Tag: community

community, reflecting

Lake Merritt UMC

Mary Elyn Bahlert

I was serving part time in a small congregation in South San Francisco, living in Oakland. After several years of my floundering around, trying to make my way into the United Methodist Annual Conference while being married to another member of the clergy, I was grateful for the chance to preach each Sunday, to be present to the people of that community. Aldersgate United Methodist Church had been built in a post-war housing development in South San Francisco – the same development as my Uncle Pete and Aunt Athalie, who had lived there for many years. My being there was a twist of faith, or fate – or something else chosen by powers greater than myself or even greater than the United Methodist Bishop who sent me there. I was finally Pastor of a congregation that I was serving on my own. And I was grateful.

I’m Pastor’s School that year was at Asilomar, a conference and retreat center along the Pacific Coast, south of Monterey, in January. I always looked forward to Pastor’s School, mostly for the time with other clergy, the friendships I formed among my colleagues as we sat in classes and ate meals together. Each conversation felt like a connection. I was standing outside, in conversation with Paul Extrum-Fernandez one day during Pastor’s School that year, 1996. As we stood there, Paul asked me where I’d like to go in the Annual Conference. Hmmmm… I had not considered that one, clear question – ever. And no one had ever asked me before. I stood silent for a few moments, thinking. Finally, I answered: “Lake Merritt,” I said.

Paul’s wife, Renee, was Pastor of Lake Merritt. I knew that. Paul knew that. “Oh, Renee will never leave Lake Merritt,” he said.

Two years later, I was Pastor at Lake Merritt United Methodist Church, a congregation formed by the merger of old First United Methodist Church of Oakland – whose building had burned to the ground – and St. Stephen’s United Methodist Church – where the people of Lake Merritt began to worship after the fire, before the new congregation built an entirely new building on the shore of Lake Merritt. The merged congregation became one: Lake Merritt United Methodist Church. I was excited, happy to be sent to Lake Merritt. And I was happy for 16 years – a long tenure, by any account, for a United Methodist Pastor, whose parishes are appointed by a resident Bishop. And I was grateful. I loved the people, in large part because I understood that they had chosen to continue to do ministry after their merger, and with insurance money to carry them into the future – in downtown Oakland.

I was right there with them, in downtown Oakland – and in my view, in heaven.

Sixteen years is a long tenure for a United Methodist Pastor, whose fate is held in the hands and heart of the resident Bishop, but Jeff and I worked it out as best we could as a clergy couple who chose to live together, to not be separated by an appointment to a church by a Bishop. He received training as an interim pastor, which opened doors for him to serve locally in churches of other denominations as well as United Methodist parishes.

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Every Sunday during my tenure at Lake Merritt, I opened worship with these words: “Welcome to worship at Lake Merritt United Methodist Church, an open and welcoming Christian congregation serving downtown Oakland”. And I served, together with the wonderful lay people of the congregation, who accepted and understood the diverse community of Oakland, and had chosen to stay and serve among that often unruly and difficult community. I was – I am – proud of them.

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I’ve been retired for 12 years now. I miss many things about being a parish pastor, but as time has gone on, I’ve taken other, shorter gigs, and even traveled some to be with one or another community of faith, to lead worship, to preach, and to connect with the folks of another faith. To be honest, there are many things I don’t miss! I’ve preached at other United Methodist Churches – filling in for friends and colleagues who are taking a Sunday away, and I’ve gone to Mass at a local Roman Catholic Parish that serves the African American community of the Bay Area. Until this past year, I had not stayed closely connected to the community at Lake Merritt, but the current pastor has invited me to preach, to be present for her and to the people of the parish.

This past weekend, while the Pastor is on Sabbatical, I have been one of the clergy she has invited to preach in her absence. And as fate would have it, I was called upon to offer pastoral care and finally to perform the memorial service for a woman with whom I have a strong connection; I buried both her husband and her son, a police officer (see “The day they died,” thewisdomyears.org, May 18, 2025).

And what I have seen in my visits to Lake Merritt UMC is “an open and welcoming Christian congregation serving downtown Oakland.” The vision that the people and I held in our hearts and minds, in our openness to diversity of all kinds, has created a truly open and welcoming Christian congregation. I think this is rare reality among churches. Congregations are well-known for holding tight to old, old traditions, to be unable and unwilling to make changes, for the unwillingness to step on the toes of folks who’ve been around for a long time and have their own ways. Congregations will not be moved from “the way we’ve always done things.” But Lake Merritt has outgrown and surpassed those ways. I credit their witness and determination to serve the community of Oakland – a community that can be gritty and hard, a community that is colorful and rich in diversity – as a strength that continues to blossom in the people there.

