God's New Way (Isaiah 43:19-21)

 Next week, I’ll be at Camp Walter Scott. For the past six weeks, I’ve been preaching on the scriptures that our campers will read and discuss at camp, the scriptures and topics that those who have already been to camp this summer have read and discussed, if their camps adhered to the camp curriculum. 

And this scripture from the camp curriculum, from the book of Isaiah, exemplifies what camp is all about. 

Camp is about something new. Camp is about lifting up a whole new way of living.

To some, a week at camp sounds like exactly the way of living they long for: a week of fun in the sun, making new friends, spending time in nature, experiencing worship that is meaningful and authentic, while not having to prepare your own meals or do your own dishes. Many campers think of camp as the best week of the year: heaven on earth.

To others, however, camp is scary, mostly because of how different it is. Nature can be intimidating, for those who haven’t spent much time in nature; for those who don’t realize that nature isn’t a separate thing from us, that we ourselves are, in fact, part of nature, and that we are one with the forest, with the all the creepy crawlies (which are creepy only in the sense that they creep along the ground), and everything else.

Camp is scary because, at camp, you experience a whole different daily routine than what you are probably used to. You’re surrounded by people who you may not know very well, even sharing sleeping accommodations with them. There is not much privacy: everyone knows when you go to the bathroom, how long you are in the bathroom, and what the bathroom smells like when you are done.

Here’s a little secret: everybody stinks up the bathroom now and then. It’s how God made us!

But the main reason that camp is so different is that, at camp, we are learning to live as an authentic Christian community—and an authentic Christian community is radically different from the way we live most of the time. Living an authentically Christian life, in community with others who are doing the same, is a countercultural activity. It is not what we are used to. 

And, yes, that is scary. It calls us away from our comfort zone. It’s even scary, sometimes, for those who love camp.

⬤ I think of the early Christians, after the day of Pentecost: Thousands joined the movement, and the scripture says that they met together often, to learn more about this radically new way of living, to pray, to break bread, and to enjoy fellowship with one another.

And scripture says that, in the community they formed, worldly distinctions had no place. Your wealth, your status… even privileges one might enjoy because of one’s gender, or citizenship, or ethnicity, melted away, as the community followed the way of Jesus.

And scripture also says that the community they formed was so filled with love and compassion and a sense of oneness, that all the believers held all things in common. 

It was radically different. New. Daring. And, for some, perhaps: scary.

My goal, as a director at camp, is to help campers see that the way we live at camp, in community with one another, is a glimpse into the way Christ calls us to live in the kingdom of God. It is life in the beloved community of God.

It is different, and that may scare some… but it is also so very wonderful.

This new life at camp prepares us for a new life in Christ, a new life in Christian community.

I always say that I go to camp, because it teaches me how to be a better pastor. I go to camp because it teaches me how to be a better Christian. I often reflect on the experiences I’ve had at camp, as a camper and as a counselor, and ponder what those experiences can teach me about how I’m supposed to live in this world the other 51 weeks of the year.

For example: I remember one particular day in my young adulthood when a lot of things in life were causing me stress and anxiety. I thought to myself: why does life have to be like this? Isn’t there a better way to live? Have I ever lived a life free from stress and anxiety?

And I did a little inventory of my life up to that point, trying to figure out when, in life, I felt most at peace, and least anxious.

And I realized it was when I was at camp.

And all of my personal belongings for those weeks at camp were what I could fit in a single duffle bag or suitcase, which made me realize that the happiest, most peaceful, and least stressful times in my life were when I had almost no personal belongings.

Camp really does call us to a new way of living.

However, it’s one thing to live that way while you’re at camp. It’s a whole other thing to live that way the rest of the year. It just seems too daring, too risky, too audacious… and what would the neighbors say?

It’s a lesson I haven’t yet fully implemented in my life. So, back to camp I go. I’ve still got some learning to do.

Maybe part of the issue is that, in the real world, I’m trying to implement this new way of living on my own. By myself. 

But at camp, I’m part of a community, living together, learning together, having fun together, and facing life’s challenges together.

The camp curriculum notes that all the people we’ve encountered in scripture have been a part of a community, and relied on the support of others. Saul had Ananias. Cornelius had Peter. The daughters of Zelophehad had each other, as well as Moses and the other leaders who listened to them. 

