Rev. Don Erickson

There is the centuries-old legend that between the age of 12 and 33, which in the gospels are not mentioned, Jesus traveled to India and learned about Buddhism. These lost years were spent studying and practicing the Buddhist dharma. Jesus internalized the dharma on the basis of his cultural-religious background, and came back to Palestine and taught a kind of Buddhist-Judaism. There is no historical evidence for this. Yet there are groups of Indians and Tibetans who hold to it. And it is pretty interesting for us to consider. That the story continues to make the rounds with many people believing it to be true itself says a lot. Many of us would like to believe it! One thing is for sure, what Christ taught was often very buddhistic. Jesus’ teaching, whether knowingly or not, tapped into buddhistic notions of righteous self-emptying and righteous effort amid suffering, the exaltation of the poor and the vulnerable, and the focus on the imminence of truth and the practice of compassion...

In my high school yearbook, which I have purposefully lost, I am listed in a rundown of categorization as “the most bashful.” I have wondered about that rather unique claim to high school infamy. Most bashful. Not most likely to succeed. Not best dressed. Not most likely to be president. But most bashful. Introversion had a lot to do with it. Low self-image surely had something to do with it. Living in a rural town in the middle of nowhere also had something to do with it. Anyway, I am okay with being bashful. There’s worst things to be. I am not sure if there is a “Most Inspiring” in high school yearbooks these days. Maybe there is. There wasn’t in mine. And if there were, I would not have been deemed Most Inspiring either, that’s for sure. I cannot think of a senior classmate who would have been deemed that. Even the cheerleaders were Gen-X cynical. I begin with this to say I’ve been pondering the importance of being inspiring as a pastor. In the latter part of my 5 years...

Sometimes, something is so heinous and vicious, that to be silent means to be complicit. I don’t commonly discuss current events or go into details about national news. It seems to me preaching to broader themes is best. Usually, my views of the ways of the world can be seen and understood implicitly. But sometimes, a pastor must be explicit. This morning is one such an occasion. I must say to write this reflection hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to work through tears, real tears, the  tears of a parent in horror at another parent’s pain of saying goodbye to a child. In a New York Times piece from this last past week, a piece titled “ It’s Horrendous’: The Heartache of a Migrant Boy Taken From His Father , ” journalist Miriam Jordan details a five-year old Honduran boy named Jose arriving in Michigan to caretakers after being separated from his father at the border so that his father could be prosecuted for crossing the border without documentation. Organizations that or...

Yeshua's disciples were never as certain of their faith in their teacher as in this moment, this majestic moment. He processing into Jerusalem on a colt. A vibrant, chilly Spring day, the full moon still distant in the sky in midmorning. He had become in their three years together more than just their teacher, their rabbi. He had become a friend, a brother, a kindred spirit to each and every one of them. Each of them felt a special bond with him and with each other.  Collectively, they were a traveling band of vagabonds, sharing an honest togetherness born of intimate and lengthy conversations, grueling days on the road going from town to town, the struggle against the hypocrisy and prejudice that isolated them. They were misfits, questioners, working people with big dreams who all felt belonging in this community of misfits, questioners, and dreamers. As Spring was arriving and the festiveness of Passover was beginning, they all wondered ...

Photo by Joel Auerbach The Erickson family I grew up in did not really have a concept of Lent. We knew about Palm Sunday. And of course Good Friday was central. Easter was a huge day. Sunrise Service was a highlight every year. My father and I would get up early and make the 10 mile or so drive to our church in the pre-dawn light. We’d most years have the service outdoors and watch the sunrise over the Hudson Valley hills. The moments were filled with a reverent joyfulness.  The Son has Risen! Oh death where is thy sting? Salvation overcomes sin. Love overcomes hate. Light overcomes darkness. The moral arc of the universe bending toward the side of justice despite the injustice just two days before, the death of innocent’s guileless life. Love conquers all. That was what Easter was all about. Yes, this was nice, priceless actually. The fresh donuts and hot cocoa after the service wasn’t all that bad either. I’d stay for the 10am service. My father going to pick up my mother ...