I’m proud of them.

Virginia Turner and me – after worship at Lake Merritt United Methodist Church, Oakland. Virginia Turner is my 102 year old friend.

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Showing up

Mary Elyn Bahlert

If I had to – during these years of my life – think about what qualities I think are important, in myself and others, I would choose one. I’ve called the quality, “showing up.”

In my mind, in my memory. are many moments when a friend walked beside me, or a friend sat listening to me, when someone – an elder, a good friend, my mother – and said something that has stayed with me, and even been a guide for a time in my life. I’ve been blessed with good friends my entire life.

I was walking from my mother’s grave on a cold, cold day in February, 2001. A small group of friends and family who had gathered at the funeral we held for Mom in Milwaukee also walked with me to her grave. I called to Joanne at the last moment to join me in throwing earth on the casket before she was buried. She nodded and came to my side, and together we attended to the ritual, before we walked away to leave the gravediggers to their work. They had to work hard that day, I’m sure, to dig into the frozen earth.

The moment I remember most is that Vicki – a friend since high school days at Washington High in Milwaukee – walked beside me, and in her soft, kind voice, said: “You had neat parents.” I have not forgotten her presence, and her kindness. Vicki had lost her own parents when she was young, and in a way, my folks took her under their wings, by their presence. My parents had shown up for her, also. All these years later, Vicki and I are still friends, across the miles, across many changes, across all that life has brought to each of us.

I remember the evening Jeff and I were married at Calvary United Methodist Church in Milwaukee. We were married on the first day of spring, March 21, and in true spring fashion, Midwest style, there was a snow storm. Also in true Midwest style, the sanctuary was full that evening, in spite of the weather, in spite of the late hour. Good friends brought their children, some to be present at the first wedding they would attend. I remember that a whole sanctuary full of people showed up – some who I knew, and others known to Jeff, but not me. I remember the moment when both of my parents walked up the aisle with me to where Jeff waited. All of those people, many now no longer with us, showed up to witness to our marriage.

I’ve moved a long way from Milwaukee, and I still keep in touch with many friends from my childhood and young adult days in the Midwest. As I write, I see their faces, I remember moments when they showed up, too, not only when there was a snow storm, but in good times and bad times. Sometimes all we need is for someone to show up.

I recall times I failed to show up, and lost a friend.

As I write, I can see the faces of other loved ones, of other times. I have a favorite photo my mother with her brothers, Johnny, Mike, Pete, standing at the graveside of their sister, Ann, in Milwaukee. Johnny and Pete had come a long way, from the Bay Area of California, to stand at the grave. And they had traveled to Milwaukee just a couple of months before to be present at the funeral of their mother. On the photo, taken in the cemetery, my mother had written: “and now we are four.” I expect that it is the last – and maybe the only – photo of them together.

As a pastor, I think I began to value more the importance of showing up. In my mind’s eye, I can see clearly the full sanctuary on Lake Merritt on the day of the wedding of two women, the gathered community filled with joy. Not long after, the sanctuary was filled again for the memorial service for one of the women whose wedding we had celebrated together in that place. In my mind’s eye, I am standing again at the front of the church, on the chancel, as I witness the faces, and even more, the presence of the gathered community. I had stood there, fighting back tears of my own, before I walked down the aisle to stand at the door of the sanctuary.

When Jeff and I go now to be present at the memorial service for a friend or colleague, and as I prepare, I remember the importance of showing up. As I prepare, the faces of those who have shown up for me through my life often come to mind. For as long as I can, I hope to show up, too, for others.

I am always grateful.

Over the years, I’ve learned that I also need to show up for my friends, my beautiful plants. This plant has been with me since 1998. Sometimes I’ve failed to show up – and she shows it! – but she has always patiently returned. Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 2026

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Bird-watching

Mary Elyn Bahlert

Jeff and I are watching the birds again. Our 100+ year old Craftsman home sits on its lot high above the sidewalks on our street, and so we have no window coverings. Our home is a birdhouse of its own! Outside the front window is a small grey birdhouse, currently uninhabited. Outside the windows of the kitchen stands a lovely crepe myrtle, joined by a beautiful birdhouse made by our friend Jim, and added to the yard this past winter. A circle of wooden lawn chairs in the yard gives the best view of who is moving into the wooden house in the side yard.

