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By Jessie Goeke

I admire those who can embrace the unknown with open arms, though they are a rare and special breed. For the rest of us, transition and change can provoke feelings of fear, discomfort, and uncertainty. Yet, change is an inevitable part of all our lives.

When I started working at the synod office, I knew that in 10 short months our bishop, the staff, and the entire synod would undergo a season of transition that was not just a minor change, but rather a fundamental shift in the culture we had grown accustomed to, a change that would leave us all facing the reality that our futures would all look different in ways we couldn’t predict.

“Transitions are often a marathon, rather than a sprint.”

A truth that I know in my bones, however, is that we shouldn’t, and are never meant to, go through this type of journey alone.

When I think about how uncomfortable I feel with transition and change, this truth offers some solace. Even when my footing feels shaky, I know that calling on my people, trusting in God, and wading through the change with others in the same position as me, can ease the fear.

TRANSITION IS UPON the synod office these days. Alongside the many goodbyes, there are celebrations and reflections of how each of us have grown and the relationships that have been built. In a recent meeting, the staff reflected on the ways in which we have seen God at work in our tenure at the synod office. Nearly every example that was shared involved relationships. We have carried each other through the good and the bad; through grief and through fear. Though the uncertainty of change is palpable, one thing we can count on is that we are in this together.

Community is the antidote, the salve, the healing balm to the fear and uncertainty during transition. It is the mutual experience of transitory periods (or change) that draws us closer to one another.

Whether you are transitioning in big or small ways these days, I pray that you can find your community and lean into the unknown.

“Community is the antidote, the salve, the healing balm to the fear and uncertainty during transition.”

For support during periods of transition, here are 5 things you can do to help mitigate the emotional burden of change:

• Listen to your body. Trust your body’s instincts and attend to them. Do you need more sleep? Do you need to move your body? Do you need some comfort foods? Do you need to engage in a meditation or breathing practice? Take a necessary pause and answer those questions for yourself.
• Pace yourself. Transitions are often a marathon, rather than a sprint. Take breaks when you need to. Adjust your expectations.
• Lean into your community. You were never meant to do this alone. Connect with friends. Call a trusted family member. Spend time with individuals who accept you for who you are and for however you show up.
• Keep perspective. Transition is normal part of the human experience. We have been transitioning and growing since day one and most of us have navigated seasons of tremendous change. Remember: “This too shall pass.”
• Turn back to God. Engage in spiritual practices that center the Holy Spirit, prayer’ discernment, reading scripture.

Jessie Goeke, MSW, LICSW, currently serving as executive assistant to the Bishop, is also a Licensed Independent Clinical Social Worker.

By Bob Hulteen

When you hang around a lot of Lutheran Christian-types (and their ecumenical friends and allies), you often hear the phrase “spiritual discipline” as a necessary part of following the way of Jesus. The more you poke at what is meant, the more complexity you recognize around not just the phrase, but its life-changing perspective.

For monastic leaders over many centuries of the Christian movement, “discipline” meant commitment to prayer, to poverty, to the stability of community. For Saint Ignatius Loyola, these disciplines were deemed “spiritual exercises.” Franciscans often called disciplines like fasting their “spiritual ideals.”

This photograph of Mohatma Gandhi is in the public domain.

To the Rev. Dr. James Lawson, who died a month ago today, it also meant confronting the “powers and principalities” that made both the sacred and the profane areas of life more challenging for the most marginalized. After spending a year as a Methodist missionary in India, studying the teachings of Mohatma Gandhi, he dedicated his life to nonviolent, direct action models of change.

“For Lawson, Christian faith demands the kind of discipleship required to truly engage Gandhi’s suppositions.”

After coming home from India and spending a year in jail for draft resistance during the Korean War, Lawson entered the Graduate School of Theology at Oberlin College. It was there that a visiting lecturer, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in 1956 agitated Lawson to join his freedom movement by bringing his nonviolent resistance perspective and training to the South.

This photograph of James Lawson is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.

Lawson was a critical part of the success of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and ’60s. Confronting the sinful Jim Crow laws that dominated the era, he led famous sit ins at lunch counters and marches for freedom.

