Pastors’ Letters

Each month, our senior pastor, Rev. Randy Bush, writes a “Pastoral Message,” a monthly letter to the congregation in the Reaching Out newsletter. Messages may be seasonal or focused on world events, but they always offer a special word about our spiritual lives and ways that God touches us.

  1. Pastoral Message: July 2017

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    Life is full of unintended consequences, both good and bad. We’ve all had times of serendipity and grace, in which a chance meeting bears rich fruit in the future. Think of those moments when you bump into someone at a store or on the sidewalk, and from that conversation a special blessing later comes your way—a new job opportunity, reconnecting with an old friend, a word of advice that in hindsight makes all the difference in the world. We consider those moments as “lucky breaks” or “chance encounters,” yet it is always appropriate to look for God’s fingerprints in the seemingly mundane events of daily life.

    In the same way, we sometimes make decisions today that end up unleashing a host of negative, unintended consequences tomorrow. We give in to an impulse purchase that unknowingly leads to a serious string of bank overdrafts and financial problems. We jump to a conclusion based on incomplete information and set in motion unfortunate events like broken friendships or lost jobs. I recently read how in 1958 Chairman Mao was concerned about the infestation of rats in Chinese granaries. So he encouraged people nationwide over a two-day period to kill every fly, rat and sparrow they could find. The campaign celebrated the death of almost 1 million rats and 1.4 million sparrows. Unfortunately, the sparrows didn’t just eat grain; they also ate a wide range of pests. With their predators removed, these pests ended up destroying the next year’s grain harvest, which led to the death by starvation of millions of people.

    We will always act on incomplete information and our actions will always have unintended consequences, both good and bad. We never have absolute certainty before making any decision, nor can we foresee the “ripple effect” that will flow out from the individual choices we make this day. An important daily discipline is to remind yourself that God is near at all times. That awareness can help you keep your “spiritual senses” sharp, so that you can perceive both the times God is moving you in a faithful direction or when God is sending you warnings about a dangerous path you’re on. God’s grace is manifest both in unexpected joys and in hints and “spirit whispers” that redirect you from bad inclinations. But to be aware of both the positive nudges and the warning intimations, you need to follow the advice of Psalm 46:10—“Be still and know that I am God!”

    Each of us is a special child of God, beloved by our Lord and Savior. Learning to listen to the still, small voice of God is an important spiritual discipline. Take time to look around each day, giving thanks to the God who is ever near. Hopefully, prayerfully, all the unintended consequences in your life will be positive ones—fruits of a spirit open to the providential leading of our loving God.

    —Randy Bush

  2. Pastoral Message, June 2017

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    I have too many books. Maybe the trouble is that I have too many bookcases. Having so many places to put books—at home, in my office, in our living room, on my bedside table—means that I have no reason to restrict the number of books I accumulate over the years. Most of them I’ve read, so there have been both functional and pleasurable aspects associated with owning all these books. But in the end, there are simply too many of them.

    In an interview with a British author (with the wonderful name of Penelope Lively) it was noted that she has lots of books, lined up in shelves and stacked on tables, and that she can’t bear to part with any of them. She said, “Your books tell you where you’ve been—they’re the story of your own mind. Getting rid of them would be like getting rid of that [story].” There is truth in this remark. By looking at the bindings of books squeezed into my shelves, I remember a bit of what it felt like to read each of them—what they taught me. It’s true; they are a representation of the story of my mind.

    I find this topic analogous to why we go to church regularly and why we still enfold our life story in the story of scripture, even when it speaks to us from 2000 year old texts. If you attend church regularly, over the course of a year you will move through a range of stories each highlighting different life lessons. There’s Advent (anticipation), Christmas (humility and surprises), Lent (confession), Easter (God’s persistent Yes to the world’s No), Pentecost (spiritual gifts and creative fires), and then the long-stretch of Ordinary Time (grace-tinged routines, the persistence of life and hope and love). The seasons of the church year “tell you where you’ve been,” tell you who you are, and remind you of much you might have forgotten.

    The same is true with scripture—the 66 books of the bible lined up neatly as if on a library reference shelf, offering a wide range of reading and learning options. There are the creation stories in Genesis, the tales of Abraham, Moses and desert wanderings totally dependent on God, the wonders of judges, the stern lectures of prophets, the honest poetry of the Psalms, the wonderful stories of Ruth, Esther, Jonah and others. Then we move into the condensed historical record of the New Testament—gospel accounts of Jesus, full of parables and passion, epistolary exhortations by Paul to toddler-aged Christian communities, apostle Acts, sermons from James and in Hebrews, expansive visions in Revelation. They all are reference points for the stages of our life—stories of redemption, grace and power that give order to our ever-changing days.