Jeff and I sit as quietly as we can in the wooden chairs, watching the titmice make a new home for their nest. The birds are busy; they don’t seem at all interested in us, the bigger creatures who also inhabit this part of the world. And so even as we move around, the couple does not stop their hard work, making room for eggs and soon, little titmice who will be coming into the big world that surrounds them.

I always like the little birds. Most find me unimportant as I observe them. But when the hummingbirds come into the yard, they are aggressive little creatures, sometimes buzzing close to my head as they observe this other strange, big – huge – creature. Quickly enough, the hummingbirds continue buzzing on to other places, out of sight.

I don’t think I have the patience to go about being a true bird watcher. I’ve tried. And I’ve seen some wonderful feathered creatures over the years, some who have seemed as interested in me as I am in them. But I do like to notice the birds who are our neighbors in our place in the city. They’re crafty – finding exactly what they need to make a cozy home in this busy urban area.

The new home of our titmouse neighbors! Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 2/2026

community, reflecting

Friends

Mary Elyn Bahlert

“You’ve always had good friends,” my mother once told me. She was right. I’ve always had good friends, friends I find interesting, friends who listen to me as much as I listen to them, friends who are readers and travelers, friends who have a keen interest in life.

As I get older, I think I value my friendships even more than I ever did. Or maybe I realize now that our lives are short – we don’t know when we will lose another friend, or when we might face our own demise – and so each moment, each encounter, becomes more important as the years pass.

A few years ago, I received an email from a former student at Clarke Street School in Milwaukee, where I’d gone to 5 and 6 grades. She had written as part of the outreach to let me know about an event honoring Washington High School in Milwaukee. “Did you go to Clarke Street School?” she had written. When I looked at the name, the signature said Fran xxxxx. I knew her as Frances, and I sent my email response right away. “Are you Frances xxxxx?” I asked. I’d found her, my best friend in the few years before we entered Junior High, before I entered the Pilot Program for “smart” kids, and she skipped a grade, instead. I’d often wondered about Frances, how her life had unfolded. A few months later, Jeff and I were privileged to have a meal with Frances – now she’s Fran – and her husband, Jakov, in Milwaukee. And our staying in touch has been important to me in this season of my life.

Some friendships seem to last a long time, other friendships seem to last for a season, a short time in life. My husband, Jeff, makes friends with everyone he meets. He’s an extravert, and there are times I’ve teased him about the easy and comfortable way he makes friends. He’s got good friends, as I do. I’m grateful to be married a man who values male friendships as much as I value my female friends. I like to tease him that he’s the world’s “most extraverted man.” That’s not an exaggeration! And I have to say that Jeff and I are good friends as well as life partners. That’s a gift in my life, to be sure.

I’m grateful now to be making new friends as the years unfold. I’ve connected with a woman pastor I’ve known for many years, and at our yearly clergy gathering, we make time to spend with each other. Another colleague – we went to seminary together – and I have decided to make sure to have lunch once a month. A woman I’ve known since the 1980’s and with whom I share an August birthday, have dinner together at least two times a year – before Christmas and during our birthday month. Just as we have for a long time, we each come with a small gift for our long time friend. One of my good friends is making end-of-life plans for herself as a single woman, carefully laying out what she wants and intends as she lives in her 80’s. I’m just one of the people she is bringing into her planning. Even though she is single, her friendships reassure her that she is not alone. Some of my friends are friends I share with Jeff – couples – and others are solo friends.

For a few years, I led a group at a local Senior Center in Oakland, which I called “Life’s Reflections.” Although the group has ended, the faithful members met for a Christmas sing-fest at my house during the holidays. And I count them among my friends.

Over the past few years, since a former parishioner and new friend to me, Margret, died suddenly, her widower Jim has been a good friend to both Jeff and me. Jim likes to cook, and he has Jeff and me for breakfast at his house once a week. We’ve never had a repeat breakfast in two years!

I can still see Joanne’s face as she sat at my desk in Green Bay, Wisconsin, for the first time, in 1973, and asked me: “Do you golf?” I hadn’t golfed – still haven’t golfed – I told her I’d try to golf! – but Joanne and I have been friends ever since.