IT’S RIGHT AND GOOD to remember Lawson for the hero he has been. During these days, it is a critical spiritual exercise to remember his church-based nonviolent training of the movement. He was perpetually preparing church members and college students for what was inevitable for those working for social change.

These days, with heightened polarization around crucial social and political issues, I am thinking of his interaction with Gandhi’s perspective. While at Sojourners I was introduced to Gandhi’s “Seven Deadly Sins.” (We even sold it as a poster through the magazine.) Below are the planks of Gandhi’s thoughts about the dangers of the temptations we all must face; I share them for your consideration.

• Wealth without work
• Pleasure without conscience
• Knowledge without character
• Commerce without morality
• Science without humanity
• Religion without sacrifice
• Politics without principle

For Lawson, Christian faith demands the kind of discipleship required to truly engage Gandhi’s suppositions. Jesus’ words call us to the cross. Lawson’s biographer, David Halberstam, wrote of Lawson, “[H]e was a true radical Christian who feared neither prison nor death.” But, he was always prepared for either if that was part of being a follower of Jesus.

This photograph of Dietrich Bonhoeffer is made available by the German Federal Archive (Deutsches Bundesarchiv.

He was not unaware of what the cost for social change would be. Lawson was the person who encouraged King to lead the march for sanitation workers in Memphis in 1968, during which King was killed. He bore great guilt over his invitation.

“Bonhoeffer’s commitment to an “uncompromising discipleship” rooted in the Sermon on the Mount ensured that he would run afoul of the Nazi regime.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, after his life-altering years living and worshiping in Harlem, also knew of the need for discipline to face the trials of our times. Referring to the need for a new monasticism, he believed that the Sermon on the Mount detailed the disciplines of the faith.

Bonhoeffer’s commitment to an “uncompromising discipleship” rooted in the Sermon on the Mount ensured that he would run afoul of the Nazi regime; his death the inevitable result of his spiritual practice.

We are called to be disciples, clearly. As disciples, we learn the disciplines of our faith. And, we – each one of us – must ask what we are doing intentionally to put feet to our thoughts. We do so not for God’s sake, but for the sake of those that Jesus charged us to love – our neighbors.

By Nicholas Tangen

Last week, I spent three days hiking the Sage Creek Wilderness Area in Badlands National Park, a sharp, winding, and otherworldly landscape. We hiked a trailless loop through the backcountry, over tall geological formations, through knee-high prairie grass, and into concentrated stands of juniper trees.

The sky in the badlands was immense and the presence of bison, pronghorns, and coyote choirs transported us into a long-ago age for a few days. Everywhere we walked, cacti clung to the edges of crags and ledges, collecting water as they could from the harsh ground of the Badlands spires.  

“The harshness and the scarcity of even water in the desert put these early monks and hermits into a posture of utter dependence on God.”

In the evenings, as we recovered from hiking the tough terrain, I laid in my tent and read a short collection of the Conferences and Institutes of John Cassian, a Fourth-Century monk and theologian, who chronicled the wisdom and experience of early monastics in the Egyptian desert. I’ve been fascinated with monastic Christianity for years, and the chance to reflect on the Desert Fathers and Mothers in a setting like the Badlands – very much like a desert – was a gift for those days in the backcountry.  

WHAT IS IT about the harshness of a desert, the sharp rocks, the dry ground, and the overwhelming silence that has drawn faithful Christians from the beginning? In part, it’s the chance to follow the example of Jesus who traversed the wilderness, the desert, for 40 days following his baptism. But John Cassian also points to another motivation in Conferences XVIII: 

Finding then that [hermits] were living near the river Nile in a place which is surrounded on one side by the same river … habitable by none but monks seeking such recesses, since the saltness of the soil and dryness of the sand make it unfit for any cultivation – to these [hermits], I say, we eagerly hastened, and were beyond measure astonished at their labours which they endure in the contemplation of the virtues and their love of solitude. For they are hampered by such a scarcity even of water that the care and exactness with which they portion it out is such as no miser would bestow in preserving and hoarding the most precious kind of wine. 

