also the ability
to share that faith with other people. Talking about faith is often
difficult for us. It is even more difficult with people who don’t
share our faith. Talking about our personal faith indeed puts us in
deep, scary, unknown waters. But, “when they had done this, they
caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break.” It’s
possible. It’s scary, but as Jesus talks about moving into the deep
water, so also is he calling us, just as he called his first
disciples, to take such risks in our faith. “Put out into the deep
water and let down your nets for a catch… From now on, you will be
catching people.”

Stand in the Rain

Honestly, a pastor does just about everything. I bet you could say the same about your profession. So, I'm sure you understand. I have done the obvious hospital and shut-in visits, preached, and led worship but beyond that I have been to the court house for an adoption, ran after trash down the road, learned how to use Microsoft Publisher, taken care of a dead bird the parking lot, visited the local jail, led services at nursing and funeral homes, sat with people in mourning, stripped and waxed the floors, put toliet paper in the church bathroom, facilitated fund-raisers, and many other opportunities that would take to long to list.

I almost feel I can say, “You name it, a pastor does it.”

All of this can be down-right tiring and overwhelming. One day I was driving to the hospital with no energy left. I knew that I needed to visit a few people, but had expended most of my energy to others earlier in the day. Then a tropical down pour started.

I really did not want to go into the hospital. I was thinking I can skip one day, would it really hurt?I pulled into the parking lot and sat in my car with the engine off debating if I really wanted to get that wet. Then I thought, “I need to be washed clean!” I opened the door, stood up and put my face to the sky and stood there. After a few moments I looked around as everyone was rushing to shelter. The rain felt so good (and I was drenched). I walked slowly to the hospital entrance as I felt the rain wash away every ounce of pain I was carrying from myself and others. In the craziness of life we need to remember and let God wash us clean daily, and God will renew our soul.

Psalm 103
Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the LORD, O my soul, and do not forget all his benefits-- who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the Pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good as long as you live so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.