God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. - Psalm 46:1
Grace, peace, and courage be yours, siblings in Christ. I was recently among the Lutherans of the Oregon synod, our friends to the south or west of us. Bishop Laurie Larson Caesar lifted up a book in her sermon at the sending service that has given me a new way of looking at this lovely word of promise from Psalm 46 that I have always loved. The book is called Refugia Faith. Refugia is a biological term for many tiny pockets of living organisms in places of seeming desolation. Climate catastrophes, toxic dumps, extreme burns. Or, as Bishop Laurie illustrated, Mount St. Helens in the aftermath of the explosion in the spring of 1980 (my birth year, incidentally). A refugium (singular) on Mt. St. Helens might be an unexpected cluster of fungi and bacteria that survived the blast and begin the slow process of bringing life back to a place utterly devastated by the force of the explosion.
I know that Martin Luther cherished the image of God as a fortress, a powerful buffer against the forces of evil. This Reformation Day, 2025, I am drawn to the God of both refuge and refugia, a God who shelters me with a warm embrace and also a God who is hiding among the ashes of total wreckage.
We know well the stories of death around the church, too. Folks wondered how many decades--or generations--it would take for life to recover on the blown-apart mountain. But under the thick layer of ash, the fungi were already laughing. Already plotting and partnering up. Already becoming the new life that wasn't yet seen.
This year is also the 1700 birthday of the Nicene creed in which we praise a God who is in relationship to "all that is, seen and unseen." When the world declares "what you see is what you get," our God giggles a bit and says, "O, child, look underneath. Put your ear to the grass, to the trunk of the tree. Trust that I am a God who brings life to even the most desolate places, including every human heart."
We sometimes speak about the ministries of our synod as being on the front lines of Christian nationalism and white supremacy. We speak that way because it's the truth. I wonder if this refugia faith can help us engage that calling as well. We may be tempted to see that force as desolating and deadly, tempted to see our neighbors who espouse such thoughts as lost causes. God again speaks to us: everywhere there is death, I am underneath, playfully shepherding pockets of hope and possibility. I am among those people who find it hardest to talk with, and I am creating the possibility for relationship.
Where have you noticed surprising pockets of hope and blessing in your midst? You know I would love to know about that. Let's have coffee or zoom about it. In the meantime, let's keeping praying psalm 46 and trusting a God who can be a strong fortress as well as a sneaky fungus. Alleluia!
Liv