Even Jesus had John the Baptist, who prepared the way; and Jesus had his disciples, who, though they had their flaws, were committed to the same alternative vision for the world that Jesus himself was committed to. 

Yet our world today is a world of isolation. The little bit I know of other cultures past and present makes me realize that our 21st century American culture is the most individualistic culture the world has ever known.

Our cities are even designed to reinforce this isolation. Housing developments are often built with attached garages and private backyards—like the house I currently live in—so that one could live there, go to work every day and come back home, and never even see your neighbors, never even know what they look like. 

That’s why I’ve taken an interest in a group that calls itself Small Towns Blono, which is working to overcome the isolation many feel today, and help people in communities connect with one another. Their most recent project was a temporary art installation painted on sidewalks between the history museum and the Bloomington Library. The desire to connect people and communities was a major motivation for that project.

As individualistic as we are, we’re not used to living in community. Living in close community with one another—like we do at camp—is a whole new way of living.

Anytime you dare to live a new way—especially one as radically countercultural as the way of Jesus—there are risks involved.

⬤ Christ’s vision for the world is a radically inclusive and welcoming vision, which was demonstrated when those first disciples did away with the dividing lines of gender, class, and ethnicity, and when the Spirit led Peter to welcome Cornelius the Roman Centurion, and when the Spirit led Philip to welcome a man who was both a foreigner and a eunuch, and when the Spirit led Paul to focus his entire ministry on welcoming Gentiles into the movement as Gentiles, without requiring them to first become something they weren’t.

And when First Christian Church made the decision to boldly affirm its identity as an Open and Affirming Congregation, that also demonstrated Christ’s radically inclusive and welcoming vision for the world.

But anytime one dares to live a new way, there are risks. The early disciples faced many risks for living out their vision. Some outside their community just didn’t get it. Others were hostile toward it, and persecuted those early believers. 

Yet the disciples persisted in their new way of living.

God is always calling us to a new way of living, to go beyond where we are now. There is no finish line; rather, it is an ongoing journey of learning and growing and becoming who God is calling us to be.

And this goes for us as a congregation as well.

The Spirit is restless, and we who follow the Spirit are always in a state of becoming.

God has done wondrous things in the 188-year history of First Christian Church. But we are on a journey. God is always leading us, just as God led the Israelites through the Promised Land. 

It’s good to consider how far we’ve come, and how God has brought us to where we are. But if we say, “this is it; we’re done!” God is going to go on without us, and we’ll be left behind.

In conversations I’ve had with many of you over the past year and a half, I get the sense that you are feeling the Spirit calling us, leading us… You sense that God is trying to do a new thing among us, and with us… and some of you are wondering if we as a congregation will be bold enough, daring enough, to take the risk and follow the Spirit to wherever the Spirit is leading us next.

This new life that the Spirit is calling us to has implications for our style of worship, how we reach out to our community, how we use our building and/or make our building available to the community. It has implications for everything related to our ministry.

And if it means we need to change some things, well, there’s risk in that. There’s risk, just like there was risk in becoming an Open and Affirming congregation. There’s risk, just like when Ananias decided to reach out to Saul, or when the daughters of Zelophehad decided to speak up and demand their rights. 

But there is also risk in doing nothing. There is risk in not reaching out, there is risk in not speaking up, and there is risk in not making changes as we seek to go where God is leading us.

I don’t have the answers to all these uncertainties. But I am going to camp; God may have some new lessons for me there.

And I know that wherever our journey leads, we have each other. None of us—not even I, your pastor—can do this alone.

Our church needs you. Your voice. Your prayers. Your commitment to the ministry we share. 

That’s another thing I hope to teach my campers next week: that the church needs them. The church needs them just as the church needs each one of you.

I am so grateful to be on this journey with you. Thank you for praying for me; your prayers help me become the best pastor I can be, and to continue growing as a pastor, since I am always in a state of becoming;

Thank you for praying for our church, praying for God to continue guiding us to becoming the best church we can be—and that we might continue growing and journeying with God and with one another.

May we be willing to follow God’s Spirit wherever the Spirit leads us. May we be willing to take the risks that following God requires. And may we continue to come together, supporting one another with the love and encouragement that come from Christ.

