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By Emilie Bouvier 

Everyone has their favorite household chores. I’m transported back to sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor in front of my family’s “recycling drawer,” neatly sorting the contents into their respective bags to bring to the recycling center. This was my favorite chore, probably because it was slow and methodical and far less frustrating than vacuuming the stairs (my least favorite chore to this day). But mostly, this ritual-like practice directed my attention to what we discard and fostered in me a responsibility to steward these materials.  

“That was the first moment I realized that my faith and my commitment to what happens to a plastic water bottle were very much connected.” 

Fast forward a few years to the hallways of high school when I noticed a friend of mine drop a plastic bottle in the trash instead of the recycling bin just a bit further up the hall. Formed by the many hours spent as the sorter of the recycling, I exclaimed “wait!” When I asked her about it, she calmly replied, “Well, it doesn’t really matter because when the earth dies, Jesus will come back and save us.” I was totally floored. I didn’t have a honed theology of recycling to share back then, but that was the first moment I realized that my faith and my commitment to what happens to a plastic water bottle were very much connected.  

Ask me today and you’ll get a whole mini sermon: Genesis and watersheds; Cain and Abel and the interconnectedness of violence and oppression with alienation from the soil; practices of sabbath and gleaning; a whole spiel about reducing and reusing as the primary steps ahead of recycling; and a healthy dose of corporate responsibility in our collective addiction to plastic (So, maybe not a mini sermon). 

BUT HERE’S WHAT I’VE REALIZED – the deep connection I feel to these biblical stories and the call to tend and keep creation as an act of faith and justice, is still grounded by the simplicity of daily practices. I no longer sit in front of the “recycling drawer,” but I relish the ritual of bringing my empty jars to the co-op to be filled up with coffee, pasta, and rice. And I still find myself taking inventory of my recycling, wondering what it would take to get rid of the rest of these plastics that have become the non-degradable fabric of our on-the-go habits. 

This is my hope for our upcoming EcoFaith Lenten Series on Plastics: to learn simple, repeatable practices that reduce our individual reliance on single-use plastics; and through that learning, enhance our understanding of the issues, deepen our faith, and root our activism. I was inspired by the ELCA Youth’s campaign to “Give up Plastics for Lent” over the past few years, because Lent is already a time for committing to simple yet sometimes challenging changes in our daily actions in ways that encourage faithful reflection. 

“And through learning, enhance our understanding of the issues, deepen our faith, and root our activism.” 

Part of what will make this season of learning and action so powerful will be when lots of folks jump in and take these steps together – we will be able to see the collective impact of how all the small changes add up and challenge the systemic norms and prevalence of plastic in our lives. 

And whatever your journey looks like through these coming weeks of Epiphany’s light and Lent’s season of reflection, I hope you’ll catch yourself looking twice at your recycling next time you put it out. 

So, do you have plans yet for what your Lenten learning or worship focus will be? Thanks to a partnership grant with Hennepin County that offered the necessary support and resources, we’ve been able to run with the idea of a lent-focused series on plastics! 

Hennepin County congregations:  Use this form 

Congregations outside Hennepin County can use our online resources by filling out this form.  

By Meghan Olsen Biebighauser

Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit;
and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord;
there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.
To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.
To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit,
to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit,
to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of spirits, to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues.
All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses. (1 Corinthians 12) 

 Those of us who hear from the Revised Common Lectionary each week heard this familiar passage on Sunday. While it was far from my first time hearing these words, all I could think about this time around was how well this message fit in with my household’s current obsession: Disney’s new film, Encanto.   

“And our identity as beloved children of God is more important than any superpower we may be blessed with for the common good.”

Finally! A Disney heroine who wears glasses!

 If you haven’t had the opportunity to enjoy this new film yet (it’s still in theaters AND on Disney+), here’s a spoiler-free synopsis. Encanto takes us to the mountains of Colombia where we meet the extended Madrigal family, each blessed with a supernatural gift with which they serve and support their community. Dolores has superhuman hearing, Julieta heals people with her food, Luisa has super physical strength, Bruno can see the future, and so on…except for our protagonist, Mirabel. Mirabel seemingly wasn’t blessed with a gift, and the story unfolds from there.  

 My children have watched Encanto about 103 times now, and when they’re not watching it, they’re singing the super catchy songs. Constantly. At top volume. A great dinner table conversation starter has been to ask which superhuman gift we’d each like to have. My 9-year-old, Frances, wants to be able to talk to animals, while Robin, my 4-year-old, can dream up endless ways that shapeshifting would make his life more interesting.   

