Dear Ones of St. Columba's,

 There is a poem by William Martin that every once and a while pops up on my screen while I am scrolling through social media. It talks about teaching our children to love ordinary things, and to notice the sacred in ordinary life. Here is how it ends:

Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.

I'm thinking about this poem in part because last week as we got ready to celebrate Pentecost together (an extraordinary day!) we also learned about the death of Jim Wallace, and had an opportunity to cry together. Jim, as many of you know, has not been well for a long time. His health, however, hasn't stopped him from coming to church, from being the driving force behind our men's Bible Study group, or from dreaming big dreams for St. Columba's, and for himself. His passing was, for me, one of those things that isn't a huge suprise, but still came as a shock. 

What wasn't shocking to me was how right it felt to be together as a community when most of us received that news. Death is an ordinary thing - something we all will face, and experience. And yet, as the poem says, it is good to cry, good to acknowledge that we love each other and do not want to have to say goodbye. 

We will, of course, celebrate the life of Jim Wallace together soon. We will worship and sing together, thank God for his life, and continue to remember him and hold Bonnie and their children and grandchildren in our prayers. And I am grateful - grateful for the opportunity to mourn such a sweet and solid human being, and to that sacred, ordinary work of both tears and remembering in community with all of you: the ones who knew Jim well and the ones who don't. 

We believe in the sacredness of ordinary things, and ordinary lives. We believe that God inhabits all the ordinary moments of our days and nights, each ordinary breath we take, each sweet ordinary opportunity we have to love. We teach this to our children, and to each other, whenever we gather: be it for food, song, worship, learning, or to serve. 

We can help make the ordinary come alive - for our children and for each other. And we trust God, that the extraordinary will take care of itself.

With care and gratitude,

Alissa