Blog

By Pastor Craig Pederson

As the odometer on my body passed the 54-year mark earlier this summer, I gave thanks for the gift of living a relatively healthy life thus far. I also took stock of the “routine maintenance” items one must tend to when reaching that odometer reading, and I’m still working on some of those!

But I have also been feeling the effects of a few midlife “unexpected repairs.” Over the past five years I’ve had two orthopedic surgeries (quadricep tendon reattachment to the knee, and rotator cuff shoulder repair) and another orthopedic intervention (immobilizer brace for three months on a partially torn Achilles’ tendon).

As many of you know, with these injuries or procedures you don’t just undergo the surgery or get fitted for a brace then walk out the door where life returns to normal. There is a prescribed period of healing and recovery, with a corresponding regimen of physical therapy to train the body parts to work again – both on their own and in relation to surrounding body parts. Physical therapists, for whom I have the utmost respect and appreciation, guide this recovery journey.

At a visit with my physical therapist a few weeks ago, he helped me identify why my recovery for both my shoulder and knee may have stalled out. He talked about the difference between “eccentric” and “concentric” muscle exercises. I’m sure therapists have talked with me about this distinction in the past, but on this particular visit it really clicked for me.

Briefly, in a concentric movement, the muscle tension rises to meet the resistance then remains stable as the muscle shortens. During eccentric movements, the muscle lengthens as the resistance becomes greater than the force the muscle is producing.

“During my therapy work, I had been focusing all my energy on concentric movements – pushing against the weight of the resistance and then quickly returning to the starting position to do it again.”

So, what does that mean? If you think of a pushup, the concentric movement is when you “push up” from the ground to a position where your arms are fully extended. The eccentric movement is when you lower yourself back down to the starting position close to the ground. Recent physical therapy research (according to my therapist) shows that eccentric movements produce greater strain on muscles, but also produce greater healing and strength development when done properly.

During my therapy work, I had been focusing all my energy on concentric movements – pushing against the weight of the resistance and then quickly returning to the starting position to do it again. I hadn’t been working at all on the tension of the resistance on the way back to the starting position. I’ve been practicing this new focus in my exercises, and the results have been remarkable!

WHY AM I WRITING a church blog about physical therapy and muscle movements?

This new insight made me think about recent movements within the church. For as long as I can remember, the predominant approach to ministry has been to push harder – push for more members, more money, more programs, more publicity. When a program or idea is exhausted, we go back to the drawing board and start pushing on something new. This approach is understandable and even successful in some ways.

But the pandemic, along with racial justice awakenings by the dominant culture and economic challenges faced by everyone, forced us to view ministry differently. Strains and forms of resistance that we hadn’t reckoned with before became apparent. The pain and struggles have been significant. We’ve needed to learn how to use our spiritual muscles in new ways.

“Out of the disruption and change, we are practicing our faith and experiencing community in new ways.”

Now I see new growth and new strength emerging in our churches. We increasingly understand that we can’t just “go back” to some sort of normal that wasn’t working so well for everyone in the first place. Out of the disruption and change, we are practicing our faith and experiencing community in new ways. With growing wisdom and humility, we see how God is at work not just inside the church but also in the lives of our neighbors outside the church.

We are entering a new season. Rally Sundays mark the return of additional worship services, Sunday School and Christian education programs, and increased outreach efforts. Many churches will participate in “God’s Work, Our Hands” activities that will bless their surrounding communities, even as participants say they are blessed by the service they provide to others.

As we bear witness to the love of Christ in the world, I pray that our hands – and our hearts and minds – will be open to new healing, growth, and strength in the days ahead.

By Bob Hulteen

I woke up this morning planning to write a great blog about how fortunate I feel, as a lay synod staff person, to be able to attend the Bishop’s Theological Conference (BTC) in September. The annual conference is always held the last week of September (Sunday afternoon to Tuesday afternoon). It’s a time for the pastors, deacons, and chaplains of the synod to come together, be challenged by a leading theologian, and share ideas or concerns about ministry.

I am lucky to be able to interact with and appreciate the quality of pastoral leadership we have in the Minneapolis Area Synod. Sometimes in the synod office, one gets to see some of the worst of the church. But, BTC is a time to celebrate the vibrancy of faith and commitment, … even as there is also a little “play time.”

But, even though the speakers this year are good friends, I couldn’t think of that great personal tale that would inspire rostered leaders to attend the conference or lay leaders to ask their pastors what they learned at the conference.