MORE THAN JUST CONVERSATIONS ABOUT MAGIC, though, Encanto has paved the way for conversations about giftedness more broadly.  What are some of the gifts that we see in one another? While it may not be superhuman hearing, who do we know who has amazing perception and awareness? Who do we turn to right now when we want to hear a vision for the future? How do these serve our community? In what ways can they sometimes feel like a burden? Do we ever feel like Mirabel, wondering whether we’ve even been blessed with a gift at all?   

Do we ever feel like Mirabel, wondering whether we’ve even been blessed with a gift at all?

As Sunday’s reading reminded us, being blessed with a gift is not about the gift itself, but the Giver. And our identity as beloved children of God is more important than any superpower we may be blessed with for the common good.   

 Let’s be on the lookout for ordinary gifts that can seem magical. Like, my mom’s pasta fagioli isn’t going to cure COVID or anything, but you can’t say she doesn’t have the same power of healing as Mirabel’s mama. 

By Kayla Zopfi

Perhaps last years’ season’s greetings came with restful tidings and hopes for light to shine brightly again soon. Perhaps you’ve come to feel less and less seen by these greetings. The tiredness and somberness may have weighed heavily for so long. It is finally a fresh year but 2022 has, so far, felt like 2020, too.

Cole Arthur Riley writes in an Instagram post about the season of Advent, “We put all our hope in the sacred blackness of a womb. As we wait, we remind ourselves that darkness … has the unique capacity to bear the divine. From the cosmos to the womb, the dark has always been a site of creativity and liberation.”

Times may feel dark, but we must also remember the dark is holy, too. It is within these dark places that love and wonder are nurtured. God is with us in this darkness, knowing us, still forming us. Arthur Riley, concluding her post, invites us into the following meditation:

INHALE:
I can wait through the darkness.

EXHALE:
There is holy here too.

By Pastor John Hulden

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.”                                         Luke 2: 8-15a NRSV

The Christmas Story continues to amaze – year after year after year. It’s been “wowing” hearers for about two millennia.

“Angels visiting the shepherds make headlines in this story. I love that.”

The Gospel of Luke gives us so many wonderful characters. These three are pretty famous:

• Elizabeth
  • She was having a baby despite the fact, as her skeptical husband Zechariah points out to the angel, “my wife is getting on in years.” Luke 1:18 … Yikes! That reminds me of stupid stuff I have said when I’m terrified.
  • The elder Elizabeth blesses her young cousin Mary. Luke 1:42-45 … Only men were supposed to do the blessings.
• Zechariah
  • He is struck speechless at the high holy altar of the temple until the miracle baby John is born. Luke 1:20 … That is exacting punishment for a disbelieving preacher.
  • When he finally can talk, the ol’ priest gave his best ever, beautiful — and short! — sermon. Luke 1: 66-79 … Maybe I should finally try a silent retreat.
• Mary the faithful and powerful teenager
  • Mary’s voice causes Elizabeth’s child to leap in her womb. Luke 1: 41
  • Mary is the singer of radical lullabies. Luke 1: 46-55
  • And this line: “But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” Luke 2:19

Then there are those dirty, stinky Shepherds.

WHEN I HAVE A quiet moment later this Christmas weekend, I know I will think of those shepherds “living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.” Luke 2:8

Angels visiting the shepherds make headlines in this story. I love that. They were the lowliest of the low. They had one piece of tanned, whole skin of a sheep, with the wool left on that served as their coat, their tent, and their bed. Can you imagine what that smelled like?

When the shepherds came into town (maybe once or twice a year?), I envision something like an old Western movie when the outlaw gang roars into town on horseback. Moms say to their kids, “Get inside! The Shepherds are coming to town!”

Shepherds were the minimum wage workers of their day. I’m guessing to get a shepherding job you’d show up at the Palestinian equivalent of the “Labor Ready” office early in the morning and hope to land a paying gig. Shepherding was perhaps the last-best option for employment. It was hard and risky work; thieves and wild animals were out to get those sheep. It was 24/7 work; you were always on the job.

“Shepherds were the minimum wage workers of their day.”

But it was a good job if you didn’t like hanging out with your relatives since you’d be gone for months at a time. And, if you liked sleeping under the stars and paying no rent, shepherding probably appealed to some.