Creation Connection (Isaiah 43: 16-21)

 Who here is an SNL fan? Did you see the “Washington’s Dream” sketches with Nate Bargatze?

⬛ In one of those sketches, he’s in his boat, crossing the Delaware River with some of his soldiers.

Washington says to his soldiers: “Men, we fight to control our own destiny, to create our own nation… and for the freedom to have two different names for animals. One when they are alive, and a different one when they are food. So cows will be beef and pigs will be pork.”

“And chickens, sir?”

[pause] “that one stays… chickens are chicken… And we will create our own foods, and name them what we want. Like the hamburger.”

“Made of ham, sir?”

“Ah, if it were only that simple. A hamburger is made of beef. Just as a buffalo wing is made of chicken. But fear not, men; a hot dog will not be made of dogs.”

“What is it made of, sir?”

“Nobody knows.”

“But sir, shouldn’t we know what’s in a hot dog?”

“Get out. Get out of the boat. A real American would never want to know what’s in a hot dog.”

That sketch makes me laugh, but I didn’t think much more about it, until one day when I was re-reading one of my favorite books: Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer.

In one of the chapters of that book, the author is describing how important it is to be mindful of the choices she makes, choosing food that not only nourishes her, but is harvested and produced in an honorable way.

She appreciates that her local grocery store has partnered with local farmers to provide organic goods at a reasonable price. She likes that she can walk the aisles “with open eyes, the source of the food mostly evident, although Cheetos and Ding Dongs remain an ecological mystery.”

⬛ Hot dogs. Cheetos. Ding Dongs. What are they made of? 

Hot dogs generally have some kind of meat… and a whole bunch of other mysterious ingredients. Cheetos, one would think, would have some sort of cheese in them…and they do… a little bit… along with 20 other ingredients, some of which I can’t pronounce… And Ding Dongs… there’s over 40 different ingredients in a Ding Dong. I don’t know how they find room on the package to list them all.

In one way or another, all these ingredients do come from the earth. But many of them have been so processed and transformed, that they no longer resemble anything natural. 

And these products appear on store shelves wrapped in colorful packaging. This colorful packaging, and the modification and transformation of ingredients, all serve to disconnect us from the earth; disconnect us from the source of all that is good and nutritious and wholesome.

⬛ Eating should remind us of our connection to the earth. If anything should remind us of our connection to the earth, it should be eating!

Another book I’ve read mentions that feeling disconnected is one of the biggest causes of depression. Disconnection from other people, and disconnection from the earth, from the creation that we are part of.

Feeling disconnected leaves us feeling discontented.

Feeling disconnected means we forget that we are a part of something much bigger: the whole universe. 

If you’re growing your own crops, or harvesting them in the wild as Robin Wall Kimmerer sometimes does, you can’t help but realize how connected you are, how connected your life is, to the earth. If you are hunting your own food, you can’t help but notice how your life depends on the lives of other creatures. 

And in both cases, being aware of such things, we feel compelled to offer gratitude. It becomes almost natural. 

But if our food comes from the freezer, wrapped in plastic, and filled with unpronounceable ingredients created in a lab somewhere, it becomes easy to lose sight of the connection.

…which leads us to feeling, isolated, alone, and depressed. 

And when we feel isolated, alone, and depressed, it’s hard to feel grateful for the food we eat.

In past generations, people were more connected. They were more connected to each other, and they were more connected to the earth.

Biblical writers knew they were connected to the earth. Biblical writers often use imagery from the natural world. Using imagery from the natural world was natural for them, for they knew that they were connected to creation, they were aware that they depended on the earth, on nature.

⬛ In today’s scripture, which is one of the lectionary readings for today, the prophet describes God as the one who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters; the one who makes a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert; the one who is honored and praised by wild animals: jackals and ostriches. 

Earlier this year, I preached a sermon from this same chapter in Isaiah; it was from the beginning of Isaiah 43, while today’s scripture is from a little further on in that chapter.

Those earlier verses talked about how God will be with you when you pass through the fire and the waters, and how God will keep you from being overwhelmed.

Today’s scripture uses water imagery a little differently, when it talks about the water in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert. 