The harshness and the scarcity of even water in the desert put these early monks and hermits into a posture of utter dependence on God and thanksgiving for the small immensity of the mere essentials for life. The stripping away of anything unessential, anything comfortable, anything distracting allowed for these followers of Jesus to contemplate the richness of God’s mercy and the gift of life itself. And it bred resilience and discipline in their daily lives. 

“The chance to reflect on the Desert Fathers and Mothers in a setting like the Badlands – very much like a desert – was a gift for those days in the backcountry.”

While inspired by the intensity of the lives of these desert mothers and fathers, I don’t think I’ll be retreating to a cave in the Badlands anytime soon. But their lives and the sharp rocks of the Badlands did have me wondering about the distractions and comforts that often cloud my awareness of God’s mercy and activity in my own daily life, those things that hijack my attention and draw me away from my neighbor.

They helped me as well to think about those neighbors who live lives of harshness and inhospitality in our very midst, who do not have the privilege to retreat to the desert as a spiritual exercise, because they live it every day. And they challenged me to hold fast to the knowledge of God’s love and accompaniment when blessings seem dried up, when the challenges of community contribute to isolation, and when the possibilities for new life appear unlikely. Because, just like the little cactus I encountered in the Badlands, all along the crags and the ledges of the deserts in our own lives, God makes a way and the presence of these small miracles is beautiful to behold.  

By Johan Baumeister

The first time I walked into Salem English Lutheran Church was a cold and dreary day in early 2006. I’d visited the Lutherans Concerned (now ReconcilingWorks) website and found the congregation listed as a Reconciling In Christ (RIC) congregation. While I was hopeful that it would be a place where I would feel welcome, my past experience had taught me that not every faith community would meet that need.

There’s a certain vocabulary to exclusion – one which is part learned and part inherited. At its most obvious, it can take the form of condemnation and slurs and stereotypes and policies that prevent not only full inclusion but any meaningful participation in church or society. Over my life I’ve seen this applied to a long list of people that society or the church refused to see as deserving of full dignity and inclusion – a list that included women, people of color, people living with disabilities, and my own LGBTQ+ community.

Exclusion can also have a more subtle vocabulary: One that reserves words like “normal” for certain people and lives. One that expresses resentment about the effort required to unlearn language that demeans others. One that shares a wish that certain folks weren’t “so sensitive”. One that diminishes the concerns of those most impacted by exclusion.

“There’s a certain vocabulary to exclusion.”

Society argues endlessly about that vocabulary these days: What is acceptable and what’s not? Why is “callout culture” or “cancel culture” a problem or why isn’t it? Who is to blame and what level of retribution does their perceived faults merit. And all the while, the souls who are bearing the weight of that extensive vocabulary of exclusion continue to be crushed.

Expending anger at or sitting in judgment of those who create communities of exclusion won’t build what we need. It’s tempting though. Oh, is it ever tempting.

In our 24/7 world, the outrage-driven engagement algorithms center and highlight all the awfulness we can bear – and then some – and only occasionally leaven our feeds or news programs with hope. It is a radical act to resist losing the best parts of ourselves to the outrage, … almost as radical as resisting the exclusion itself.

Resisting outrage for strategic reasons is a difficult one, too. I know I’m not always successful.

SALEM LUTHERAN AND THE ELCA have taught me that we can do better. That first day that I walked into Salem, I met Barb and Roger. They and others there made a practice of deep and radical welcome. I felt respected just as I was, and like I belonged. It only took a handful of conversations, where folks who were loving and caring Lutherans actively listened and expressed support, for Salem to feel like a place of welcome for LGBTQ+ folks.

Instead of responding to exclusion solely with outrage, we can respond with a robust vocabulary of inclusion – a vocabulary built not as a rejection of exclusion but rather as an embrace of the excluded.

A vitally important part of the vocabulary of inclusion is reconciliation. There is no one right path to reconciliation, but there are many ways to avoid doing the work. As someone whose congregation is a RIC congregation, I’m glad to know that more than 10% of the congregations in the ELCA have now become RIC, committed to actively welcoming LGBTQ+ folks and rejecting exclusion. Modeling the importance of inclusion, ReconcilingWorks, the organization that facilitates this process, have themselves committed to building their intersectional work around racial equity and inclusion.

