But the midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live. -Exodus 1:17

Last Sunday, Deacon Heidi Larson led worship and preached while I was at the Youth and Young Adult Gathering. Thanks to the power of YouTube, I got to listen to her sermon, in which she challenged us to all see ourselves as midwives who help bring life into the world alongside God. She told a story I had never heard before, about a woman named Julia whose determination helped save one of the oldest, largest redwoods in California from deforestation.

Listening to her sermon and rereading Exodus 1 made me realize just how many untold stories there are of people who help to bring life into the world. It takes a community, but too often that community goes unrecognized. I have no idea the names of the doctors and nurses who attended my birth. I don’t remember my first babysitters, pediatricians, or neighbors. I don’t know the names of all my great-grandparents, let alone the generations before them.

But I do remember my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Naslund, who set the tone for school as a place of learning, care, and growth. I do remember my third grade Sunday school teacher, Marilyn, who had no kids or grandkids at the church but loved to teach us Bible stories just the same. I remember my fourth and fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Tjeerdsma, who coaxed me through awkward adolescence into confidence as I went to middle school. I remember Mr. Bernasconi, who took us on field trips to explore the fossils of nearby rock formations and encouraged us to learn as much as we could and think for ourselves, even as middle schoolers. I remember my confirmation teacher, Jean, who was the first person to notice my call to be a pastor. I remember the high school chaplain, Rev, who encouraged me and challenged me to grow in faith. I remember my seminary professor, Rolf, who reassured a teary-eyed me that I was perfectly able to lead worship with one hand.

And I realize that without those people and so many more, without the communities that formed and supported and encouraged and corrected me, I wouldn’t be here, now, writing this devotion. I also realize that it’s easy to forget about all those people, those teachers and mentors and caregivers and nurturers, once they’ve played their part. Did Moses know about Shiphrah and Puah? Did his big sister Miriam tell him what they had done for the Hebrew community? Maybe. Maybe not.

We do know about Shiphrah and Puah, though. We know their names. We know that without those brave God-fearing and community-loving women, we wouldn’t have Moses. In order to even have a chance of having a Moses, the Hebrew community first needed Shiphrah and Puah. 

If we also want future and present leaders like Moses who stand up for what’s right and put God first, most of us don’t need to become those leaders. (What a relief, honestly!) But we need to be the people who are in the community of our church and neighborhoods who are known to put God first and nurture the wellbeing of our neighbors. We need to aim to be included in the lists, not of award winners and celebrities, but of the teachers, neighbors, mentors, and encouragers who make a difference. To be a community that brings life, whether we’re recognized for it or not, because that’s what God is all about. So C is for Community, and I’m so glad you’re part of this one.