From Pastor Julie
A few days before Christmas we received at our door a box of Harry & David “Royal Riviera” pears, a thoughtful gift from my mother. This special type of Comice pear, grown in the Rogue Valley of southern Oregon, is an annual family favorite.
But this year, when I opened the decorative box I found, resting in the tissue paper, six ugly pears, mottled with dark-brown stains and looking as if they belonged in the discard pile at Safeway. “Maybe these are last year’s pears that got lost in the mail,” I said to Tim.
Then I noticed the little white slip of paper tucked inside the box—a message to Harry & David customers. The note explained that the dark blemishes on the pears are called “wind scars” and are the result of high winds whipping tree branches and causing abrasions to the skin of the delicate pears. The message went on to say that these same winds contributed to the spread of devastating fires in Harry & David’s Southern Oregon community this past summer, destroying homes and displacing countless people.
“We often pride ourselves in the beauty of our Royal Rivera Pears,” the note said, “and this harvest is no exception—if only in a different way. These scars are a reminder of what our community has been through and how we’ve rallied to support one another.” Then this final assurance: “The untouched, juicy, delicious interior of the pear demonstrates: it’s what’s inside that counts.” Sure enough, the pears tasted as sweet and creamy as always.
A wind-scarred year behind us.
I have come to think of 2020 as a wind-scarred year. During the past twelve months, the human community has experienced:
deadly winds of the covid-19 pandemic;
bitter winds of unemployment, dreams deferred, life interrupted;
violent winds of racism;
divisive winds of social, political and religious polarization;
scorching winds of dehumanizing discourse.
Artist Jan Richardson says that part of the work of being human is “to name the darkness for what it is and to find what it asks of us.” FBC family, as we limp from this painful year as a community of Christ, what scars need to be named? (And let’s be sure to name not only our own wounds, but our neighbors’ as well—friends and strangers alike.)
What are the scars asking of us and how will we allow the bruising winds of 2020 to inform our priorities as a congregation in 2021?
A wind-fueled year before us.
There is another wind, you know. A wind that fires our courage and fills our sails. A transforming, liberating wind that is the very breath of God. A wind that loves to blow us into life-giving assignments:
Do justice.
Love kindness.
Walk humbly with the Eternal.
Love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
The Wind is blowing, FBC family. Let's hoist our sails. A new year awaits.
Peace and grace,