When I think about shepherds this Christmas, I’m always left with this wondering: Would I listen as well as the shepherds?

How many other folks did that heavenly chorus of angels sing to that day? Did they try singing to the mayor? The priest? The chamber of commerce? Were they all too busy to listen? So then, finally, in the middle of the night, did those angels try singing to the last group left who was still awake? The angels sang their hearts out to the lowly shepherds. And the shepherds listened to their song of good news. And they were amazed. And the shepherds said: “Let’s Go!”

By Maya Bryant

I stared out my office doorway to the windows leading to the white landscape outside and sighed. With the first heavy snowfall hitting the Twin Cities, it’s hard to ignore that winter is here. Sure, the cold and the wind chill aren’t anything to scoff at, but I hadn’t needed to pull out my winter coat until the snow hit.

I hate to admit it, but winter is my least favorite season. If seasonal depression wasn’t enough to deter me, then it’s the freezing temperatures and the fact that Minnesotans seem to forget how to drive as soon as the white stuff hits the road. Nature is a haven for me, and I love being outside, but winter is my weak point. I find it suffocating and isolating.  

So, as I continued to look out the doorway, I eventually decided to move a little closer. I walked out of my office toward the synod office’s Skyline Room and stood at its entrance, still inspecting the snow. I could barely make out the skyscrapers and buildings that make up Minneapolis.

“Travel times change, clothes change, and attitudes change.”

Another sigh left me as I contemplated how such little particles of frozen water could create such a wall of influence. And yes, I mean influence, because snow, through no fault of its own, does impact the way we go about our lives. Travel times change, clothes change, and attitudes change. Everything seems to slow down or completely grind to a halt.  

I moved a little closer to the window and could feel the cold permeating from it. Instead of seeing just a white wall of influence, I could see the small particles swirling through the air and then floating down to the white blanket six floors below. Despite my disdain for the weather, I found it rather peaceful. And then I chuckled. Why is it called ‘a blanket of snow?’ Why not just a covering or a layer? I thought. I always associated blankets with comfort and safety, and I found it ironic.  

SAUNTERING BACK TO MY DESK, though, another thought popped into my brain: Maybe the point of calling it a blanket is to bring comfort. The snow embraces the ground, it does not suffocate it. The winter slows us down, not to isolate us, but to help us reflect.

I thought back to last December in the middle of lockdown and the amount of time I had to myself. I returned to positive old habits and hobbies. I even started journaling again after almost 6 months. It was one of the first winters where I did not feel isolated from others because I had intentional time to work on myself. Of course, this self-reflection was practically shoved into my lap because of a pandemic. But even in the summer of 2020, I could busy myself with the outdoors and needless work to avoid honest meditation of my feelings and thoughts. Winter pushed me to take a moment to rest.  

“Why is it called ‘a blanket of snow?’”

Slinking in my swivel chair, I took a deep breath and noted how my body felt. It was tired. Achy limbs and slow blinking eyes. Despite this, my mind felt rested for letting my body feel it. I will probably never say winter is my favorite season, or that I enjoy driving in the snow, but I will try to appreciate Nature’s push to take my time and to be patient with myself.  

By Kayla Zopfi

Year-of-service programs are ecosystems of mutual exchange, community engagement, and mentorship. Especially in the nonprofit sector, decades-long histories inform and affect programs that facilitate the connection between individuals who want to engage in their community (often recent college graduates) and organizations who are doing work that makes a difference (often those doing faith-based community service and/or organizing).

The volunteers living at Wellstone House in Powderhorn Park spend a Saturday preparing the yard for winter.

Being an undergrad student studying religion, political science, and interfaith studies meant that I spent four years deeply immersed in the metaphysical space that exists when you ask, “Why?” or, “What if?” As an almost-college-graduate with what felt like an endless list of possibilities for what I could do after graduating, I knew I wanted to put the theory I was learning into practice, but also cared about structural opportunities for mentorship and connection. A year of service seemed to provide exactly this.

“The intentional community aspect of a year of service is often what you make of it, and we have made it fit perfectly for our needs and personalities.”

This year, I get to live with four other volunteers in a beautiful, cozy house in the Powderhorn Park neighborhood in Minneapolis. Together we cook, clean, laugh, watch movies, vote, and solve all of the world’s problems. The intentional community aspect of a year of service is often what you make of it, and we have made it fit perfectly for our needs and personalities.