“Instead of responding to exclusion solely with outrage, we can respond with a robust vocabulary of inclusion.”

Being a part of a congregation that has made a public commitment of welcome and reconciliation is deeply meaningful to me, a person who was rejected by the denomination that baptized him. Moreover, that commitment by my congregation has helped me to know it is a safe place in a world that hasn’t always been so and still often isn’t, especially for my transgender siblings in Christ.

I believe that one of the most powerful words in the vocabulary of inclusion is ally. And it isn’t really one we get to bestow upon ourselves. Instead, just as faith without works is a barren tree, claiming allyship without demonstrated efforts is as well. Those we seek to make welcome will see us as allies not by our claim of that label, but by making their well-being our priority and by advocating for their priorities. Leaders in this church did take public stances for and with my own LGBTQ+ community in 2012 and 2013 when they stood in public witness for the dignity and love of same sex couples who weren’t allowed to be married.

I know we can build our vocabulary further, because my church did it for me and others like me. I have faith in us and in our ability to learn from Jesus, who rejected no one and loved all. So, as you celebrate LGBTQ+ Pride, I invite you to recommit to the work. Find ways to keep building your vocabulary of inclusion, because that inclusion is a reflection of Christ’s love.

By Bob Hulteen

The group of synod leaders (Vice President Felicia Boone, Pastors Jen Collins, Ryan Fletcher, David Larson-Martinez, and Siri Strommen) who are helping to plan the 2024 Bishop’s Theological Conference (BTC) gathered at the synod office a couple months ago. When the conversation shifted to the kinds of topics or messages that might be important for our rostered ministers – pastors and deacons – in the fall of 2024, the impact of political elections came up. These leaders were already burdened and fearful by the tone and content of what was happening on the national (and even the local) stage.

“When anxiety runs high, we are normally not at our best.”

Every person in the room had had recent conversations with colleagues who expressed concern over the divisiveness of the political climate, … and its effect on conversations within congregations. They worried about how they would lead in the midst of animosity – if not within their congregation, then in their community. The level of angst is already high, and we haven’t crossed the traditional Labor Day entrance into political debate.

And, it’s not just deacons and pastors. Lay leaders are also experiencing high levels of anxiety about this year’s election. What complicates the normal strong feelings about election this year is the sense for many that it’s not just about who wins; it’s about the prospect of maintaining democracy.

AS A HEAD JUDGE in Minneapolis (at the polling site hosted by St. Peder’s Lutheran Church), I am concerned about the safety of my team judges. Occasionally, disgruntled voters will become quite agitated; if they are already “ginned up” before coming to the polls, negative interactions are even more likely. I fear that, by fall, some of my trusted recurring judges may opt out of providing this basic civil service. (Pray for election judges.)

And, election judges won’t be alone in their levels of stress. Many of you may well be “on edge” as the leaves turn from summer’s green to the golds, oranges, and reds of the ever-too-short fall.

“The pastors and deacons worried about how they would lead in the midst of animosity – if not within their congregation, then in their community.”

Having a plan for response can be the best antidote to high anxiety. Reflect now about what you might want to do to lower your stress level and to be an agent of healing. Here a couple thoughts:

1. Host a service wherein people can acknowledge through litanies their concern and lament over the state of politics. There are many good resources for such services, including some from the synod’s website used a few federal elections ago.
2. Use the proposed draft social statement on Civic Life and Faith this summer or fall for adult education within the congregation.
3. Offer your space for a Respectful Conversations, a program that is sponsored by the Minnesota Council of Churches to offer structured, facilitated discussions intended not to change minds, but to “soften hearts.”
4. Become an election judge yourself. I can speak from experience that there is a definite need for election judges who can maintain calm in potentially tense situations. And, at least in the City of Minneapolis, the training for election judges is utterly amazing. Check with your own locality to inquire about the need.
5. If you feel like you have energy for it, participate in election protection efforts. 866OurVote is a coalition of nonpartisan organizations like the League of Women Voters and Common Cause that have come together to ensure a fair election and to assure voters that participation is important.
6. Pray for the leaders of congregations and of civic organizations who will be under greater scrutiny than ever. Fear of retribution or violence even for nonpartisan activity is high, and we all expect courageous leadership in times that are challenging. Be sensitive to the pressure of leaders of all institutions during this election season.

