The loss of someone with whom you have shared a deep emotional and supportive relationship usually causes the most intense grief reaction. Someone who has held you up emotionally when you were in a crisis, helped shape your sense of self, and encouraged you to reach for your dreams is physically removed from your life forever.

Grief is an emotion common to the human experience. Multiple Bible characters experienced deep loss and sadness, including Job, Naomi, Hannah, and David. Even Jesus mourned (John 11:35; Matthew 23:37-39).

A peek at a typical worship service reveals that today many worshipers are older or elderly. Some may be sick with illnesses that threaten their very lives.

In the midst of a world that seems to grow darker each day, yesterday’s reading emerges as a beacon of hope for those with anxious hearts. Isaiah’s words, “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God,” echo through the ages, assuring us that even in the midst of uncertainty, God’s compassion and care remain unwavering.

I have plenty of history with relying on the trail to get me where I need to go. Wandering the backcountry in the mountains, as long as you stay below the tree line, the routes are well marked. Even if snows cover the ground, the blaze marks carved into the bark of trees along the sides of the trail remain a helpful guide. But in expansive meadows or above the tree line, the piles of rocks that mark the way aren’t always so easy to find. And mountain trails, rarely go in a straight line.

At the time of Jeremiah, the people of Judah had watched their world fall apart. The traditions they understood as the assurance of God’s presence crumbled.

Yesterday, we lit the first candle on our Advent wreath.  As we launch into this new holiday season, let’s not be in such a rush to dive headlong into the festivities that we miss the subtle beauty of anticipation. Could it be possible this year for us to slow down, to savor the moments that lead us to the manger?

In the quiet hush of Advent, we find ourselves waiting on tiptoe, our hearts tuned to the ancient promises whispered through the prophet Jeremiah. Like a gentle breeze that stirs the soul, these words invite us to embrace the hope that dances on the edges of our longing.

I am one who feels God’s presence more deeply in nature, whether I’m hiking or gardening, looking at grand vistas or noticing small pollinators or new buds. I often think of some of the wisdom shared by Robin Wall Kimmerer, botanist and member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation in her book, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teaching of Plants. She so eloquently brings these very different worldviews together to show us what we can learn from nature. A book well worth meditating on.

On Sunday, when we realized Dr. Kelly might not be coming to the adult forum, Toni Sveom stepped in to share her excitement about a book she is in the middle of reading, The Cost of Free Land by Rebecca Clarren, an award-winning journalist, writing about her Jewish family’s settling in western South Dakota after fleeing Russian pogroms.

In his Friday devotion, “Embracing Reconciliation,” Pastor Peter quoted Dr. Kelly’s website: “Her work primarily focuses on systemic theology, with a unique approach to Lakota Spirituality and how it can inform Christianity and instill healing.” With that in mind, I’d like to share part of the “INDIGENOUS PEOPLE’S CELEBRATION, A Service of Indigenous People,” written and compiled by Kelly when she was a Doctoral student at Luther Seminary and active member of the American Indian/Alaska Native Lutheran Association Inc board of directors.

In the soft glow of Thanksgiving’s warmth, our hearts resonate with the echoes of gratitude and generosity. We’ve woven threads of love into the tapestry of community, creating a vibrant mosaic of shared blessings. Yet, as the autumn leaves surrender to the inevitable chill, we find ourselves standing at the threshold of a new season — Advent.

Yesterday, while many of us were celebrating a day of Thanksgiving, some of our Native neighbors marked the occasion as a “Day of Mourning.” This practice and the accompanying solemn commemorations serve as a way to to honor Native ancestors and their stories, while fostering greater awareness and understanding among the public about the destructive history of the white Europeans that colonized the lands which were their homes.

As I sit down to write this devotion it isn’t surprising what weighs heavy on my mind: the conflict in Israel and Gaza and its heart-rending impacts. I wonder, does Isaiah offer insight? Comfort? Anything?