We also have two spiritual mentors, Andrew and Andrea, and two community mentors, Lydia and Leah. (If you were wondering – it isn’t a requirement to have coordinating names to be a spiritual or community mentor, but it sure is fun that it worked out that way this year!) We meet monthly with each pair of mentors to ensure we have the support we need, and to explore LVC’s core values: living simply and sustainably, intentional community, exploring spirituality, journey to inclusive community, and social justice.

WHILE THERE ARE so many aspects of this year of service that have been life-changing already, it’s the work that I get to do every day that is the best part. As the Administrative and Communications associate, I get to spend half of my time on the admin team, keeping up with office operations and assisting with parts of the synod’s equity work. The other half of my time, on the Communications team, is spent on our website and social media platforms and doing some writing.

This LVC community spends some time in a pumpkin patch this fall.

As with any synopsis, there are details left out of this description. What it doesn’t tell you is that I got to help transcribe interviews with leaders of our BIPOC and low-income congregations to be used for our ongoing equity lens study. It doesn’t tell you that I get to pitch and write stories that highlight some of the brilliant work happening every day in our congregations. It doesn’t tell you that I get to learn how to prepare people for press conferences, or present at city council meetings, or compile reports to make a master document for a gathering of the synod’s leaders on racial equity and justice.

“Generations of leaders have service programs footnoted in their pathways to peace-waging and change-making.”

Maybe these things seem simple or not very glamorous, but I’ve just spent four years learning that all of these things, and so much more, need to happen in order to create change. Through this program, I get to actually do them, not just read or hear about other people doing them, all while I have people around to specifically help me learn and explore and fail and try again – just as I hoped when I submitted my LVC application last February.

The volunteers are expressing their civic duty on November 2.

Participation is down for my, and almost every other, year-of-service program. Are there critiques to be made of the year-of-service model? Absolutely. Does that diminish the important opportunities these programs bring to all who invest into them? Certainly not. Generations of leaders have service programs footnoted in their pathways to peace-waging and change-making.

As a current volunteer, of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t end with a reminder that Lutheran Volunteer Corps 2022-23 applications are open for both placements and volunteers! For more information, head to lutheranvolunteercorps.org.

By Brenda Blackhawk 

Have you ever heard the phrase, “You can’t appreciate the sunshine if you’ve never stood in the rain?” Several variations of the saying pop up when you look online for quotes of gratitude and thanksgiving. It regularly comes up in our times of grief and sorrow as well, when someone who cares is trying to remind us that everyone experiences hard times and things will get better.  

I think I get the phrase. I mean, just imagine if the sun was always shining. My guess is, like anything that is always there, we would take it for granted. We’d probably even complain about it a little bit. We can appreciate the warmth of the sun so much more when we experience rainy days, and we should try to remember to be thankful for all the good times. 

“I think of all the people who are stuck in the rain, through no fault of their own. And of all the people who always have sunshine so that if the sun even drifts behind a cloud they feel like the world is ending.”

In a few days folks all across the U.S. will be giving thanks by spending time with loved ones, stuffing their faces and warming up leftovers for days. I will be engaging in Thanksgiving festivities when my spouse and I drive out to Chicago to visit with his family and eat at about six different relatives’ houses. 

Over the years, many people have asked me if I, as a Native person, celebrate Thanksgiving. Sometimes I think people are disappointed when I say, “of course!” I’d probably be a more interesting person if I said that I protested the holiday, but honestly, I can’t think of a single Indigenous person in my acquaintance who doesn’t enjoy any excuse for fun and family and food (which doesn’t mean those folks don’t exist, FYI).  

I GREW UP LEARNING the same version of the Thanksgiving story as most of you: The pilgrims were saved by the “noble savages” – who taught them how to live off the land – and they feasted together at the harvest. I also know that isn’t the true story and I hope and pray schools are doing a better job teaching the real history these days. (I’m not getting into the real history. Look it up if you’re interested. All you need to know is that, as usual, it didn’t go well for the Wampanoag when dealing with colonizers).  

This is the part of “appreciating the sunshine…” that perturbs me. I think of all the people who are stuck in the rain, through no fault of their own. And of all the people who always have sunshine so that if the sun even drifts behind a cloud they feel like the world is ending. I know that grief is relative and that comparing sorrows doesn’t make anyone feel better. AND it really seems unfair that some people get all the rain and others get the sun. It’s been raining on Indigenous Americans since 1492. 