When anxiety runs high, we are normally not at our best. Preparation may well be the best way to deal now with the coming stress. Make a plan for the fall, … one that keeps the health of your congregations and communities at its center.

And, maybe take a break from social media …

By Pastor Craig Pederson

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”  (Hebrews 12:1-2)

This is a time of year for endings: school years, graduations, church program years, confirmations, Timberwolves seasons (which has blissfully been extended this year, but probably not for much longer).

The endings in our household are heightened this year. I’m in the last week of my position as an assistant to Bishop Ann Svennungsen. It is also the last week of high school for our youngest child, Nora, who graduates on June 8.

For Nora, it is also the end of an enjoyable high school sports career that she shared with her dear friends. For five years, she has played soccer in the fall, basketball in the winter, and ran (and high-jumped) in track and field in the spring.

“As the baton of faith is passed from one generation to the next, sometimes the handoff is smooth and energizing.”

This year’s track season will not likely experience the same crescendo as the previous three, when her 4 x 200 meter and 4 x 400 meter relay teams went to the state tournament. Then two key seniors graduated, and this year’s team hasn’t quite found that extra gear.

But they ran their races hard. They ran with perseverance. And, they ran with joy!

FAITH IS LIKE A relay race. Is that a simplistic analogy? Kind of, … but if it worked for the writer of Hebrews, it works for me!

There is a great cloud of witnesses who, in their unique times and places, ran the race of faith before us. They did their best to believe and receive God’s freely given grace, to teach their children, to love their neighbors, and to form (and reform!) a church that would give glory to God. Holy scripture, bread and wine, and baptismal waters shaped their faith in ways that gave them endurance to trudge through the hard parts of the race, and to celebrate the wins that came when they glimpsed the kingdom of God among them.

As the baton of faith is passed from one generation to the next, sometimes the handoff is smooth and energizing. Sometimes it is shaky, and costs valuable time to try and overcome the flub. And sometimes, the baton is dropped – requiring an assessment of what happened, and a correction to try and prevent it from happening again.

“The cloud of witnesses did their best to believe and receive God’s freely given grace, to teach their children, to love their neighbors, and to form (and reform!) a church that would give glory to God.”

During my nine-and-a-half years on the synod staff, I’ve had the privilege and responsibility to assist with more than 150 transitions of rostered leaders in congregations. Most of these handoffs went smoothly, but some were a bit shaky and required extra attention. And a few were rough – the baton was dropped, assessments were needed, and corrections and new approaches were undertaken.

As I prepare to hand the baton to the new synod staff members, I celebrate the joys of this ministry, and I confess where I could have done better.

As I prepare to receive the baton in my new position as pastor of Augustana Lutheran Church in Minneapolis, I’m in awe of the faithfulness of previous generations who built that church and its social service institutions like Augustana Care Corporation and Community Emergency Service (CES). And I’m ready to persevere with them through some of their recent challenges to discover a “second wind” with the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

And as we do among the generations, I trust Jesus – the pioneer and perfector of our faith – to make whole the places that are broken, to provide perseverance for the race, and to inspire joy where the shame of the cross gives way to the glory of God!

By Pastor Wondimu Sonessa

Long before the spreading of formal education, the priests of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church were teaching how to read and write. I remember some students joining our second-grade class because the government declared that such instruction was illegal and all children must join government schools.

About the same time, I found a piece of paper these students dropped on our classroom floor and read a story about Jesus’ incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection for the first time. For some reason, I didn’t throw it away. I took it home after school and read it to my uncle and asked him who Jesus is and how a man can live again after death. He told me that it is not for us ordinary people to talk about and understand this story. He stated that the Orthodox priests only can speak about Jesus.

I was not still baptized because my parents were adherents of Islam though my grandfather and all my dad’s siblings went to the Orthodox church occasionally. But four years later, at the age of 12, I received the Holy Baptism with my mom and my younger siblings, on the day of Ethiopian Epiphany at the Orthodox church.

