Pastoral Letter: Walking Together Through the Season
Dear beloved SUM family,
A piercing winter wind has begun to circle around us—sharp enough to wake us up and remind us where we are. With every breath, cold air fills our lungs. Even in this harsh season, I hold you in prayer, trusting that each of you is being carried in the peace of our Lord.
Last Sunday, because of the weather, we gathered for worship online. Not being able to see your faces in person left a real sense of absence in my heart. As snow continued to fall lightly during the hour of worship, I found myself praying and asking, Was this the right decision? Advent is a sacred and meaningful season, and not gathering in person carried its own weight. At the same time, I could not set aside the concern that someone might be injured on the way to church. Holding both of these realities, and after many conversations and much prayer with our leadership, this was the decision we made. Still, knowing that I could not fully carry every heart, I remain aware of the limits of my discernment as your pastor.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and experiences with such honesty and care. This is my first winter with the SUM family, and I am learning much along the way. I remain committed to staying in close conversation with our leaders, praying faithfully, and walking forward together as we seek both spiritual well-being and a community shaped by care and safety. May our shared life be formed not by reaction, but by attentiveness; not by judgment, but by grace.
Christmas invites us to remember the coming of Jesus Christ—and to wait with hope for Christ’s coming again. It is a season marked by joy and promise. And yet, for some, this season carries loneliness more heavily. There are those who have lost beloved ones and are getting through each day by holding onto memories. There are those who long for Christ’s peace, even as the road beneath their feet feels like a deep and shadowed valley. This does not mean faith is absent. It does not mean hope has failed. It simply means that today—this season—is harder than expected.
As I prepared this letter, I spent a brief time in prayer and reflection, singing “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” It is a hymn our family often sings in worship together. As I sang, I was carried back to my childhood—sitting in a circle with extended family, Bibles and hymnals open, voices joined in song. In that memory, my grandfather and my father, both now at rest in God, were there as well. My grandfather looked strong and steady. My father looked younger than I am now. One verse lingered with me in a particular way:
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Hither by Thy help I’m come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Growing up as a pastor’s child, Advent and Christmas were always seasons of gratitude and joy—but also the busiest time of the year. After the final Christmas services were complete, our entire family would collapse into a deep and necessary rest. The church grew quiet. The parsonage beside it did too. And then, after that pause, we would gather again—around a late Christmas table, just our family. We prayed, shared food, and sang together. Now, as a spouse, a parent, and a pastor myself, I recognize the weight and beauty of those moments more deeply than ever.
This past Wednesday, our SUM family gathered for a Blue Christmas service. We came remembering those who have completed their earthly journey and now rest in the eternal presence of God. We came because worship is not only for moments of joy, but also for times of grief, anger, and quiet ache. We listened to Scripture. We made room for the Spirit, who intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words. We sang, bringing our souls before God just as they are.
As we sang, an image of my father—standing at the pulpit of my home church, leading worship—rose vividly before me, and I had to pause. I listened as someone shared while holding a photograph of their spouse. I watched others light candles, swallowing tears because not every story could be spoken aloud. In that space of shared silence, I was reminded that God’s presence is often most real not when answers arrive, but when we are not left alone.
We remember the Christ who came into this world with no place to lay his head, and who ultimately gave his own life to reveal how deeply God loves us—and this world. And we lean again on the promise of Immanuel: that in joy and sorrow alike, God walks with us. May Christ’s grace and peace surround you, wherever this season finds you.
This coming Sunday, we will gather again for Lessons & Carols. Through Scripture and song, we will offer even the feelings we cannot yet name to God. We will meet at 10:00 a.m., trusting that Christ meets us there before we even arrive.
With you in Christ’s peace,
Pastor DH