First Mennonite Church Hutchinson KS

From the waters of creation
God compels the earth to rise
Depths recall their own formation
Atoms spread through earth and skies
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia
Bless the earth by rain baptized

—from the hymn “From the Waters of Creation” by Rev. Anna Strickland |

"If we are going to trust our belovedness, could we see and receive our baptism as an affirmation from our Heavenly Parent? We should remember that we belong to God. We are God’s handiwork, created in Jesus Christ for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life (Ephesians 2:10). We are created, called, and commissioned at our own baptism, which should fuel our joy to be children of God."

—Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong (), from her commentary on Luke 3:21-22 |

"This image offers a snapshot of Jesus right before he steps into his calling, on the threshold of spectacular affirmation. He is completely suspended, embraced, and upheld by the waters of baptism. The water’s surface is choppy. The future is unknown and precarious. His path is a lonely and formidable one, eventually leading to his suffering and death.

Despite what is to come, Jesus reaches toward the surface. Two fish are drawn to the light of his halo, foreshadowing his companionship with fishers and his miraculous feeding of the five thousand. All of creation is leaning into his call.

This is what trusting your belovedness feels like—muscles and bones relieved of gravity’s burden, serenity, weightlessness, oneness with creation, and the warmth of God’s love permeating every cell of your body and every corner of your soul. "

— from the artist statement for "Beloved" by Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman |

Trust your belovedness.
Let it be a protest,
an act of resistance,
a song of celebration.
Trust your belovedness in a world
that is rarely satisfied.
Wear it like a badge of honor.
Speak it as confidently as your last name.
Tattoo it to your heart.

—excerpt from “The Bravest Thing We Can Do” by Rev. Sarah Speed |

We began our series by acknowledging our weariness and we conclude with trusting our belovedness; ultimately, our joy is rooted in the fact that we belong to God. In the story of Jesus’ baptism, the heavens part open and the voice of God wraps Jesus in joy and loving care. Some translations of Luke 3:22 read, “in you, I find happiness and delight.” Therefore, we can conclude that we are also the source of God’s joy. When we trust our belovedness, we live and give fully—we are compelled to treat all of creation with tenderness and care. When we trust our belovedness, we have endless reasons to rejoice.

“I must tell you that claiming your own blessedness always leads to a deep desire to bless others. . . . It is remarkable how easy it is to bless others, to speak good things to and about them, to call forth their beauty and truth, when you yourself are in touch with your own blessedness. The blessed one always blesses.”
—Henri Nouwen, from his book, Life of the Beloved

A prayer for Epiphany:

God of the weary traveler,
our feet are dusty from the roads we’ve traveled
this past week,
this past year,
every day of our lives.
We’ve followed your star here, looking for a glimmer of hope.
And now, after a long journey, we set our baggage down.
We have arrived.
We’re here, and we’re on holy ground.
You may not show up where we expect you,
but we trust that you are here nevertheless.
Be known to us
in the hope of the star,
the peace of a baby snuggled in the manger,
the joy of arrival,
and Love that could not stay away.
We are here. You are here.
And we are so very grateful.
Amen.

—prayer by Rev. Anna Strickland |

Mark your calendars and plan to attend this fun event for a good cause!

It's time for our annual "A Taste of Hutchinson-The Men Cook" event at the Hutchinson Art Center, Saturday, January 20, 2024, 7pm-8:30pm! Save the date and buy your tickets now!

Please share this Facebook post in as many ways as you can to get the word out about this fun event! Thank you!

January 21 at First Mennonite! We'll also be celebrating communion together.

Mennonite World Conference has many members, each one different from the others, and yet together the members create a beautiful picture of the body of Christ.
Let's celebrate Anabaptist World Fellowship Sunday 2024 together!
https://mwc-cmm.org/en/resources/anabaptist-world-fellowship-sunday-2024

Oh weary soul return to the place your body knows
Retrace the well-worn pathways deep etched into your bones
Relax your weary muscles from daily stress and struggles
Let muscle memory lead your soul to what it needs

—from the hymn “Oh Weary Soul Return” by Rev. Anna Strickland |

"Ritual is not always easy. Ritual is not always pleasant. In fact, ritual can be weary. Yet, the result of ritual usually produces something memorable, something relaxing, or something pleasant. If ritual is weary, there must be anticipated joy to follow."

—Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong (), from her commentary on Luke 2:21-38 |

"In this image, Simeon bestows his blessing and prophecy with the urgency of a man desperate to say everything that needs to be said before his time runs out. Anna looks off into the distance, as if peering into the future. Her devotion to God over the years has sharpened her gaze; she knows redemption when she sees it.

In the top left, I depicted Jesus’ hand being cradled by the hands of his parents. This tender moment is frozen in time, like a Polaroid photograph placed in a scrapbook. Mary and Joseph treasure their child as they receive the fullness of his calling. I imagine them memorizing each wrinkle and tiny fingernail, treasuring the smallness of a hand that will one day become a strong fist, fighting for justice for the oppressed and liberation for those held captive."

— from the artist statement for "Revelation" by Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity |

Take me to the creaky pews,
pews that have held the straightened spines
and silent prayers of so many.
Take me to church.
Move me through the rituals.
Tell me why it matters,
so that next time,
when someone else’s world falls apart,
I will have the muscle memory to share.

—excerpt from “Muscle Memory” by Rev. Sarah Speed |

After eight days have passed, Mary and Joseph circumcise their child and give him the name Jesus. They return to the temple in Jerusalem to enact the sacred birth rituals of their culture and tradition. While they are doing what is customary, the unexpected occurs. A man named Simeon is led by the Spirit into the temple to proclaim Jesus as the “light of revelation.” Then, a prophet named Anna suddenly approaches them; she praises God and speaks about Jesus to everyone longing for redemption. Rituals mark sacred turning points in our lives. They can help us make meaning of celebrations, losses, and transitions. As new parents to Jesus, Mary and Joseph could feel weary for what lies ahead, but perhaps these sacred rituals—and those who bear witness to them—bolster them and give them courage for the journey. How do our sacred rituals root us and help us live into new chapters with courage?

Perhaps joy is sown in the meaningful ways we choose to mark and celebrate our lives. Can rituals bring meaning to our lives when our futures are deeply uncertain? Can new rituals help us make meaning of confusing, ambiguous, daunting, or difficult chapters in our lives? What are the unexpected blessings that can come from ritual acts?

The last time I saw God face to face
I was looking at a bed of tulips.
God was every color of red.
I was merely a mortal,
in awe of it all.

The time before that,
we were tying back the curtains,
looking for stars.
God was the deepest purple
and the brightest light.

—excerpt from “The Last Time I Saw God” by Rev. Sarah Speed |

When fear and anger lead to walls
Around our calloused souls
Where wounds and scars have made us hard
And pressed us for control
Expansive Christ, expand us
To ever make more room
Crack souls apart and sprout our hearts
So hardened seeds can bloom

—from the hymn “Make Room” by Rev. Anna Strickland |

"We should acknowledge that the world is weary from grief, war, a pandemic, political strife, personal and corporate failings, and the list could continue. Although these weary acts take place, our rejoicing happens when we encounter life together. When we change the story as it might seem to be and make room for collective moments to rejoice. For no one knows the day nor the hour of the second Advent, so let’s not lean on our own understanding but in all our ways trust God to direct our paths—offering God our best by making room for others. The room we make will allow a weary world to rejoice."

—Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong (), from her commentary on Luke 2:1-20 |

"Recently, I was standing at The Dwelling at Richmond Hill. The former slave quarters are open and offered for visitation. After the tour, our white tour guide mentioned that Black members of the staff felt a great reverence, a holy presence at The Dwelling. The space held the presence of God; it was like entering a sanctuary.

I remember the same feeling when I was young, touring the slave quarters at Monticello. But now, listening to the Richmond Hill staff testimony, I understood these spaces in a new way, with a reverence for the God-like presence of the Black mother in the depths of oppression. I saw in that moment what Dr. Christena Cleveland so eloquently explains in her book, 'God is a Black Woman.'

In this painting, Black Mother God has asked her daughter Mary to hold the role of surrogate for the pregnancy of infant Creator. Mary has carried the child to term. She has given birth. God embraces Mary as well as the Holy Infant in gratitude. For without Mary’s surrogacy, the incarnation could not be."

— from the artist statement for "Surrogacy" by Hannah Garrity |

“We can’t calm every storm,
but we can turn on the porch lights.
We can add chairs to the table.
We can keep clean sheets on the guest bed,
just in case.
We can hold the elevator,
and learn pronouns.
We can tell stories of belonging,
and take turns listening.”