It brings to mind other scripture passages that talk about water, about how God leads us beside still waters, waters good for drinking; clear, clean water. Water that quenches our thirst and gives us life.

God gives us the water, and God gives us the fruit of the earth: all that we need for nourishment.

Which is why we often say grace before meals. God has gifted us with a world filled with abundance. That abundance nourishes us and gives us life. Whether we’re eating hamburgers or buffalo wings or crops from the field, we are dependent upon the earth, and we become one with the earth everytime we eat or drink. 

And it’s easy to be aware of this connection when what we eat still bears a resemblance to its original form. An apple in our hand looks the same as an apple in the tree. A drumstick in our hand doesn’t look quite the same as the chicken it once was, but we’re still aware of the source of our food.

But a hot dog; a cheeto; a ding dong… not so much.

Now, eating hot dogs, or cheetos, or ding dongs once in a while is not a sin. If you enjoy those foods, it’s OK! 

But if our habit is to always engage in practices that do not honor our connection with the earth, with creation, then I think we will find ourselves lost in a spiritual wilderness in which there is no river or stream to quench our spiritual thirst. 

Two weeks ago, our scripture was from Isaiah 55, which began: “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the water, and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.”

Notice how the prophet asks: “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread? Come on, eat what is good! Eat the good stuff!”

And when the prophet says “eat the good stuff,” I don't think he’s talking about hot dogs, cheetos, and ding dongs.

I think he’s talking about good, wholesome, nourishing food. Food that tastes good, but is also good for you. Food that is good for your body as well as your soul. Food that is good for you, as well as the earth. 

Food that is good all around.

Food that makes you aware of your sacred connection with creation.

⬛ What do you do to be aware of your sacred connection with creation? What practices do you engage in, to connect with nature? 

Lent is a good time to talk about such things, because many of the practices we engage in during Lent are meant to help us reconnect: reconnect with God, reconnect with ourselves.

Too many things in our lives disconnect us from God. The food we eat can certainly be one of those things. 

In the days we have remaining in this holy season of Lent, can you think of some practices you can engage in, that will help you reconnect with nature, with creation? 

Some of you garden. You’ve been planting and tending to flowers. That’s a good practice, one that can be sacred when it helps you connect to God’s creation.

Some of you like to go for walks in nature, as I do. I’ll never understand why the fitness centers are full of people running on treadmills on days when the weather is nice, when they could be running among the flowers and trees of Constitution Trail instead. 

Some of you like to watch nature documentaries. In my house, we’ve been watching The Americas, a television series narrated by Tom Hanks. It doesn’t provide a whole lot of information, but it does feature some amazing cinematography, with a stirring, emotional musical soundtrack, all designed to help viewers feel that connection to nature.

Something else that you can do, that some of you may do, is pause for just a moment before you eat, and remember where your food came from. Remember that beef and pork, though their names have been changed, were once living creatures, and that our lives depend directly on the lives of other beings. 

Remember that the plants you eat depend on clean soil, clean water, and clean air, as well as on human labor it takes to plant and harvest them. 

Remember that they also depend on the energy of the sun, for without sunlight, photosynthesis cannot occur and plants cannot grow; remember that every bite you take contains within it the energy of the sun.

Let that moment of reflection, of remembering, make you aware of your connection to the earth, and your connection to God, the one who gives water in the wilderness, the one who makes the sun to shine and the rain to fall.

Then, as you eat, enjoy your meal. Be aware of the taste. Savor it. “Delight in the rich food,” as Isaiah says. 

Sometimes I eat my meals in such a state of distraction, that I don’t actually taste what’s going into my mouth. My mind is focused on other things. And when I’m finished with my meal, I look down at my empty plate and I think, “Huh. I bet that tasted good…”

Is such mindlessness any way to thank the God who gave you that food?

Enjoy the taste of the food. Delight in it. Be mindful as you eat.

And then: knowing where your food comes from, commit to doing all you can to protect the earth, to protect the climate, to protect the soil, water, and air. 

Only when we learn to protect the earth can it be said that we, along with the jackals and the ostriches, are truly honoring the God of creation.