“In a few days folks all across the U.S. will be giving thanks by spending time with loved ones, stuffing their faces and warming up leftovers for days.”

A few years ago, I attended a symposium where Mark Charles was the main speaker. He talked about the Doctrine of Discovery and the harms that the Christian Empire has wrought on the world. He also talked about the specific role the church should play in the righting of those wrongs. He lifted up a deep need for true lament before there can be reconciliation, … which, now that I think about it, is an invitation to go sit in the rain for a while.  

All people should show gratitude and thanksgiving for their loved ones and communities, for all God and Mother Earth provide. And it’s not wrong to do that with food and celebration. We need to be grateful for those sunny moments. Just don’t forget that you’re also invited to go and sit in the rain too. Who knows? You may learn to appreciate the sun a little differently. 

By Pastor John Hulden

But Ruth said, “Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die — there will I be buried. May the Lord do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!” When Naomi saw that she was determined to go with her, she said no more to her.
Ruth 1: 16-18 NRS

The first meeting with other staff every Monday is my check-in with Maya and Nick. Our Lectio Divina this morning was from the first verses of the Book of Ruth. Since very few women are named in the Bible, I suppose it’s both terrible and remarkable that two women have a book named after them. The Book of Ruth is a wonderful antidote to the horrible things that happen in the previous Old Testament book: Judges.

The “Where you go …” verses highlighted above are powerful, and therefore, of course, Christian-Bookstore-refrigerator-magnet-and-wall-hanging worthy. I suppose that’s how newlyweds picking out wedding scripture end up choosing those verses. I’m trying to remember if I were at all tactful in explaining to those newlyweds this “happily ever after” scripture is really about a mother- and daughter-in-law.

Naomi and Ruth choose to be companions.

NEXT ON MY SCHEDULE today was our synod staff’s Zoom meeting with Archbishop Musa Filibus of the Lutheran Church of Christ in Nigeria (LCCN). The internet connection both here and in North East Nigeria was strong enough for us to hear powerful words from the leader of our synod’s companion synod.

Archbishop Musa Filibus leading a staff devotion with the Minneapolis Area Synod staff.

Among many other things Archbishop Musa Panti Filibus said:

“I’m often asked, are you not threatened where you live? Of course. I don’t have an option. But God is in charge. God is the light. God is the one that remains. Let us be a loving, caring community”

“During the corruption, hate, war, and discrimination, there are so many people who are suffering in the margins. It is precisely in this that we are called to bring a word of hope.”

“Companions show up. Companions listen. Companions show compassion. Companions accompany. Companions advocate.”

In 2013, I was honored to represent the Minneapolis Area Synod at the weeklong Centenary Celebration of the Lutheran Church of Christ in Nigeria (LCCN). At the final worship service, a new local bishop was installed: Musa Filibus. Pastor Filibus felt the call to leave his job in Geneva working for the Lutheran World Federation, and he and his family moved back to his home area in rural Nigeria. A few years later, he was elected Archbishop of the LCCN.

Archbishop Filibus continues to be a shining example for me on how to be a companion. His leadership has brought companionship to the forefront in everything he does as he leads the LCCN. Companions show up. Companions listen. Companions show compassion. Companions accompany. Companions advocate. Companions know much of the work we do, we do better together.

NOW ARCHBISHOP FILIBUS is spearheading an effort to start Lutheran University Nigeria. He has heard the plea of teenagers unable to attend college. So, he turned his attention and efforts to starting a university. His companion list is long for this work: families in rural areas, local politicians, government officials, LCCN’s pastors and congregations, ecumenical partners in NE Nigeria, and, yes, the Minneapolis Area Synod (LCCN’s companion synod here in the U.S.).

“Why start a university in North East Nigeria?”

Why start a university in NE Nigeria? See this video. (Bishop Filibus says this video is going viral in NE Nigeria; folks are very excited about this new Lutheran University.) Also see this web page.

How can you be companion? Time is short. There is an important deadline looming for the LCCN to be granted approval for their university. All they need is money, … some of our money.

I hope that someday soon our synod might be able to host a trip to visit our companions in Nigeria again. But the best way to be a companion today? Give in any of these ways:

1. You can mail cash or a check to the synod office:
   • Minneapolis Area Synod
     Attn: LUN Fund
     122 W Franklin Ave, #600
     Minneapolis, MN 55404
2. You can text “LUN” to 44-321.
3. You can give online through GiveLively.
4. You can use the QR code below.

