Bob Hulteen

I first heard the maxim that significant deaths happen in threes just a few years ago. The last few months have “made it real” for me, with three people who had significant impact on my life – two as mentors – passing away.

With two terms as president of Concordia’s pre-sem club under my belt, I was making plans to be seminary bound in 1979 when friends and I planned a “teach in” around registration for the military draft. As part of that event, we invited the ALC’s leading authority of the topic, Chuck Lutz, to speak to the campus community about the church’s position on the religious exemption to military service.

After Chuck presented, sensing perhaps some ambiguity in me about becoming a pastor, he invited me to lunch in the school’s cafeteria. We ate lunch and chatted. We kept chatting all afternoon. And, then we chatted further through supper, still at the same table in the cafeteria. Chuck made a compelling case that the church needed very active and involved lay leaders as much as it needed clergy. He “agitated” me to think about that as a calling.

“Chuck Lutz made a compelling case that the church needed very active and involved lay leaders as much as it needed clergy.”

My talk with Chuck is one of the most important discussions of my life. Although I still planned to go to sem (Wartburg being my choice), I no longer felt

responsibility to become a Minister of Word and Sacrament. And, before I could attend, I ended up in Washington, D.C., in the Lutheran Volunteer Corps, deeply engaged in the life of the Sojourners Community and St. Peter’s Lutheran Church. I was “living my best life” as a lay person engaged in the ministry of the church. Thank you, Chuck.

I was lucky enough later to serve on the Board for Church and Society (which the then-Rev., pre-Bishop Ann Svennungsen chaired) with Chuck after returning to Minnesota in the early 90s. Our meetings were packed with discussions of the public ministry of the church – the church’s engagement with civil society. Back then synod assemblies were still covered by local media, and resolutions still had some impact. So, committee members would debate the best means for addressing social issues.

Because our 2022 Minneapolis Area Synod Assembly was this Saturday, I didn’t have the chance to attend Chuck’s memorial service at his beloved congregation, Lutheran Church of Christ the Redeemer in Minneapolis. At almost the same time that Chuck’s memorial service opened, voting members at the assembly were debating issues like instituting a carbon tax, supporting people with addictions, and banning nuclear weapons. This was so fitting as Chuck would have probably chosen the assembly over his own memorial.

 

BISHOP LOWELL ERDAHL was probably my Sojourners colleagues’ favorite Lutheran during the time I lived in D.C. His courageous leadership within the church on issues of war and peace, sexuality, abortion, the death penalty, and more brought hope that ecclesial structures could be tied to movements that sought to bring a Beatitude vision into this world. He was known for his consistency on issues of life.

“Bishop Lowell Erdahl had an amazing balance of pastoral and prophetic that is so thoroughly needed today.”

He also was generous with his time. Moving back to Minneapolis as a layperson, Bishop Lowell was so thoughtful in offering space and time to learn more about how to offer a ministry of presence within the public square. He not only would want to talk about outcomes, but also the process for getting there. I saw in him that amazing balance of pastoral and prophetic that is so thoroughly needed today.

I especially am grateful for a long conversation about a sticky situation that involved a personal friend of his and some insensitive actions around issues of race. Without throwing his friend under the bus, Bishop Lowell, then retired, was insistent that it was important to do the right thing, not the easy one. He offered to be a backstop if the situation blew up. He walked his talk.

 

THE THIRD PERSON I will mention wasn’t a mentor, and I actually am telling the story of only one interaction with him. Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-Utah) was central to the conservative revolution of the 80s. A devote Mormon who wrote hymnody on the side, Sen. Hatch was an unexpected influence.

Steve Peck, a member of the Sojourners worshipping community, coached basketball deep in the heart of suburban Virginia. As a way of supporting Steve, some members of Sojourners would regularly make the long trek from inner-city D.C. to Vienna to watch his team play.

At that time Sojourners was leading efforts against a U.S. foreign policy that sought to destabilize  freedom movements in places like Central America, South Africa, the Philippines, and South Korea. My response to our federal incursions was, when at athletic events, to sneak out of the gym to get popcorn during the playing of the National Anthem.

One night at a Vienna basketball game, I didn’t get out fast enough and the anthem was playing. I decided to sit through the anthem. About 15 seconds after its conclusion, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I peered up to see the face of Sen. Hatch, whose soon Jess was one of the star players on the Vienna team. He said something like, “I noticed that you didn’t stand for the anthem. I was wondering if you’d let me know why.”

Gulp.

I preceded to explain my decision, … as calmly as I could. He asked more questions. He offered alternative ways to think about the situation. We disagreed on almost every topic, but he treated me – a “pretty confident” 25-year-old at the time – with the utmost respect, even when vehemently opposing my position. We talked for the entire first half, and parted – not in agreement, but both realizing the humanity of the other.

“Sen. Orrin Hatch and I parted – not in agreement, but both realizing the humanity of the other.”

It was harder for me to speak poorly of Sen. Hatch after that. He said things on the floor of the Senate that drove me crazy. And, I know that I had privilege that might not have been afforded others – maybe especially those from Central America, South Africa, the Philippines, and South Korea. But, I had to appreciate that he truly believed his position, and that he was willing to be curious when many others would have used the opportunity to deride my position. For that I was grateful.

Each of these men changed the way I view public space. I am eternally grateful for my connections to each of them.

AS A POST-SCRIPT: As I finished writing this blog, I realized that all three people I write about are old white men. I was fortunate to have so many mentors, especially while living in D.C., who weren’t in that category, who had been leaders in the Civil Rights and other movements and institutions. But, almost all of those individuals died years ago, even though they were born around the same time as these three about whom I now write. I became more deeply aware of the inequity in the cost that racist structures play on the health and well-being of gifted leaders taken from us too soon.