Through Flood and Fire (Isaiah 43:1-7)

 I went to Maui, six years ago. I went with my family, my sisters, and my sisters’ families. Both of my parents had died in the year prior, and they didn’t leave us a whole lot of money, but Dad did leave us some, enough for us to take this trip: a trip that all his children and grandchildren could take, together… 

One morning on that trip, Tristan and I woke up early while everyone else slept in. It was Sunday, and we wanted to go to church.

We went to Waiola Church in Lahaina, the oldest church in Maui. This church was founded in 1823—over 200 years ago—by the sacred high chiefess Keopūolani. A number of Hawaiian royalty were members of the congregation back in the days when Hawaii was an independent kingdom, and they have been laid to rest in the graveyard next to the church sanctuary. 

Yet for all that, Waiola Church is a small, humble church. We parked on the road in front of the church, along a low wall made of lava rock. A friendly dog greeted us as we got out of the car, but we soon found friendly people as well; not a huge crowd, but about 40 people in worship that day.

I don’t remember what songs we sang in worship. Some of them were familiar. Some were in Hawaiian… I do remember that there was a man playing guitar, and a woman playing the piano; and I remember that, before each song, they needed to take a moment to make sure they were on the same page, literally and figuratively.

But that was OK. Throughout it all, there was an incredible feeling of love and welcome - a genuine spirit of aloha. We were worshiping with people we had never met, and yet, it felt like we were with family. And that is what made it memorable and meaningful. 

Worship doesn’t have to be big, monumental; sometimes, a small, simple worship service is the most meaningful.

The love from that congregation followed me home. For several years, I kept their worship bulletin pinned to my bulletin board, as a reminder of that day.

As I said, that was six years ago. Since then, there has been a fire, a terrible fire, that burned Waiola church to the ground. In fact, that fire burned the entire town of Lahaina. All the tourist shops and restaurants along Front Street; historical buildings; libraries; schools; countless homes—even the magnificent banyan tree in the heart of town—were all destroyed in the catastrophic fire of 2023.

This week, of course, there have been terrible wildfires in southern California. Entire neighborhoods there have burned to the ground. As in Lahaina, the fires have burned churches, schools, restaurants, and countless homes; and they have scorched some of my favorite southern California hiking trails.

Several friends and relatives of mine were evacuated from their homes, although I don’t know anyone personally who has lost any property because of the fires. 

The other day, even before these fires in California began, I was thinking about Waiola Church, and wondering if it was somehow carrying on after the tragedy it endured. I looked online, to see what I could find. Most of what I read spoke of the church in past tense. Google told me that the church had permanently closed. 

But then I saw a link to an online “Blue Christmas” service on youtube, that happened a few weeks ago, led by the Waiola pastor. And I found out that Waiola church had partnered up with another church to hold worship services, and that there are, in fact, plans to rebuild Waiola church. 

Of course, there are many challenges, but this isn’t the first time Waiola has faced challenges. Strong winds once ripped off half the roof, a smallpox epidemic took many church members as victims, and not one but several previous fires have all ravaged the church. Yet each time, the church has persevered, and, God willing, they will persevere once again.

It seems rather fitting that, this week, the lectionary presents us with Isaiah 43:

When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, and the flames will not consume you.

In Isaiah 43, the people of Israel had seen the downfall of their once great nation. Not only was the kingdom gone; but the people had been taken off into captivity, in Babylon, far from their home. Yet the prophet offers this word of hope: God has not forgotten you. Just as God was with your ancestors, so God is with you.

Elsewhere in the book of Isaiah, it talks about a shoot growing out of the stump of Jesse. The image is of a great tree, symbolizing the great nation of Israel, cut down to a stump; destroyed. God’s people could not imagine such a terrible tragedy, and yet they were forced to endure it. 

All hope had seemed lost. The mighty tree had been cut down. All that was left was a stump.

And yet, from that stump, a shoot grew, symbolizing the hope that all was not lost, and that God’s people would rise up once again.

A similar thing happened with Lahaina’s own banyan tree. I said that it was destroyed, and at the time of the fire, many believed that that was the case. Damage from the fire was so extensive, that many thought the tree could not have survived. 

But later, close inspection revealed that some sections of the tree were still showing signs of life. There was hope.