So, … I’m going to let Ched Myers and Elaine Enns, our featured speakers at this year’s conference (under the theme “Facing the Wilderness, Embracing a Path”), speak for themselves. And, as you read the words of these theologians, know that each of their plenaries at BTC will reflect on a different passage from Luke, readings that will come up in the Revised Common Lectionary later this fall. (REMINDER: Registration for BTC closes on Friday, September 9.)

From Healing Haunted Histories, a recent book with Elaine as primary author (2021):

“The Greek term metanoia (Luke 5:32) means to change fundamental direction. It is usually translated ‘repentance,’ a term which in spiritualized Christian circles today has become utterly domesticated and sometimes damaging (powerful medicine that is mishandled can become toxic). However, if we instead recognize the lethality of our disease (to borrow from Twelve-Step language) and turn to a Power greater than our own, we can turn our individual and communal history around in the service of wholeness and justice, and heal our haunted bodies and body politic. We long for faith communities to become places that nurture the courage to peel the settler colonial onion seven layers down, fueled by the prophetic hope intoned by Malachi that a day is coming when the Creator will burn the works of injustice to its roots, ‘until the sun of righteousness rises, with healing in its wings’ (Mal. 4:2).”

From Ched’s Binding the Strong Man (based on Mark 3:27):

“Both the private sphere of the clan and the public sphere of the State equate personal sanity and political sanctity with maintenance of the status quo. Smarting from Jesus’ repudiation of their authority (1:22ff; 2:6ff), the scribes attempt to undermine Jesus’ popular standing by charging that he is in the service of the ‘prince of demons.’ It is a predictable strategy of threatened political leaders: neutralize the opposition by identifying them with the mythic arch-demon (in modern America this would be tantamount to calling Jesus a ‘terrorist’). Jesus’ deviant practice of exorcism, which liberates people for Jubilee and retribalization, is dismissed as either lunatic or traitorous.”

From “A Shameful Legacy,” an article by Elaine in Sojourners magazine (November 2012):

“A traditional whale-oil lamp is solemnly lit by an Inuit elder. After being brushed with cedar and smudged with sage, three commissioners take their seats. A survivor begins his testimony, haltingly narrating painful memories from 60 years ago. Soon tears begin to flow, and a support person carefully collects the tear-soaked tissues into a basket, to be added to the sacred fire that burns outside the hall. In this space, so filled with sorrow and rage, every ritual communicates respect, empathy, and determination, turning public halls into sanctuaries of healing.

For seven generations Indigenous Canadian children were taken from their homes and sent, most often by force, to Indian Residential Schools. Churches began operating these schools in the early 1860s, and by the 1890s the federal government had begun to make attendance mandatory as part of a policy of assimilation into Canadian society. In these schools children were forbidden to speak their native languages, forced to conform to European ways of life, and often abused emotionally, physically, and sexually. Though most residential schools were closed by the mid-1970s , the last was not shuttered until 1996.

As part of a 2007 legal settlement with survivors, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC) was created, with a five-year mandate to document the testimony of survivors, families, and communities affected by the residential school experience and to inform all Canadians about this tragic history.”

From “A Watershed Moment,” an article by Ched in Sojourners magazine (April 2014):

“Our history is increasingly hostage to a deep and broad ecological crisis. Stalking us for centuries, it is now upon us in the interlocking catastrophes of climate destruction, habitat degradation, species extinction, and resource exhaustion. Some call it ‘peak everything.’

‘All we have to do to destroy the planet’s climate and biota and leave a ruined world to our children and grandchildren,’ concluded environmental policy analyst James Gustave Speth in The Bridge at the Edge of the World, ‘is to keep doing exactly what we are doing today … to release greenhouse gases … impoverish ecosystems and release toxic chemicals at current rates, and the world in the latter part of this century won’t be fit to live in.’

Our Christian faith and practice now unfold either in light of or in spite of this crisis. Our choice is between discipleship and denial.”

It will be so great to hear from them in person and I’m confident our rostered ministers will walk away with new learnings and new energy. If you are a rostered minister, please join us. If you are a church-goer, please encourage your rostered colleagues to attend and then come back and share what they take away.

By Pastor John Hulden

A day or two before my first class at pastor-school many, many years ago, a classmate I had just met asked: “What is your mission statement?”

During those first days at seminary, I had never fully shaken off my reluctance about going to seminary. I didn’t major in religion in college. I could imagine what the professors taught in the church history department, but I wondered what “homiletics” and “systematic theology” are. (Is there an un-systematic theology department?)

“Where does fun fit into our church life?”