“Jesus came to our village through local farmers preaching the gospel, healing the sick, setting people free from evil spirits, and giving peace and hope to the poor and the marginalized in society.”

Although it was beyond my little brain to comprehend what it means to be baptized in the name of the Holy Trinity, I remember the feeling of excitement and joy that being called a Christian created in my heart. Here started the companionship of the Holy Spirit that carried me through until Jesus himself, whose story I read from that piece of paper, came and found me when I was 17.

FOR ME, THAT WAS a time of transition as it is the case with every Ethiopian teenager. The country was in a traumatizing war between the military regime and the then-freedom fighters. For the adherents of Protestant Christianity, it was a time of severe persecution. Inviting someone to believe in Jesus was deemed a crime by the law of the country. Missionaries from America and Europe were not allowed to stay in the country because they were considered a threat for the regime’s socialist (and atheist) ideology.

“Although it was beyond my little brain to comprehend what it means to be baptized in the name of the Holy Trinity, I remember the feeling of excitement and joy that being called a Christian created in my heart.”

Amid this, the gospel they preached has already started to bear fruit. The Evangelical churches were in a spiritual warfare against the oppressive, unclean, and killer spirit ingrained in individual life, religious practices, and societal systems. They were committed to spreading the message of peace, hope, and love through telling the story of Jesus beyond boundaries.

Consequently, Jesus came to our village through local farmers preaching the gospel, healing the sick, setting people free from evil spirits, and giving peace and hope to the poor and the marginalized in society. The sermons that changed my life were preached by these lay preachers whose education doesn’t exceed elementary school.

VERY RECENTLY, I STARTED to wrestle with the question of whether I found Jesus’ name on the piece of paper or Jesus himself found an eight-year-old me on the second-grade floor. This brings to my mind the question Nathanael asked Jesus, saying, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you” (John 1:48).

“The sermons that changed my life were preached by these lay preachers whose education doesn’t exceed elementary school.”

Jesus came to the earth to find the lost and the less religious “ordinary people.” He confirms this when he asserts, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Matthew 15:24). It is true that God knows us even before we were born. But the question that matters to believers in Jesus Christ is beyond chronological order of our encounter with the divine reality. We all need to wrestle daily with the question of whether we are leading a life worthy of the calling to which we have been called (Eph 4:1).

We are called to share God’s love with God’s world. This requires hearing, understanding, and telling the story of Jesus’ incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection.

By Emilie Bouvier

When I lead art workshops with faith groups, one of my favorite activities is to use the Creation image from the Art of the Saint John’s Bible as our launching point. It is such a layered and captivating piece, and I always start by observing the intricate details – from geometric fractals to strands of DNA, from delicate constellations to wood cut stamps of fish.

After guiding the group in a visio divina exploring the image, I introduce the concept of what we’re looking at – an “illuminated manuscript.” This is the core concept to the Saint John’s Bible, a contemporary revisiting of the medieval monastic practice of handwriting the scriptures and incorporating “illuminated” illustrations alongside the text as spiritual and theological practice. “Illuminations” are characterized by carefully adding goal leaf throughout the designs to signify God’ presence. Shimmering, reflective, and precious, the gold marks the sacred and draws the viewer’s eye to it. “Now look again,” I’d say. “Where do you see God’s presence stirring in the story?”

“I have long been interesting on reflecting on art making as a spiritual practice.”

Then, no matter what art medium I happen to be teaching the group that day, it will somehow involve gold paint. First, of course, we’ll do the image-making – usually photography, printmaking, or collage – and then go back over the image to trace outlines and layer new patterns in gold. This simple practice quickly becomes a holy time. Paintbrush or marker in-hand, these traces become a tangible way to invite God’s presence, to listen quietly, to discern, and to name in shimmering reflections where God is at work.

I’VE BEEN YEARNING for this in my own life these days – a spiritual practice of reflection and invitation. And when life feels filled up with screens and schedules, I find myself longing for the tactile beauty of art supplies and a tiny window of quiet time. It always amazes me how just a few moments of prayer-filled creating can hold space for wonder, longing, and gratitude.