Dead sections of the tree were pruned and cut out, and the tree has been carefully cared for, over the past year and a half, with special compost, and irrigation, and other measures.

The tree is healing. It is coming back to life. Slowly, but surely. It has been through the fire. But it is still alive. And a whole team of people—and, really, a whole community—is caring for it, to ensure that it has a long, vibrant, thriving future.

God’s promise in Isaiah isn’t just about the future. It draws on the past. Passing through the floodwaters and the fire isn’t just about the downfall of the kingdom, and their current captivity in Babylon. It’s also a reference to how God has been with God’s people in times past; how God was with Noah and his family on the ark; and, even more so, how God led God’s people out of slavery, escaping Pharaoh by passing through the waters of the Red Sea, with a wall of water on their right, and a wall of water on their left. Through every tragedy and challenge, God was with them; and God is with them now, and God will be with them in all the days to come.

I’m guessing that the people who put the lectionary together chose this scripture for this day because of its water and fire imagery. Especially its water imagery. Because today, the Sunday after Epiphany, is a day that focuses on baptism. 

Every year, on this day, the lectionary focuses on baptism. In churches that read all four lectionary texts every Sunday, the people are hearing what we heard from Isaiah, as well as Psalm 29, which says “The voice of the Lord is over the waters;” Acts 8, which includes a passing mention of baptism; and a section of Luke 3, where John the Baptist says, “I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

And baptism is such an interesting thing. There are many layers of meaning to baptism, and what stands out to one person might not be quite the same as what stands out to another.

The act of baptism itself symbolizes death and rebirth. In the water of baptism, we are cut off from the breath that gives life. In the Bible, breath and life are always connected. Life begins when breath enters the body. Bones come to life when the breath of God fills them. In Genesis we read that God formed a human out of the dust of the ground, but that human wasn’t alive until God breathed into him the breath of life.

When we are baptized, we are, for a moment, cut off from the breath that gives life. There’s no breathable air under the water. This symbolizes our dying: our dying with Christ, our dying to ourselves. In a way, I suppose, it even symbolizes being cut off from God.

Yet we are never cut off from God. Because when we pass through the waters, God is there. When we walk through the fire, God is there.

And when we are lifted out of the waters of baptism, and we take that first breath after coming out of the water, it is like the first breath of a newborn baby. Breath flows back into our bodies, we are filled with new life. The old life, the life that we lived for ourselves, is dead. This new life, in which we live for Christ, has begun.

When Jesus was baptized—as he emerged from those baptismal waters, a voice from heaven was heard: “This is my son, my beloved son…”

We hear that same voice speak similar words, to the people of Israel, and to us, in Isaiah 43: “I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are precious in my sight. I love you. I am with you.”

And that voice of God is with us. It is with us when we pass through the waters. It is with us when we walk through the fire. 

God is not in the fire itself. The fire is powerful, but the fire is not God, or God’s doing. God is not in the flood, or the earthquake, or the windstorm. 

But God is there, with God’s people, in the midst of it. God is there, with those who suffer, those who have watched their homes and their churches burn.

And God is there, with those reaching out, offering assistance, working to alleviate suffering, acting with compassion, and showing love.

One of the ways God shows up is through the prayers and support the church offers in times of tragedy. Our denomination has a ministry called Week of Compassion, which responds to disasters around the world; this week, Week of Compassion is working with Disciples church members in Southern California who have lost their homes. Week of Compassion is providing support and assistance, and letting those affected know that they are not alone, that the church stands with them. 

And because our congregation supports and participates in the Week of Compassion ministry, that means that God is working through YOU, to be with those who walk through the fire… It’s not just a symbolic or hypothetical thing. Because of you, people in southern California—and anywhere tragedy strikes—know that God is with them in the midst of tragedy, through the support, assistance, and prayers they are receiving from the church.

Being baptized doesn’t mean we won’t experience life’s fires and floods. But because we have been baptized, we know—we have the assurance—that God will be with us, through everything we are made to endure. And as we walk with each other, and pray for each other, and support each other, we ARE the presence of God…We ARE the body of Christ… showing the world that, through it all, hope will endure, and a new day will dawn. 

This is God’s promise to us, to every person. There will always be a way forward, and God will be there with us, guiding us and leading us, as we make our way.