And now, before I even attended my first class, I’m supposed to have a “mission statement”! I’m thinking, “that’s a thing?”

Doing my best to stomp down what is now called “imposter syndrome,” I quickly replied with fake confidence: “Sure! To tell the story of Jesus, to work for peace and justice, and to have fun doing it.” My soon to be friend Carl liked it. And as I heard the words come out of my mouth, I guess I did too. For better or for worse, I’ve stuck with my made-up-on-the-spot mission statement now going on 40 years.

I WAS REMINDED ABOUT the “have fun” part of my mission statement after last Sunday’s StarTribune front page article about efforts to lure people back to the pew.

Is fun the answer for increased church attendance? I’m not fully convinced. Neither was Alice Digre. Alice was a lovely, smart, faithful, super-volunteer at my first call on the Eastside of Saint Paul. With about a year under my belt as their new pastor, I felt really good after a Sunday morning worship service. I remember commenting to Alice, “Wasn’t that fun this morning?” Alice took the question in for a moment – seemingly even longer – and replied introspectively, “I never thought of worship as being fun.”

Where does fun fit into our church life? How about in your spiritual journey?

MY COLLEAGUE, NICK Tangen, wrote a blog post last week about the ELCA’s Churchwide Assembly at the Columbus Convention Center in Ohio. The 30-or-so of us voting members from your synod spent Monday through Friday in worship, plenary sessions, and conversations about the past, present, and future of our denomination. It was important work. But was it fun? Hmmmm, yes, we did have some fun!

The convention booklet for the cosplay group that followed ELCA Churchwide Assembly

Thursday evening at our hotel, the next convention goers began to arrive – in costume. Everyone was in a costume. Those of us at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly were on our way out to make room for a Cosplay convention. (If you want to have a visual picture, see the attendees on social media here: #matsuricon2022.) According to the list of rules in the convention booklet, costumes with stilts were not to be worn in the elevator; once we saw that, we weren’t sure what to expect. With our Christian commitment to nonviolence, was it our responsibility to jump into mock fights between superheroes?

“Sure! To tell the story of Jesus, to work for peace and justice, and to have fun doing it.”

As we watched the transition between conventions unfold, it struck me that the ELCA voting members cleared our schedules to do the work of the church all week. And the next group not only cleared their schedules but spent hours designing and creating amazing costumes. … Why? Because it is their kind of fun. Heck, play is even in the description of their convention: cosplay.

Is fun the answer for increased church attendance? I’m not sure that’s even the right question. Still, in any given moment, I stand by mission statement: After all these years, I still like to have some fun at church.

By Nicholas Tangen

Last week I joined a number of other Minneapolis Area Synod representatives at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly in Columbus, Ohio under the theme “Embody the Word.” Churchwide Assemblies are the highest legislative body of our church and, every three years, voting members from each synod gather to deliberate and pass memorials, amend the constitution, and highlight the ways that God has been at work in our ministry.

This year, our Assembly passed a number of memorials calling on the Churchwide organization to examine and address inequity in the structures and policies of our church. These included memorials revising the process for removing rostered ministers on-leave-from-call, stronger encouragement for congregations and synods to avoid using non-disclosure agreements, and a call to audit the ELCA Constitution and Bylaws through a diversity, equity, and inclusion lens.

Worship celebration at the 2022 ELCA Churchwide Assembly in Columbus, Ohio

I must admit, the sheer volume of pre-assembly reading materials, the trickiness (and sometimes absurdity) of Roberts Rules of Order, and the often-niche issues and concerns can make the Assembly a real challenge for those of us with brains that struggle to focus, bodies that struggle to sit, and roles that don’t show up on the roster. But, despite that struggle, there was one experience that continually challenged, moved, and convicted me – our times of daily worship. In particular, the Service of Word and Prayer on Tuesday afternoon struck a chord, … and plenty of nerves.

“We were not going to simply hold space for an apology and then get back to business as usual, thanks be to God.”

That afternoon, Bishop Elizabeth Eaton had extended an apology to Iglesia Luterana Santa Maria Peregrina for the racist actions of one of our church’s bishops when they removed the congregation’s pastor on the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. This painful event, compounded by a series of troubling behaviors from Bishop Meghan Rohrer and the Sierra Pacific Synod Council, and the agonizingly slow response from Bishop Eaton, has served as a catalyzing and apocalyptic (in the true sense of the word) moment in our church.