I have lunch dates a couple of times a week, even in my elder years. Lunch together is a good way for me to connect with my friends. I learn which friends text, and who likes to communicate via email. Or a phone call.

One or two of my friends are women I’ve met through taking part in spiritual retreats overseas. Sometimes we plan for a phone call or a zoom call to connect, since we live a long distance from one another.

I’m grateful for them all. As I reflect on my friendships, I see I could add others. I’m grateful to each one. And yes, I have always had good friends. Mom was right.

Jeff, Thanksgiving Day at the Bahlerts’ in San Francisco, 11/2025

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Jesu

Mary Elyn Bahlert

I met Jesu 15 years ago. He arrived to worship on a Sunday, and after church – like so many refugees who came to church – he asked me for a Bible to take with him to the small apartment he shared with several other men, also refugees, separated from their families. I gave him a Bible – a King James Version – and then I fretted about it all week, the fact that I’d given him a Bible in archaic language. I understood he’d want to learn to read and to speak English well. He showed up again the next Sunday with the Bible I’d given him in his hands. Jesu had realized quickly my mistake. We traded Bibles that day. This time, I handed him a Revised Standard Version, the better to learn a new language.

I learned that Jesu had had to flee his country overnight after being threatened with death by the Tamil Tigers, a terrorist group who was active in Sri Lanka at the time.

My memory of Jesu in the early days of knowing him is that he looked like a deer in the headlights. I am often reminded of what I call the “greater wisdom” of the United Nations to have sent him to such an expensive part of the country. But he adapted well, and quickly, and to becoming a citizen of the United States.

Jesu was a fast learner. And he also worked quickly to bring his wife, Letchumi, and first born daughter to the United States. They arrived some time later. When Simiya stepped off the plane at San Francisco International Airport and walked with her mother to her father, she was surprised. From pictures she’d seen, she had thought that everyone in the United States was white, and there stood her waiting father – as dark-skinned as could be!

Jesu, Letchumi, and Simiya moved into a one bedroom apartment in a neighborhood not far from Lake Merritt United Methodist Church. And from that one bedroom apartment, they have built a new life in their new land. A year later, a second daughter arrived. Letchumi had been surprised when the women of the church gave her a baby shower after worship one day. In her country, the family that was having the child gave the gifts! And so, Saumiya joined the family.

In Sri Lanka, Jesu had been a pastor. He had met Letchumi in the village in which he had his church. In the United States, he is pursuing another path. He has nearly completed his education to receive his license to be a Certified Public Accountant. His elder daughter, Simiya, also attends University to become a CPA. Having been raised so poor, she has her sights on another life for herself. I could see it unfolding in her even before she finished high school. And Jesu and Letchumi see their life now as the stepping stones for the life their daughters will live.

When the new baby girl was still in a car seat, I picked Letchumi up at the apartment one day and drove to the Jamba Juice in my neighborhood in North Oakland. I had spoken to the manager, who I’d come to know, as a regular customer. He agreed to meet Letchumi, to give her a job. While she went to meet with the manager, I walked up and down the sidewalks lining the Safeway parking lot with little Saumiya toddling at my side. And so, Letchumi – who has several degrees from her own country – started at Jamba Juice. That was almost 14 years ago. Since then, Letchumi has become a manager at Jamba Juice. And her beautiful, smart daughter, Simiya, has joined her as a worker at the same store.

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Jesu and I share a birthday – August 2. In the years since he and Letchumi and their daughters have been here, we have celebrated our birthdays together each August. We also gather during the Christmas holidays, when Jesu and his family bring us a complete, generous, home-cooked Sri Lankan meal. As we sit around the table, we catch up on the activities of Jesu and Letchumi and family, we hear about their hard work and studies to make a new life in a new land. Soon, Jesu will have completed the test to receive a CPA license, and he’ll be looking for a firm in which to work. Letchumi sees her daughters’ futures ahead of them, and she and Jesu watch with pride as their daughters make their way successfully in this place.

Jeff and I think of Jesu and Letchumi and their family as part of our extended family. As we talk around the dinner table at holiday time, we talk about the day in the future when we might travel to Sri Lanka to meet the family there. This year, Jeff teased about our getting too old to make such a trip!

Who knows where our paths will lead us? – Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 12/2025