The Light in the Window
Pastor Jessie’s weekly thoughts on the life of faith
February 20, 2025
Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy.
Psalm 96:12b
Dear Covenant Friends,
Most of us are embracing winter this week, which can be profoundly beautiful if we aren’t driving in a snowstorm, slipping on the driveway or managing feelings of sadness. Winter can be a time of reflection and spiritual growth, especially if we seek quiet time and space over constant noise from news and social media. I like observing trees in winter when snow defines their branches so clearly. Stripped of all their color and foliage, the essence of their shape and strength is made clear.
Several people have shared their sadness with me lately, loneliness and grief that feels more palpable, anger that rises to the surface, tears that come unbidden. I listen with my mind and heart, even though I don’t have answers. Or at least answers that fix anything. But sometimes as I listen to a person in grief or pain, I begin to see their inner shape more clearly, and the strength that is revealed in struggle.
What do you notice in this season- about trees in winter, or a friend in grief? What kind of rootedness helps you endure? What kind of activities keep you connected and generous toward others? What nourishes your soul and gives you hope?
The lectionary scriptures from Luke in this “ordinary time” have also been stripped down to their essence. Jesus tells us his disciples- Follow me. Blessed are the poor. Love your enemies. Be merciful; to give just a few examples.
I invite you to join us on Sundays to hear God’s word, offer your prayers, light a candle and sing. It won’t fix anything, but worshipping together in all seasons helps define our shape as disciples and makes our strengths clearer.
Peace,
Pastor Jessie
Tree, by Frederick Buechner
My brother liked digging holes, and the summer before he died he dug one for an apple tree that I see every day through a window in my office. Thanks to the tree, it is the one hole he dug that has not been filled in and forgotten.
By the side of an old dirt road in the woods is a big maple tree that is so nearly hollow that three children can get into it together and still have wiggle room. Year after year it puts out a canopy of leaves even so, and a friend of mine once said, "If that tree can keep on doing that in the shape it's in, then there's hope for all of us." So we named it the Hope Tree.
Sycamore, willow, catalpa, ash—who knows what their true names are? We know only that they are most beautiful in the fall when they are dying. They are craziest when the wind is blowing. In the snow they are holiest.
Maybe what is most precious about them is their silence. Maybe what is most touching about them is the way they reach out to us as we pass.