The loss of someone with whom you have shared a deep emotional and supportive relationship usually causes the most intense grief reaction. Someone who has held you up emotionally when you were in a crisis, helped shape your sense of self, and encouraged you to reach for your dreams is physically removed from your life forever.

Grief is an emotion common to the human experience. Multiple Bible characters experienced deep loss and sadness, including Job, Naomi, Hannah, and David. Even Jesus mourned (John 11:35; Matthew 23:37-39).

A peek at a typical worship service reveals that today many worshipers are older or elderly. Some may be sick with illnesses that threaten their very lives.

In the midst of a world that seems to grow darker each day, yesterday’s reading emerges as a beacon of hope for those with anxious hearts. Isaiah’s words, “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God,” echo through the ages, assuring us that even in the midst of uncertainty, God’s compassion and care remain unwavering.

I have plenty of history with relying on the trail to get me where I need to go. Wandering the backcountry in the mountains, as long as you stay below the tree line, the routes are well marked. Even if snows cover the ground, the blaze marks carved into the bark of trees along the sides of the trail remain a helpful guide. But in expansive meadows or above the tree line, the piles of rocks that mark the way aren’t always so easy to find. And mountain trails, rarely go in a straight line.

At the time of Jeremiah, the people of Judah had watched their world fall apart. The traditions they understood as the assurance of God’s presence crumbled.

Yesterday, we lit the first candle on our Advent wreath.  As we launch into this new holiday season, let’s not be in such a rush to dive headlong into the festivities that we miss the subtle beauty of anticipation. Could it be possible this year for us to slow down, to savor the moments that lead us to the manger?

In the quiet hush of Advent, we find ourselves waiting on tiptoe, our hearts tuned to the ancient promises whispered through the prophet Jeremiah. Like a gentle breeze that stirs the soul, these words invite us to embrace the hope that dances on the edges of our longing.

I am one who feels God’s presence more deeply in nature, whether I’m hiking or gardening, looking at grand vistas or noticing small pollinators or new buds. I often think of some of the wisdom shared by Robin Wall Kimmerer, botanist and member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation in her book, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teaching of Plants. She so eloquently brings these very different worldviews together to show us what we can learn from nature. A book well worth meditating on.

On Sunday, when we realized Dr. Kelly might not be coming to the adult forum, Toni Sveom stepped in to share her excitement about a book she is in the middle of reading, The Cost of Free Land by Rebecca Clarren, an award-winning journalist, writing about her Jewish family’s settling in western South Dakota after fleeing Russian pogroms.

In his Friday devotion, “Embracing Reconciliation,” Pastor Peter quoted Dr. Kelly’s website: “Her work primarily focuses on systemic theology, with a unique approach to Lakota Spirituality and how it can inform Christianity and instill healing.” With that in mind, I’d like to share part of the “INDIGENOUS PEOPLE’S CELEBRATION, A Service of Indigenous People,” written and compiled by Kelly when she was a Doctoral student at Luther Seminary and active member of the American Indian/Alaska Native Lutheran Association Inc board of directors.

In the soft glow of Thanksgiving’s warmth, our hearts resonate with the echoes of gratitude and generosity. We’ve woven threads of love into the tapestry of community, creating a vibrant mosaic of shared blessings. Yet, as the autumn leaves surrender to the inevitable chill, we find ourselves standing at the threshold of a new season — Advent.

Yesterday, while many of us were celebrating a day of Thanksgiving, some of our Native neighbors marked the occasion as a “Day of Mourning.” This practice and the accompanying solemn commemorations serve as a way to to honor Native ancestors and their stories, while fostering greater awareness and understanding among the public about the destructive history of the white Europeans that colonized the lands which were their homes.

As I sit down to write this devotion it isn’t surprising what weighs heavy on my mind: the conflict in Israel and Gaza and its heart-rending impacts. I wonder, does Isaiah offer insight? Comfort? Anything?