—excerpt from “There Is Room” by Rev. Sarah Speed |

Luke’s Gospel tells us that when Mary gives birth to Jesus, she lays him in a manger, for there was no place for them in the guest room. Scholars argue about where, exactly, the birth occurs—and why. Was it in a stable or the living room of a simple peasant home? Was Bethlehem teeming with visitors who were also there to be counted in the census? Was Joseph’s family inhospitable because they disapproved of his marital situation? Regardless of where the birth occurs, we know that Christ is born in a crowded, unlikely place. And yet, God makes a place here anyway. God draws the circle wider as shepherds and unexpected guests arrive. This Christmas, let us also make room—for strangers and neighbors alike. For this is good news of great joy for all people.

Jesus’ birth is a story about God making room—for great joy to break beyond boundaries, for awe to push past the limits of our imaginations, for welcome to be extended to shepherds and strangers. This is a story about how God makes room.

In what ways can you make room for others this season? How can you extend welcome? How can you make room for joy?

"The image is inspired by waters meeting one another. This intersecting flow portrays Zechariah’s words meeting John the Baptist’s life. It is a crashing toward, a central meeting place, a potential energy meeting a kinetic being.

Holy Mother, your love is mighty—more powerful than all of the forces that act to barricade justice, to block righteousness. Guide us like you guided Zechariah in your ways of peace, in your strength of courage, in your acts of love. Amen."

— from the artist statement for "Prophecy" by Hannah Garrity |

Praise to God, for God is worthy
Seers of old have foretold
Covenants of mercy
God’s great love for us is aching
Guide our feet into peace
As the dawn is breaking

—from the hymn “Lullaby of Praise” by Rev. Anna Strickland |

"Mary sings of a new world order based on past experiences with God. Her joy is found in remembering what the world has the potential to be based on the presence of God in all things. God has shown strength. God has scattered the proud. God has brought down the powerful. God has lifted the lowly. God has filled the hungry. God has helped those who have served God according to the promise made to Abraham. God has already done things that should allow a weary world to rejoice."

—Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong (), from her commentary on Luke 1:46-55 |

"Two years before the birth of Jesus, during the Pax Romana, one of the worst public executions happened a half day’s walk away from where Mary grew up. She came of age during a time of occupation, more than likely unable to recall a time of true peace and liberation...

Fast forward thousands of years and the same land where Mary grew up is still being occupied. One can imagine that the cries for liberation and the prayers for justice still ring down the streets of Bethlehem."

— from the artist statement for "Two Mothers" by Rev. Nicolette Peñaranda (nicolette.faison) |

Like a canary in a snowstorm,
I don’t need another song of what is;
I need a song of what could be.
So sing with me.
Our voices may get drowned out by the wind,
but surely someone will ask:
Was that a flash of yellow in the snow?
Was that the sound of hope?

—excerpt from “The Sound of Hope” by Rev. Sarah Speed |

As soon as Zechariah’s voice returns, his first words are gratitude and blessing. He sings a story of praise for God’s protection and promise, and then he showers a blessing on his newborn son. He sings a story of hope. After Elizabeth proclaims blessings upon Mary, Mary sings: “My soul magnifies God; my spirit rejoices in God.” Mary sings about a God of liberation who pulls the powerful from their thrones and lifts up the lowly. Mary sings a story of hope, one in which justice and joy are interwoven. As we prepare to celebrate Christ’s birth, may we also sing stories of hope, justice, and joy.

Even when the earth seems bare
Plant the seeds of hope with care
If you water in the drought
You will reap with joyous shout
Gloria! Isn’t it amazing?
Gloria! Isn’t it amazing?

—from the hymn “Isn't It Amazing?” by Rev. Anna Strickland |

"Holy Wisdom, we allow ourselves to be amazed, to dream, to lean into your call to garner your gifts the way raindrops become creeks and creeks become coursing rivers. We challenge ourselves to see the glimmers of hope in the murky waters of our current time. We beg you for clarity, but no, you continue to show us the way through subtle nudges, not obvious signs. We must flow on in endless song. How can we keep from singing? Perhaps our tears and our songs are one. Sing with us.

Holy Word, may our actions match your call, your claim on our lives. May we come together in our lament to sow the change your justice calls forth. Sow with us, we pray, that our next generation may reap our tears with shouts of joy. Amen."

— from the artist statement for "Watercourses" by Hannah Garrity |