    I need to give away some of my books, and I promise to do so someday. But some things I’ll hold onto, just as I’ll hold on to the rhythm of the church year. The saga of Genesis to Revelation. The Word made flesh in Christ and (in some pale way) in me, by God’s grace and timeless scripture. May the same be said of all of us.

    Randy Bush

  3. Pastoral Message, May 2017

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    On Staten Island, there’s an Italian restaurant called “Enoteca Maria.” Actually, it is only half an Italian restaurant, because the other half of the menu changes daily. The fixed half is Italian, but the rest features different cuisines from around the world. And best of all, these specialty menu offerings are not prepared by professional chefs; they’re cooked by grandmothers. This “international house of grandmothers” is wildly popular. People have to make reservations weeks in advance.

    Here’s how it works: Every night a “nonna” (Italian for “grandmother”) from a different country puts together a menu honoring her native cuisine. During a week, you may see food from Sri Lanka, Armenia, the Philippines, Russia, or Japan. Everything’s made fresh and is literally “home-cooked” by a grandmother. There are also one-on-one cooking classes pairing guests alongside these “nonnas.” The beauty of this restaurant is that, whether you are working back in the kitchen and enjoying a meal seated in the restaurant, there is an overall, vibrant exchange of culture, stories and recipes.

    I really like several aspects of this creative New York City restaurant. I love the idea of literal grandmothers working side-by-side in the kitchen, preparing home-cooked meals from vastly different cultures. I love the idea of sitting down at a table and finding out I could have lasagna or Japanese gyoza and shrimp dumplings; and that if I came back two days later, I could try Polish food.

    We just celebrated Easter a few weeks ago. Jesus of Nazareth fulfilled his prophetic role through death on a cross and then being resurrected from the grave. He is now revered as Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Savior of the world. If we are to appreciate this good news at all, it has to be on Jesus’ terms, not our own. This is not an event we can pick and choose the details we like or the theological assertions we approve of. The Easter resurrection is part of our Christian heritage, codified in the four gospels, delineated through various confessions and creeds, and reaffirmed in annual celebrations and Sunday services in churches the world over. This is not to say that the resurrection is easily understood by our rational minds. It’s not. It is meant to be mysterious, awe-inspiring, troubling-amazing-challenging-comforting all at once.

    So how can we best approach the wonder of Easter and the promise of resurrection hope that it announces to the world? There are lots of ways to do this, but without getting too academic or technical, here’s one option: Easter is like a meal served at a restaurant whose menu you didn’t choose, but whose offerings you trust as if they come from a loving grandmother’s kitchen. It is a “letting go” of the normal way of doing things—demanding service from waiters, itemizing precisely what we want to eat, calculating the costs and paying bills down to the necessary pennies—and instead, simply enjoying a meal provided out of love and guaranteed to expand our perspective beyond the limits of our own little cultural setting.

    God loves lasagna and pierogis and gyoza. Christ has been raised as Lord of all. Shouldn’t our meals and our lives better reflect this rich, diverse perspective? For of such, is the Kingdom of God.

    Randy Bush

  4. Pastoral Message, April 2017

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    After Ash Wednesday services, I always walk away with a darkly smudged thumb on my right hand. That is because I have pressed that finger into the ashes several dozen times—and then wiped the ashes on people’s foreheads while reminding them that they are of dust and to dust they shall return. There is something wonderfully vulnerable and personal about applying ashes on Ash Wednesday—literally touching the foreheads of friends and strangers alike and doing so out of a shared commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Seeing my smudged thumb later reminds me of that faith connection. It is a mark of honor, stubbornly ground into the literal whorls and lines of my thumbprint.

    After Palm Sunday, there are invariably palm branches lying around the church. Before that special day, palm branches are mailed to the church in packaging awaiting someone to patiently separate them and prepare them for distribution. You can picture the children waving them; you can imagine the adults carefully folding the leaves into crosses. Palm branches serve as lingering reminders of that day when people cried out to Jesus as their Savior, seeking his help. Every year a few branches make it into my office. Others are kept by our housekeeping staff to be burnt for next year’s Ash Wednesday ashes. They all remind me of how we are part of the Palm Sunday story—part of the crowd calling out to Jesus, seeking to find our place in the larger story of faith with Christ at its center.