By Emilie Bouvier

Ole Nore (NOHR-ee), a Norwegian Lutheran farmer and nearly charter member of my home congregation in Lincoln, Nebraska, was not one known for sharing emotions. If you didn’t know him, you’d probably assume he was constantly disapproving. And when, say, a huge stick got stuck in the axel of the church lawnmower, well, then you certainly knew.

So, imagine the church staff’s surprise when Ole Nore, in his quest to learn computer technology, faxed an effusing thank-you letter to the church office filled with long strings of first-generation heart and smiley-face emojis and overflowing thanks that printed out to be about a 7-foot long stream on continuous paper.

Ole Nore

“A constant and faithful presence in the congregation, Ole contributed to many different church ministries and even volunteered mowing the church’s grounds.”

But if a multi-page emoticon-filled thank-you from a stodgy old Norwegian Lutheran isn’t funny enough, then came my 6-year-old brother’s reaction. When asking about this mysterious and magnificent paper stream hung up on the church office door, the reply didn’t make sense to him: “Oh, Ole Nore sent that.” So, he asked “What’s a Holy Nore?” Needless to say, Ole Nore became known as “Holy Nore” from then on.

A constant and faithful presence in the congregation, he contributed to many different church ministries and even volunteered mowing the church’s grounds – all ordinary things, but holy nonetheless.

I’ve been thinking a lot these weeks about the saints that have come before us in the faith. Ole died on October 22 at the age of 97 and the community celebrated his life this weekend. My now-home congregation in Minneapolis this month also lost a pillar member of the church community, Ramona Starks.

WHEN I FIRST CAME to Calvary Lutheran, I learned immediately that Ramona was fun, feisty, and one of the movers and shakers of the congregation. I was in awe of her stories. Her Lutheran pastor in 1956 had refused to officiate her wedding, since she was white and her husband was black, cautioning that she would be “lucky” to find someone to perform an interracial marriage. Even amid such painful experiences of injustice, her resilience, her love for her family, and her fierce commitment to work for racial justice in the church and wider community was remarkable.

Ramona Starks and her husband

Celebrating her life and honoring her memory at her funeral services was truly an experience of treading on holy ground. I had many times wished I took more time to go visit her, to sit and listen to her deep well of stories. I knew I had to go to her funeral because I longed to hear more of her life, to learn all I could from her legacy and way of being, and to honor her memory.

How often do we get too busy to truly recognize and spend the time with the saints in our midst?

“Celebrating Ramona’s life and honoring her memory at her funeral services was truly an experience of treading on holy ground.”

I remember a sunny July day after church, having helped clean up and on my way out as one of the last folks to leave, I saw two of the elders of the congregation, Bettye and Verna, alone by the front steps. When I checked in with them, I learned that they were struggling with a communication error with MetroMobility, and just realized their ride wasn’t coming.

They insisted they would take the bus instead, but they let me at least wait with them at the bus stop. It was such a small thing, but I was so grateful that half hour that we just sat and talked. Bettye showed me her leather handbag that a friend had crafted for her, of which she was clearly very proud.

We relished the afternoon sunshine. They smiled and waved as they left on the bus. I was aware even in the moment that it was such an unexpected time of connection that had been spirit-filled.

IN THE PAST year, both Verna and Bettye have passed on, … as elders and everyday saints of the congregation, and I’m grateful for the ways they had been part of the community and those snippets of time and conversations that we shared. I notice their empty “spots” in the sanctuary when I walk back from communion. I know many communities are feeling similar absences, certainly multiplied and pained by the added layers and losses of the pandemic.

Bettye and her leather handbag

On the heels of All Saints Day, I hope we can find ways to both grieve and celebrate the ordinary “holy” ones in our midst. I hope we continue to create space to honor their stories and remember the shoulders we stand on.

“In the past year, both Verna and Bettye have passed on, … as elders and everyday saints of the congregation.”

In that spirit, I’ll leave you with my favorite story of Ramona that I heard in these past weeks. She was a neighborhood “mother” to so many, and I learned the only caveat to her quite radical hospitality was requiring everyone who walked through her door to vote if they were eligible.

If folks didn’t know how, she’d sit down with them to figure it out. But, of course, like everything she did, she was insistent. So, if nothing else, let these saints remind you to get out there and vote today if you haven’t already!

By Pastor Craig Pederson

Over the past 18 months the effects of the pandemic, racial justice awakening, and economic disruptions continue to unfold in unpredictable ways.  As they do, new insights emerge that help us understand the seismic changes we are experiencing.