The apology itself, in my opinion, mirrored too closely the procedural tone of the plenary sessions, but the response from Iglesia Luterana Santa Maria Perigrina’s leaders was a lesson in graciousness and accountability. They named clearly and emotionally how they were hurt, and why Bishop Eaton and our church have a responsibility to confess, repent, and make reparation. They extended forgiveness to those involved while still seeking appropriate accountability. It was a painful, but holy moment. Now the work to make reparation begins.

FOLLOWING THE APOLOGY, the Assembly gathered for a service of prayer and lament, which thankfully encouraged us all to sit with the discomfort and the challenge of the apology and the actions of our church, not only in regard to the Sierra Pacific Synod, but in every synod and every congregation. We were not going to simply hold space for an apology and then get back to business as usual, thanks be to God.

The service included reflections on Jeremiah 31:15 from BIPOC and LGBTQIA leaders in our church, with each speaking to their experience of the ELCA.

A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more.

The Rev. Imani Olear, the Director for Evangelical Mission in Upstate New York, reflected on Rachel’s prophetic grief and said, “The prophetic grief of real lament should be embraced as a real part of our spiritual practice here in this church – to look honestly at suffering rather than with numbness, fear, self-deception, denial of reality, all in the hope to maintain the status quo of white supremacy behaviors.”

A plenary session at the 2022 ELCA Churchwide Assembly August 8-12

The Rev. Manuel Retamoza, pastor at St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church in San Diego and member of the Cherokee Nation, reflecting on a quote from Vine Deloria Jr., asked whether the ELCA desired to be good or to be real: “We as individuals and a church can look back and say ‘We could have done better for our native people of the Americas,’ but that is not enough. Could we embark on new paths of action? How long O, Lord until we do more than good? How long until we make things right? Because we believe the lie – if we are real, then the truth will come out – that the church has not always been and isn’t now as good as we believe the church to be, or ourselves to be. Jesus has called us to do more.”

Retamoza’s words have been with me all week. In some ways this challenge captures so clearly my own discomfort with the work of the Assembly; did we want to be good or real? This is, I think, a real tension for us as a church – at all three expressions. It’s a tension ongoing for myself. I know my own desire to appear good, to fall into the trap of perfectionism and performance, and I know how limiting that is when trying to root out injustice and inequity in our life together.

“What will need to die and rise again in order for each of us as the ELCA to embrace the reconciliation Jesus has set us free to participate in?”

This invitation into the vulnerability, the messiness, and the real-ness of confession and reconciliation stood in such stark contrast to the Assembly. The carefully curated plenaries with the steady march towards resolution felt oddly incongruous with the challenge to deeply listen to the cries of prophetic grief. While I am grateful for the provisions and memorials that the Assembly approved, it was the lament and experience of prophetic grief in worship and from the leaders of Iglesia Luterana Santa Maria Perigrina that my heart continues to return to. I feel both profoundly determined and deeply anxious about the church that I love.

Since I left Ohio, I’ve been asking myself what needs to change. What will need to die and rise again in order for each of us as the ELCA to embrace the reconciliation Jesus has set us free to participate in? To be honest, I don’t know. And I don’t think I am supposed to have anything like answers right now.

I think instead I am being called to listen and to be transformed by the prophetic grief in the story of my neighbor. To respond to the grief with confession and repentance. To set down the need to be “good” and learn how to be real. In that real-ness and the churning of the Spirit, I have faith that God will show us the way.

By Pastor Norma Malfatti

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Luke 12:34 NRSV)

This past week I had the great joy of being the pre-school leader at Vacation Bible School (VBS) on the Farm. This week-long summer project was a collaborative experiment of the synod’s Southwest Conference, River of Hope Lutheran Church in the Southwestern Minnesota Synod, and Cristo Obero, one of our synod’s new start congregations and the organization that spearheaded the event.

Nearly 200 children registered to participate and about half that number of adults and teenagers volunteered for this new adventure. Like any VBS, we sang songs, learned Bible stories, made new friends. Also, like most similar events, the adults, at times, lost their minds as they counted and recounted heads to make sure all the children in their group were present and accounted for.

Pastor Norma makes a new friend, the child of the camp nurse.

“The farm animals and fun aside, one of the most incredible parts of the week was the commitment made by the adults and youth helpers.”

Unlike my previous VBS experiences, VBS on the Farm was also bilingual. Pastor Hans Peterson from River of Hope, Hutchinson, and part of the band Dakota Road, translated some of his songs for us to sing. Each day we learned part of our Bible story en español; and we started and ended the day reminding each other of God’s love:

God loves me, Dios me ama
God loves you, Dios te ama

The farm animals and fun aside, one of the most incredible parts of the week was the commitment made by the adults and youth helpers. We all gave up a week of work or did VBS and still worked, used up vacation time or summer break, or just had to set aside chores so that we could support the elementary and pre-school kids as they grew in relationship with God, creation, and one another.