    By contrast, there isn’t anything tangible that I take away from the Easter services. Yes, there are lilies and spring flowers that decorate the sanctuary, but they are somewhat tangential to the larger message of resurrection. There are Easter eggs and jelly beans and chocolate bunnies, but they are obvious secular appropriations of the religious holiday and more of a distraction than a spiritual discipline. There is the Easter service itself—with communion that is shared, with uplifting hymns and music and fellowship. As wonderful as that all is, it doesn’t linger as long as one might hope. We move past Easter Sunday to regular ol’ Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and soon enough find ourselves simply living out our mid-April, uneventful routines.

    But there are two things that do linger from Easter and remind us of Christ’s resurrection long after Easter services are done. The first is sunshine itself, especially when seen near the horizon just after sunrise. The primary image for Easter is that of sunlight breaking over a cemetery landscape—breaking into the darkness and despair of grieving women disciples—and illuminating a wonderful, unimagined, bright new reality. The one who was dead is now alive! That reminder should not be limited to Easter mornings. It is one that should come to mind every time we marvel at a bright, sunny day or pause to reflect on the colors and beauty of an early morning sunrise.

    The second persistent reminder is Sunday morning. We gather to worship on Sundays, as opposed to other days or evenings of the week, solely because of Easter. Because Christ was raised on that day, we gather each Sunday to remember that good news and look for him in the faces around us, the sacraments we share, and the worship we offer. Each Sunday is Easter Sunday. By holding onto that perspective, every week becomes one inaugurated and invigorated by the Easter good news. So hold onto these Easter reminders for the weeks ahead: Christ is risen. He is risen indeed!

    Randy Bush

  5. Pastoral Message, March 2017

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    This year the month of March rests firmly in the season of Lent. Ash Wednesday literally occurs on the first day of the month, and when we turn over our calendars, we still have 16 days to go until Easter. Lent is a time for us to focus on ourselves and our world in relation to God—the One who knows us completely, calls us to live justly and compassionately, and loves us enough to redeem us by the sacrificial grace of Jesus Christ. It is a season for asking “God, how are we doing?” as well as “What could I do better?”

    Given that the good news of Jesus has been with us almost 2,000 years, are we doing a better job today of putting the Gospel into practice than we did yesterday? In many ways, we can answer that question in the affirmative. We have a greater sense of the universal nature of God’s realm and the church of Jesus Christ than we did in centuries past. We are doing better at seeing our missionary work as “service with co-workers of the faith” instead of “converting the heathen masses.” And the nature of the global internet means that people in distant lands can read the same devotional books, listen to the same sermons, and discuss aspects of faith with Christians here in America and around the world.

    But are we progressing as a human species as well as people of faith? Robert Gordon recently wrote an interesting book called The Rise and Fall of American Growth, in which he argued that the advances from 1870–1970 far overshadow the inventions and advances of the last half century. The late 19th century brought amazing improvements to the quality of life through inventions such as electricity, urban sanitation, and the internal combustion engine. The early 20th century continued this trend through the development of chemicals, medicines, and modern communications. Suddenly electric lights replaced oil lamps, flush toilets replaced outhouses, cars and electric trains replaced horses, and prescription medicine ended the risk of death from common infections.

    But in many ways, the great age of inventions is behind us. Air travel and computer technology have connected us more nationally and globally, but it can be argued that, in and of themselves, these advances have not dramatically improved our quality of life. While life expectancies have risen, they have not been evenly distributed across race, gender, and nationality. Surely the investments into wrinkle creams, male baldness cures, and sexual potency drugs could have been better utilized in battling cancer, malaria, and AIDS. Infant mortality remains a troubling issue in both developed and developing nations. Educational standards and workplace improvements are not where we might have hoped, given the great strides made in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

    Lent is when we recommit ourselves to walk beside Christ in his ministry of healing, protecting, and loving God’s creation. It is done with “Easter” hope, even as we recognize how far we still have to travel to reach the “promised land.” Be prayerful in asking, “Lord, what can we do now as your people in the 21st century to offer good news to this world?” Be it through actions or activism, prayers or moral progress, I am very sure God wants both to hear this question and offer us an answer we can take to heart.

