Dear Friends,

A Jewish friend told me recently, “There is no place on the earth that is safe for Jews!” What could I say?  I felt the gravity of her sentiments. Indeed, safety seems in short supply across our world. From Ukraine to Gaza to Nigeria, where can one be safe?

The neighborhood we live in is pretty safe. For 20+ years, I have walked these streets without incident, so it was a bit unusual on a recent night for me to be concerned as I left my office.  Earlier that day I received a threat, so I was wary as I closed the office late that night. When I turn off the main lights of the large Community Center, the look is a rare mix of creepy and serene as the dim night lights reflect off the tile like moonlight on a Canadian lake. I set the security alarm and made my way across the lobby to the front door. I securely closed the entrance and stepped into the night. As I made my way down the dimly lit street, I envisioned what it might feel like to have a bullet pierce my back. Thankfully, it never came. As I walked on home, I reflected a bit more. Would it be worth it? If something ever did happen, would I be okay with that? Deep in my spirit I knew the answer was yes. Whether I was actually in danger that night or not, I will probably never know, but I was keenly reminded that we need safety and when we don’t feel it, we need a deeper anchor.

Psalm 121:1 says, “I lift my eyes to the hills, from where does my help come?” For hundreds of years, Israel was in conflict with the much more technologically advanced civilizations from the coastal plains. Their chariots could roar across the fields. With long blades attached to each axle they created the “scythed chariot.” Imagine what that would do to an Israelite foot soldier! Their only hope was to run to the Judean hill country and fight from between the rocks where chariots could not mow them over. I imagine the psalmist sitting beside a brook or fertile field and looking up at one of these rocky crags and asking himself, “Where does my help really come from? Does it come from the hills?”

In times of danger, in times of change, it is a fair and good question to ask. Where does your help come from?

Last month, with record voter turnout, New Yorkers elected Zohran Mamdami as our next mayor. The man is 34, basically a child. As a Muslim and Democratic Socialist, his meteoric rise has pundits from around the country scratching their heads. I will resist the urge to prognosticate here except to say this, I think he was elected out of fear, certainly distrust of the political establishment. And that fear is real. Last month I prayed with a young person as tears flowed down her face. She had just received word that her mother may be deported. Our city is scared, and they are ready to run for the hills or in this case the furthest possible distance from the current White House. Safety, or at least the feeling of safety, is something we cannot live without. To put this fear into numbers, one draft of my budget included the possibility of laying off 20 of my 35 staff. The fear is real. Thankfully, for my coworker and my budget neither calamity has arrived yet.

Some graffiti I saw recently which captures the sentiment of many people here.

In August, Liam and I went car shopping and I grasped for a different kind of safety. Liam decided on a sleek,

peppy Honda Fit. As we headed out of Columbus, Ohio and back to New York City, I checked my rear view mirror on average every 5 seconds. The feeling I felt was familiar;  it was the same feeling I had when I brought him home from the hospital in a car seat. Safety first!  

Several weeks later, we went back with Liam and Logan to college, Cedarville University to be exact. How have we entered the empty nest stage so quickly? And how can I brim with pride and panic all at once? We got them settled into their rooms and after several trips to Wal-mart, we knew it was time. We just needed to leave, so we did.  Back in our empty house, the positive reports started coming in. Logan made the Varsity E-Sports team. Liam signed up for the “Swarms” an Ultimate Frisbee team. They both are doing well in their classes. They got connected to a local church. Phew, I can exhale now.

We found our empty nest!

In October Linda and I did run for the hills, New Hampshire in this case, for a lovely camping trip. We are doing a lot more reflecting these days. I am on a 180 day personal sabbatical trying to lower my blood pressure, not making any big decisions, trying to wait on God. The founder of Cypress Hills Local Development Corporation, my mentor and employer for 22 years is retiring. Change never feels 100% safe.

Linda is continuing to love our community well, teaching 7-8^th grade Science class this year, coordinating the Community Garden, caring for an elderly man one day/week, holding a weekly Bible Study, running errands for another elderly lady, many hours of impromptu counseling and tutoring, and generally being Jesus’ hands and feet. Somehow service provides a sense of safety I think.

We were also blessed to witness 5 weddings this year. I was struck with the enormity of pledging your heart, soul, body, spirit, and holiday plans to another person for the rest of your life!  One of the couples, Alex and Bri, joined our cell group, and we are enjoying the safety that comes from community.

Baptism is not safe, you have to let go. At a recent baptism, I joked with the father of one of the baptizees that he should be careful not to go in too deep. Several years earlier, I had rescued him from an aquatic emergency when his life was flashing before his eyes. In spite of some trepidation, four young men made this hard choice this year. The smiles afterward said it all. It has been pure joy to watch these young men move forward. One in particular has expanded a ministry to the homeless at night, on the street. He doesn’t do the safe work at a soup kitchen, he goes into the back allies and under the bridges to meet the homeless on their terms. Safe? probably not, but it is good work.

Walter Brueggemann, a beloved prophetic voice who passed away this year, said, “The truth is that frightened people will never turn the world, because they use too much energy on protection of self. It is the vocation of the baptized, the known and named and unafraid, to make the world whole.” Another author I have been reading this year, Viktor Frankl, made some astute observations of the Holocaust. In the camps, there were at least two types of people. One set about to survive at all costs. Their efforts to get to the top of the heap of prisoners was so tenacious that they essentially adopted the attitude of the guards. Another group of people looked for safety by giving it away, by helping fellow prisoners, by lifting the spirits of those around them. Frankl observed that the second group actually tended to survive, and even when they didn’t, they died with peace and the love of their fellowman.

After looking up at the safety of the hills, the Psalmist answers his own question, “Where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.” Safety doesn’t come in the obvious way from the things we can see, but from the One who made the things we see. Safety doesn’t come from City Hall or Washington or from manufacturing a life that minimizes risk. Safety comes from the manger — quite ironic don’t you think? A manger is not a very safe and sanitary place, yet this is where He asks us to go, with Him. 

This is the paradox of the Gospel. We become safe by letting ourselves not be safe. We find our lives by losing them. We are safe when we join the master. So if you find yourself feeling stressed and vulnerable this season, don’t run for the hills. Instead, wrap yourself tight with those swaddling clothes, the world outside is frightful, but He is truly delightful.

Lowell for the Herschbergers (Linda, Logan, Liam)