In recent months, one trend that has been increasingly reported and analyzed is being called the “Great Resignation.” Echoing other historic events in the American economy like the Great Depression and the Great Recession, the Great Resignation describes the phenomenon of workers across many sectors of the economy leaving their jobs in droves. These “resignations” have different motivations: Some workers leave to take higher paying jobs in a labor-hungry economy; some leave to escape poor working conditions that they have endured for too long; some are shifting career paths to pivot away from the stresses of their current profession; and some are leaving the workforce entirely to take a break.

“Workers saying ‘enough!’”

In a recent article in the Atlantic, staff writer Derek Thompson takes a deeper look into the impacts of the Great Resignation. He suggests this trend will shape the post-pandemic economy for years to come. But while resignation is often seen as a negative, that’s not necessarily so in this case:

“Quitting is a concept typically associated with losers and loafers. But this level of quitting is really an expression of optimism that says, We can do better. … Americans seem to be done with sticking it out. And they’re being rewarded for their lack of patience: Wages for low-income workers are rising at their fastest rate since the Great Recession. The Great Resignation is, literally, great.”

IN ADDITION TO resignations, the writer identifies three other “Great R’s” shaping our experience:

The Great Rudeness: Unruly passengers on airlines, belligerent clients in restaurants and other service industries, and hostile customers in retail stores have all contributed to a movement of workers saying “enough!” They are leaving for other job opportunities or exiting the labor force entirely.

“Derek Thompson suggests the Great Resignation will shape the post-pandemic economy for years to come.”

The Great Reset: Office closures and work-from-home arrangements during the pandemic blurred the lines between family and professional boundaries of time and space. Workers are reevaluating their sense of identity and purpose in relation to their jobs, and they are less inclined to anticipate working beyond traditional retirement ages.

The Great Reshuffling: The necessity of conducting business online rather than in person has expanded the parameters of what is possible, productive, and profitable in commerce. Rootedness in a specific geographic location carries less value. Employees can increasingly work and live anywhere, and businesses need not conglomerate in cities or regions that used to be considered essential hubs.

WHEN I APPLY these “Great R’s” as filters to our church life, I see striking similarities.

In terms of resignations, we have seen a significant increase in our synod in the number of pastoral transitions taking place since the late spring of this year. Some pastors had been delaying their retirements and other pastors were deferring their discernment of new calls as they worked with their congregations through COVID. A few pastors decided it is time to step away from ministry completely for a while. In addition, some congregations held off the calling of a new pastor (and some still are) until they had a better sense of what a “new normal” might look like in congregational life.

Regarding the Great Rudeness, sadly I have to say we’ve also seen evidence of this in our churches. In some cases the cause has been COVID-related tensions over in-person vs. online worship (or how to do both), and mask/distancing/vaccine protocols. In other cases the cause has been disagreements about the role of the church in addressing racial and economic justice concerns. Churches are often places where different points of view are held and even encouraged, but over the past 18 months we synod staff have been called into situations where the meanness and rancor of both church members and leaders are not befitting of the body of Christ.

“Any pastor or musician who has led an online worship service from their living room, or an online bible study from the kitchen table, knows about the blurring of work/home lines.”

As for the Great Reset, any pastor or musician who has led an online worship service from their living room, or an online bible study from the kitchen table (while their children may be doing schoolwork on the other side of the table!), knows about the blurring of work/home lines. We have also heard about the difficult shifts needed to do pastoral care and community outreach when person-to-person contact is restricted. Yet, God’s people have continued to find creative ways to live out their mission and calling.

And, with the Great Reshuffling, even as church leaders work to reestablish in-person community and to embody the incarnational nature of the church, the availability of online worship and ministry programming has altered and expanded notions of church “membership.” Zooming in on Sunday morning from your bedroom at home or from a cabin up north gives great freedom for participation; it also has allowed for engagement with multiple churches, some of which aren’t even in geographic proximity. And as pastors evaluate what is important in their own sense of call, they are increasingly intentional about seeking a better alignment of their own gifts and passions, their family’s needs (both nuclear and extended families), and their congregation’s openness/willingness to change for the sake of the gospel.

The circumstances that generated these “Great R’s” have been challenging indeed. My hope is that, as we continue to work through the challenges, we hold before us the optimism and faith that we can do better. Our churches, our leaders, and our communities are counting on it!