    –Randy Bush

  6. Pastoral Message, February 2017

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    Fill in the blank: When I think of my body right now, I’m not very fond of my (blank). The answer to this question should not be influenced by America’s flawed obsession with perfect physiques. This shouldn’t be about your measurements, weight or six-pack abs. Rather it should identify one part of your physical body. For example, at this moment I’m not very fond of my hamstrings. While being relatively tall, I seem to have short hamstrings, which cause my lower-back muscles to work too hard and thus provoke periodic back spasms. When that happens, I think very unkind thoughts about my hamstrings.


  7. A Statement from Pastor Randy

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    It has been a troubling week in America. To remain silent on current events is to be unfaithful to the gospel of Christ.

    As you likely all know, in the past few days, several executive orders were signed by President Trump. Some of them are political grandstanding. Some are more threatening, running contrary to how scripture calls us to live. Tuesday’s order to streamline and expedite pipeline projects like the Keystone XL and Dakota Access pipeline undermine our commitment to protect God’s creation and to honor the places our Native American brethren deem sacred. Wednesday’s order to punish any Sanctuary cities as well as the President’s statement that he believes torture works violate our Judeo-Christian duty to welcome the stranger and to treat others as we would have them treat us. And Friday’s executive order to suspend all US refugee programs for several months and to reduce the number of refugees allowed into America in 2017 causes malicious harm to the most vulnerable of all God’s children.

    God is never to be confined to one nation’s borders; hence the concept of “America First” runs contrary to the heart of the gospel. That is why these recent actions and the policies surrounding them are more heretical than historical. If you support President Trump or oppose President Trump, your responsibility is the same: to remain vigilant and hold this nation’s elected leaders to Christian values of compassion, justice and peace. Let us pray, and act, and speak out until they do. For as it says in Hebrews 12:  Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. To God alone be the glory. Amen.

    —Rev. Dr. Randy Bush

  8. Pastoral Message, January 2017

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    The noted African American theologian and pastor Howard Thurman published a short devotional book called Meditations of the Heart. In it he shared this brief anecdote:

    Years ago, walking along a road outside Rangoon, I noted at intervals along the way a roadside stone with a crock of water and, occasionally, some fruit. Water and fruit were put there by Buddhist priests to comfort and bless any passerby—one’s spiritual salutation to another. The fact that I was a traveler from another part of the world, speaking a strange language and practicing a different faith, made no difference. What mattered was the fact that I was walking along the road—what my mission was, who I was—all irrelevant.

    There are serendipitous moments in our life that bring us joy—finding a quarter on the sidewalk or money in a jacket pocket; having the sun break through the Pittsburgh clouds and shine all around us; seeing children playing outside or watch a dog chase a tennis ball. Lifting our eyes off the ground (and off our electronic devices!) allows us to catch glimpses of beauty and God’s grace around us. But our faith calls us to trust in something more than serendipity. We are also called to be intentional in our acts of comfort, grace and blessing.

    The past year is now history. Year-end contribution appeals will likely stop appearing in your mailbox. A new year is dawning with both challenges and opportunities for all of us. It is a perfect time to practice “intentional serendipity.” Even though that phrase is an oxymoron, it is still an idea worth considering. How about sending a handwritten note telling one person you value in your life how special they are? Or what about if you notice someone behind you in the grocery store checkout line who has only a couple items and you offer to add it to your total—or if you see someone eating alone at a table beside you in a restaurant and you pick up their tab? First pray that you might be a blessing this month to someone—and then keep your eyes and heart open, trusting that God will provide the opportunity for your “intentional serendipity.”2

    Thurman ended his meditation by asking: In your own way, do you keep a lantern burning by the roadside with a note saying where you may be found just in case? Do you place a jar of cool water and a bit of fruit under a tree to help the needy traveler? God knows the answer and so do you! May we each be a blessing this month.

    —Randy Bush

  9. Pastoral Message, December 2016

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    I’m not sure if nativity scenes on Christmas cards actually catch the moment we should be remembering as this crazy year winds to a close. Don’t get me wrong—remembering the setting where the Christ child lay humbly in a manger, surrounded by Mary, Joseph, animals and shepherds is a healing and lovely reminder of how God came to us in the form of an infant. It offers us a vision of peace in times of turmoil and comfort when so much seems to be uncertain and broken.

    But there is a scene prior to the Bethlehem manger scene that needs to be pondered during Advent and Christmas. Not the scene of the Holy Family making their way from Nazareth down to Bethlehem. Not even the image of the angels appearing to the shepherds who were watching their flocks by night in the fields. In fact, it is not something that can be depicted in artwork or stained glass windows. It is the moment when this world’s reality was shattered by the in-breaking of God’s full reality through the incarnation of Christ.

