Several years ago, I decided to reclaim a cross pendant I hadn’t worn in a long, long time. I spent a lot of my young adult years exploring other spiritual traditions, and, at the time, was really turned-off by what I knew about Christianity. By the time I found the cross, hidden away in a drawer at my parents’ house, alongside my 4-H ring, I had a new understanding of Christianity.

I also had warm memories of this particular cross – I think it was a confirmation gift from one of my grandmothers – and yet I was uncomfortable wearing a cross out in public. For starters, I lived in Seattle, where I had previously been comfortable in the land of “spiritual but not religious.” Moreover, I didn’t want other people to make up a story about me – judge me, I guess – based on my jewelry. 

I had embraced the teachings of Jesus that we are all beloved children of God and that right behind “loving God with all our hearts, all our souls, all our minds, and all our strength,” the second most important commandment is to “love our neighbors as ourselves.” So after much thought and prayer, I realized that I needed another symbol to slide onto the chain to complete the message I wanted to communicate — a peace sign.

I’d been wearing this peace sign/cross combination for quite awhile when I visited Bethlehem four years ago. Standing alongside the dividing wall in Bethlehem, reading the outcries of people around the world to bring peace to this land, I understood, at a deeper level, all that my favorite necklace means.
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One of the great joys of my life is living in a place that seems pretty much what I imagine heaven could be like . . . warm sunshine, lovely open spaces, fauna that shows itself on the ground and in the sky.  Really, a dream come true if you like hiking!
 
A handful of trails in the San Diego area really do stand out if you’re looking for ways to find God in nature.  Try these:
 
1)  Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve is the diamond of North San Diego County. The spectacular views and cool ocean breezes are impossible to beat. Climbing a fairly steep hill at first, it plateaus out to several separate trails that all reveal 180 degree ocean views from above the bluff.  Truly astonishing!
 
2)  Way Up Trail in Elfin Forest Recreational Reserve is for those that actually enjoy climbing a good hill. After some switchbacks through natural chaparral and riparian oaks, the Olivenhain Dam is widely visible.  The hill views from up top are quite incredible.
 
3)  San Elijo Lagoon is a lovely way to see some active bird life and stay as cool as possible on the coast. The trail starts at the mouth of the lagoon and continues inland through shady eucalyptus forest. The Lagoon Conservancy has recently created a brand new loop trail called Annie’s Slot Canyon that is SO fun, very steep and narrow but short and doable, revealing a view at the top of the entire lagoon!  
 
4) Los Penasquitos Canyon Preserve is lush after the rains and the wildflowers have been blooming. Once you’ve been on the trail for 5 minutes, you’ll feel like you’re wandering around in some remote wilderness with gentle rolling hills that end in a decent little waterfall.  It’s magnificent! 
 
5) Iron Mountain is a truly awesome, semi-strenuous and lengthy hike that winds through East County low chaparral with a steady rocky ascent on an openly exposed trail. Try hiking this trail on full moon evenings; climb up at dusk watching the sunset and moonrise, climb down in the full moonlight. You’ll be amazed at how bright the moonlight is – you can actually hike safely with just a flashlight. This is one of my favorite hikes in San Diego – day or night.

Many years ago, I was part of a young adults’ discussion group.  This was a great group of people – passionate about their faith, eager to be in relationship with God and one another, and not afraid to ask ourselves difficult questions – much like the groups I’ve been blessed to find at St. Andrew’s.  When it was announced one evening that the topic for next month would be the parable of the prodigal son, I remember thinking “Oh, that will be easy.  I know that story.”

I did know the story, and had known it all my life.  In kindergarten, I had colored in simple line illustrations of the muddy prodigal son surrounded by pigs; I had been to youth retreats where I was encouraged to think of the ways in which I needed to spiritually turn around and go back home; I had heard sermons discussing how damaging we are to others when we behave like the older brother.  I knew the story, and I knew what it meant.  So I arrived at that month’s meeting, looking forward to a pleasant evening with some good friends going over some familiar ideas.