The loss of someone with whom you have shared a deep emotional and supportive relationship usually causes the most intense grief reaction. Someone who has held you up emotionally when you were in a crisis, helped shape your sense of self, and encouraged you to reach for your dreams is physically removed from your life forever.

Grief is an emotion common to the human experience. Multiple Bible characters experienced deep loss and sadness, including Job, Naomi, Hannah, and David. Even Jesus mourned (John 11:35; Matthew 23:37-39).

A peek at a typical worship service reveals that today many worshipers are older or elderly. Some may be sick with illnesses that threaten their very lives.

In the midst of a world that seems to grow darker each day, yesterday’s reading emerges as a beacon of hope for those with anxious hearts. Isaiah’s words, “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God,” echo through the ages, assuring us that even in the midst of uncertainty, God’s compassion and care remain unwavering.

I have plenty of history with relying on the trail to get me where I need to go. Wandering the backcountry in the mountains, as long as you stay below the tree line, the routes are well marked. Even if snows cover the ground, the blaze marks carved into the bark of trees along the sides of the trail remain a helpful guide. But in expansive meadows or above the tree line, the piles of rocks that mark the way aren’t always so easy to find. And mountain trails, rarely go in a straight line.

At the time of Jeremiah, the people of Judah had watched their world fall apart. The traditions they understood as the assurance of God’s presence crumbled.

Yesterday, we lit the first candle on our Advent wreath.  As we launch into this new holiday season, let’s not be in such a rush to dive headlong into the festivities that we miss the subtle beauty of anticipation. Could it be possible this year for us to slow down, to savor the moments that lead us to the manger?

In the quiet hush of Advent, we find ourselves waiting on tiptoe, our hearts tuned to the ancient promises whispered through the prophet Jeremiah. Like a gentle breeze that stirs the soul, these words invite us to embrace the hope that dances on the edges of our longing.

I am one who feels God’s presence more deeply in nature, whether I’m hiking or gardening, looking at grand vistas or noticing small pollinators or new buds. I often think of some of the wisdom shared by Robin Wall Kimmerer, botanist and member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation in her book, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teaching of Plants. She so eloquently brings these very different worldviews together to show us what we can learn from nature. A book well worth meditating on.

On Sunday, when we realized Dr. Kelly might not be coming to the adult forum, Toni Sveom stepped in to share her excitement about a book she is in the middle of reading, The Cost of Free Land by Rebecca Clarren, an award-winning journalist, writing about her Jewish family’s settling in western South Dakota after fleeing Russian pogroms.

In his Friday devotion, “Embracing Reconciliation,” Pastor Peter quoted Dr. Kelly’s website: “Her work primarily focuses on systemic theology, with a unique approach to Lakota Spirituality and how it can inform Christianity and instill healing.” With that in mind, I’d like to share part of the “INDIGENOUS PEOPLE’S CELEBRATION, A Service of Indigenous People,” written and compiled by Kelly when she was a Doctoral student at Luther Seminary and active member of the American Indian/Alaska Native Lutheran Association Inc board of directors.

In the soft glow of Thanksgiving’s warmth, our hearts resonate with the echoes of gratitude and generosity. We’ve woven threads of love into the tapestry of community, creating a vibrant mosaic of shared blessings. Yet, as the autumn leaves surrender to the inevitable chill, we find ourselves standing at the threshold of a new season — Advent.

Yesterday, while many of us were celebrating a day of Thanksgiving, some of our Native neighbors marked the occasion as a “Day of Mourning.” This practice and the accompanying solemn commemorations serve as a way to to honor Native ancestors and their stories, while fostering greater awareness and understanding among the public about the destructive history of the white Europeans that colonized the lands which were their homes.

As I sit down to write this devotion it isn’t surprising what weighs heavy on my mind: the conflict in Israel and Gaza and its heart-rending impacts. I wonder, does Isaiah offer insight? Comfort? Anything?