    We glimpsed part of that divine moment when the angel told Mary that she would bear a son. We focus on that amazing moment when the gospel of John tells us how “the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory.” We humbly picture that miraculous moment through the hymn found in Paul’s letter to the Philippians, where it says “Jesus did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself and was born in human likeness.” Ultimately, God broke into our world. God shattered whatever barrier we imagine exists between earth and heaven and came to us—literally right beside us, in our very midst, into human history long ago as well as our present day and age.

    To me, that changes every conversation we have had during the past year. God has broken into our world to offer healing, hope and redemption. God has broken into our world and been beside us, as we have witnessed a year of continued fighting in Syria and terrorist attacks around the world, as we celebrated another Olympics and yet struggled to rebuild after Hurricane Matthew, as Black Lives Matter and the Standing Rock protests continue to push for justice while the recent national election appears to reflect how our country has moved in a direction of fearfulness and isolationism.

    If I truly believe in the Christmas represented by nativity scene cards and the scripture proclamation of Christ’s birth, then my first response to all historical events is to reflect on God’s presence in the midst of this world—weeping alongside God in Christ who weeps over our violent ways; speaking out beside the prophetic God in Christ who knows that silence and despair have no place in this world’s unfinished incarnation of a kingdom of justice and mercy and welcome. Christmas started when God said “Enough. I will come to you that you may find your way back to me and to one another.” May we remember that heavenly promise as cards are opened, presents are exchanged, and a world around us waits—waits—waits and hopes for the peace that passes all understanding.

    —Rev. Dr. Randy Bush

  10. Pastoral Message, November 2016

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    When I think about Thanksgiving, there are two images that come to mind. The first is the “greeting card” image of a Thanksgiving meal—turkey, potatoes, vegetables, rolls—arrayed on a large table with family or friends around it. It’s true that some people eat alone; some can’t afford all the “fixings”; some families aren’t able to come together for a host of reasons. But that is the common image of the Thanksgiving holiday. The second image is what the kitchen looks like after one of these stereotypical Thanksgiving meals: dishes stacked up, glasses and silverware and serving platters balanced precariously on counters, a turkey carcass needing to be cleaned off and either (for turkey broth) or discarded in the trash. Though messy, this also is a part of the Thanksgiving holiday.
    Since this is a season of “thanksgivings,” I want to give thanks for some of the messy realities in our world today—for the ways these less-than-ideal things still point us back to God and remind us ever to trust in Christ.

    I’m thankful for this election season. It has been a powerful reminder of the fragility of democracy and the persistent need to ensure all people have the opportunity to vote for their elected officials. It’s also been a telling reminder about the lingering challenges our nation faces with sexism, xenophobia, white privilege, and maintaining a truly fair and independent press.

    I’m thankful for our continued engagement in the Middle East. It has taught us that in today’s interconnected world, we cannot pretend that Christianity is the only religion that matters and that American interests will always be at the top of the global priority list. The refugee crisis and the senseless violence in Syria, Iraq, Yemen, Afghanistan, and elsewhere hopefully have humbled us to be mindful of the “ripple effects” of all wars and chastened us to be more compassionate toward every person in need.

    I’m thankful for the Black Lives Matter movement and the forceful articulations raised in a variety of forms to challenge racism and the flaws in our criminal justice system. It has taught us how to walk beside grieving mothers and families and stirred us to seek change that heals our land. It has provoked us to ask “what should be done?” as professional athletes use their body-language to further this important discussion. I pray that the faithful, holistic solutions offered by all affected by racism will move from theory to reality soon, for the sake of all our cities and communities.

    I’m thankful for mainline churches seeking to stay relevant even as their membership falls, and for a generation of people absent from churches on Sunday mornings who trust their own instincts about being “spiritual” but not “religious.” As God’s spirit moves us from passivity in our pews to engagement in our social environment, the church is alive and strong. As Christ’s story is both told creatively and lived personally, “spiritual” inclinations will have the chance to be grounded in “religious,” sacramental, healing, congregational life.

    I’m thankful for ELPC—for upcoming construction dust, for people leaving and coming in, for the hustle and bustle of everyday life. May Thanksgiving mean more than a meal with nice leftovers; and may the messiness around you never keep you from trusting in the Creator who called forth life from primordial chaos and new life from an empty tomb.