We sat there, discussing the story, sharing our faith journeys.  Sometimes we were the prodigal, sometimes we were the older brother.  The evening was pretty much going as expected.  But then, something surprising happened.  During one of those occasional lulls in conversation, one of the members asked off-handedly, “How come we’re never the father?”  A short silence followed.  People sat up a little straighter, leaned in towards one another, and there was a new sense of energy in the room.  Together, we realized that, while eagerly discussing who we are, we had missed what we are called to become.  That evening, the story we had known all our lives was suddenly unfamiliar, something new, something fresh.

We are the prodigals, we are the “good children” – often simultaneously.  The call of the Gospel, though, asks us to transcend both those roles.  Jesus wants us to be the father – loving, forgiving, and deeply hospitable.  The father doesn’t make the son apologize, doesn’t wait in the living room for his child to come to him, stammering out his repentance.  No, the father runs out to embrace his son before his son has even spoken.  “How come we’re never the father?”  What a difference that question made!  A story that had been a call to introspection, to self-examination, had suddenly become a call to action, a reminder of our purpose in the world.  We left the discussion group that night revitalized.  Our little community learned a new story.

Since that evening, I try to resist the temptation of think of the Bible as “something I’ve read,” or “a story I know.”  I discovered then, and continue to discover, that God always has new stories for us, and I need to pay attention.  For me, the St. Andrew’s community is essential to that attentiveness.  Someone will ask a question or make a comment, and I’m given a new idea to explore.  Whether it’s watching a little girl bouncing up to receive the Eucharist in a princess dress, an unexpected question at the adult forum, or a casual conversation at coffee hour, something happens to remind me there is always something new.  God has a lot more to say to me, to all of us.  I may have “been there, read that” many times, but something exciting is waiting if I’m willing to let go of the story I’m so sure I know.

In Revelation, we see Jesus, sitting enthroned in glory, saying “Behold, I make all things new.”  We take great comfort in this assurance of things to come.  We know and love that story.  But…….what happens if “behold, I make all things new” is also an invitation to find the fresh and new dwelling within the old and familiar?  What if Jesus is telling us to “behold” right this minute?  What new stories might the Spirit be waiting to tell us? 
​~ Catherine Campbell

Several years ago, I was asked if I’d like to visit a member of St. Andrew’s who’d had a stroke and was in a care facility. Though I’d never met her, I agreed to make a visit.

I discovered she was unable to talk and was quite emotional. I decided to go back and visit again. Knowing it was hard to communicate, I brought a small photo album of a trip I’d taken. I learned she had also taken many trips, so it gave us something in common. I was delighted to learn she understood everything I was saying/asking. As time went by, my twice monthly visits became a joy to both of us, as her speech was slowing coming back.

Last year when I got my first iPad, I decided to take it and show her how to play Solitaire. This turned out to be very successful. We both would play together, with her making the choices. She had a birthday last August and I had the pleasure of sharing a little celebration with her and her family....a lovely daughter, husband and two grand-daughters.

Since she was formerly an active parishioner, I know she misses church a lot. She still thanks me every time I leave and that’s been over three years.

Even though I did not know my friend before visiting her the first time, our visits have been so rewarding. We are both blessed.

​In his Washington State Cougars baseball cap and jeans, Jim Temples doesn’t look like an artist. He looks more like a track coach, which is what he was for many years, first at San Dieguito High School and later at Torrey Pines. He grew up in a household that encouraged creativity, but it wasn’t until after he and his late wife Carol visited Rome in the mid-eighties that he started seriously pursuing the craft of wood carving. He lights up when he describes the experience he had there, as he touched the hem of Michelangelo’s Pieta. “My eyes said fabric, my fingers said cold stone. And Jesus said, “Start carving, Jimmy!”
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And start carving he did, finding that he had a talent for making the wood come to life. Still, when he was approached by a group led by parishioner Nancy Aldridge to consider creating a series of carvings to mark the Stations of the Cross, he wasn’t sure he was up to the task. There were trained artists in the congregation who he thought would be better choices. Amazed that he was allowed to try to create them, he accepted the challenge and began to study.

Learning about the tradition of the Stations of the Cross was the first step. He read extensively, visited other churches, and looked at examples of the art that was used in churches in Europe. He began to form a plan: there would be 14 stations, and each one would focus clearly on the central action of that scene from the day of Jesus’s crucifixion. “A lot of the images I looked at were so complex and had so many things going on that you couldn’t tell what was really happening.”