I have long been interested in reflecting on art making as a spiritual practice. I was recently honored to receive a show at Hopkins Center for the Arts in the Redeppening Gallery. Preparing a new body of work for this exhibition will be the heart of my summer creative time. I truly cannot wait for schedule flexibility to have long hours of solitude in the studio that are a spiritual respite and balm for my soul.

“When life feels filled up with screens and schedules, I find myself longing for the tactile beauty of art supplies and a tiny window of quiet time.”

Unlike prior shows, however, this time I have felt a tug to practice what I preach and bring on the gold paint. Alongside my traditional framed prints, I will be working on several sculptural pieces that incorporate this process – which I hope will hold me to the same kind of reflection, openness, and spiritual centering that I’ve asked of my workshop participants over the years. I’m especially excited about a concept for creating semi-transparent hanging banners that involve a slow process of paper transfer, wax layering, and tracing with gold ink. I know that as I spend time away creating, that I need this kind of spiritual practice more than ever – to slow me down and tether me to inviting and tracing God’s stirring.

Whether it involves returning to a creative practice or simply pausing to marvel at the beauty of spring’s arrival, I invite you to do the same. May the glimmers of gold, however they find you, draw you to God’s presence this day and in the weeks to come.

**

PS – if you’re curious to see how my visual reflections turn out, I invite you to come visit my art exhibition at Hopkins Center for the Arts! The opening will be on Thursday, August 1, from 6:00 – 8:00 p.m., and I’d love to see you there. The show will also be available during gallery hours (Monday – Friday, 9:00 a.m. – 8:00 p.m.; Saturday, 9:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m.; Sunday, 12:00 – 5:00 p.m.) from August 1 – September 7.

By Pastor John Hulden

 At our Minneapolis Area Synod Assembly this past weekend, the 500+ voting members elected a new bishop to begin serving in August. Good work y’all! We are church together.

Full disclosure, I’m writing this before our synod assembly. Most of our synod staff have Monday off, after a busy synod assembly week, and I didn’t want to write a blog on my bonus day off. 😊

“In my work with congregations in transition, the beginning and ending of the transition is not the same for everyone.”

As a synod staff, we’ve had May 2-4 on our calendars for a year. We also knew this assembly meant electing a new bishop. Besides ramping up, planning, and organizing all things for the assembly  –  in tandem with the Bishop Election Committee  –  we’ve been feeling the weight of the looming transition.

I suppose one could say we’ve now officially started the transition. But in my work with congregations in transition, the beginning and ending of the transition is not the same for everyone. In a congregation, often the church staff and a few lay leaders know in advance of a pastor’s retirement date, or that their pastor asked them to be a reference for their mobility papers as they make plans to leave town for an interview.

FOR THE LAST ten plus years, I’ve been blessed to work with experts in transitions. Interim pastors in our synod bring leadership to a congregation during that in-between time of a pastoral transition. The second Thursday of most every month, I meet with the interim pastors for prayer, for learning, and for connecting. Those two hours a month have been enriching for me, and that sentiment is echoed by the interims who show up.

When we get together, we look at church work through the lens of transition. When an interim pastor begins their ministry at a congregation after the previous pastor has moved on, the work often centers on the five developmental tasks of interim ministry.

• Coming to terms with history
• Discovering a new identity
• Shifts of power and leadership change
• Rethinking the linkage to the larger church
• Commitment to new leadership and new future

Hanging out with the interim pastors has reminded me that these tasks could also apply to the change in our synod leadership.

“Interim pastors in our synod bring leadership to a congregation during that in-between time of a pastoral transition.”

As I look at those five developmental tasks, some of this transition work has already begun in the months leading up to our assembly. The history and identity of our synod have been addressed in listening sessions, conference assemblies to nominate potential candidates, and candidate forums. The brave and passionate pastors who stepped up to be in the election process have already helped us envision leadership change and how best to connect with the larger church. Now it is our job to support our new bishop-elect as this transition continues.

Take a moment and say a prayer for our next bishop, as well as for all the congregations in leadership transition. The synod staff can plan an assembly and walk along with congregational leadership, but all of us in our 130-plus congregations are “the synod.” May God bless us and guide us as enter a new chapter doing our church-together work.