Jesus’ words, “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” took on a whole new meaning as I reflected on this long, hot, and glorious week.

THERE IS NO DOUBT in my mind that the adults and youth who participated in this week have a deep love for children and community, treasuring their presence and growth, valuing them as God’s beloved, because we spent hours upon hours of our treasured and limited time in the holy chaos that was VBS on a Farm. When the week drew to a close, parents began talking about how we could grow this next year and already were looking to book this week for vacation so that they could be even more engaged.

It was seeing Jesus’ words come to life with the passion and commitment of the servants Jesus goes on to talk about in Luke 12, who are at the ready and waiting for what’s next.

As Churchwide Assembly meets this week, I am reminded of Bishop Elizabeth Eaton’s challenge for the ELCA to reach out to one million new, young, and diverse people.  While financial resources may be needed for this audacious venture, I think taking a page from Cristo Obrero, River of Hope, and the Southwest Conference may be a more helpful place to start – using our treasure of time and compassion to invest in the young people already in our lives and communities.

It doesn’t have to be as grand an undertaking like VBS on the Farm, the community listening efforts of the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices congregations have shown that building relationships with our neighbors do not need to be complicated. It does, however, require an investment of time and a willingness to grow as relationships grow. And, as Jesus intimated, we may just find out that when our hearts are invested, it doesn’t feel like a sacrifice to use our treasure.

To view a two-minute video of the week’s activity: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1_HriCrqnLkAOLceuMUecCLBiEc7A5zWv/view?usp=sharing

By Brenda Blackhawk

I have a six-year-old sister, Camille. She is the youngest of nine siblings, so she is the cutest, the whiniest, and the most picked-on (which makes her the toughest, too). She also has the biggest case of FOMO of all of us. FOMO is the “fear of missing out” and the youngest of my parent’s children lives in this state constantly.

At mealtimes, she frequently requests whatever condiment others are using, even if she has never had it and has no idea if she likes it. During the day, she is often found standing in one place, whipping her head back in forth, determining which brother or sister is having more fun before joining in. And bedtimes are a nightmare. Being only six, her bedtime is quite a bit earlier than the other kids, who get to stay up and watch movies. Her tantrums have been known to shake the walls.

“I spent my vacation in a constant state of FOMO. I wanted the food, the music, the shopping, the dancing, and most of all, the time with family.”

I often experience FOMO myself. But never more than this last week when my spouse, Chris, and I were stuck at home while the rest of our family headed off to Winnebago, Nebraska, for the 156^th annual Homecoming Powwow. I had already requested the time off, made all the travels plans, and found a dog sitter. Then, we took a covid test the day before we were to leave, and our plans had to change.

I spent my vacation in a constant state of FOMO. I wanted the food, the music, the shopping, the dancing, and most of all, the time with family. I wanted to get up early with my Jaji (father) and watch him raise flags. I wanted to watch the Battle of the Bustles on Friday night with my sisters. I wanted to hold my little niece’s hand as we danced around the arena.

Instead, I spent my time watching YouTube live videos, scrolling through pictures on Facebook, and closely watching the snapchat stories of everyone who was there. While I was stuck in bed, blowing through two whole boxes of Kleenex, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I was missing out on. And how unfair it all was.

A FEW MONTHS AGO, at a staff meeting devotions, the Rev. Norma reminded everyone about gratitude with Psalm 118:24, “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Gratitude isn’t always easy for me to find; I’m more the type of person always looking for the next best thing. But today I’m inclined to even be grateful for the involuntary pause in my life that this bout with COVID caused. It slowed me down enough to remember to be grateful.

“Gratitude isn’t always easy for me to find; I’m more the type of person always looking for the next best thing.”

It took a few days, but gratitude started to break though the FOMO. When I was feverish and had the chills, I could find two snuggly fur babies right beside me. When I started to feel better and got around to deep cleaning the bathroom, I remembered how much I love my house. When we were hungry but too tired or sick to cook, I was grateful that there was an option to order food. And I’ll be really grateful when I see my sister next week and she brings me the shirt she told me she bought for me at powwow.

Finding the places and spaces for gratitude is good for our spirits, our relationships, and our health. If you haven’t taken a pause in a while, do it. After all, it the day the Lord has made. Be glad.

By Nicholas Tangen

I’ve often joked that my large appetite is my greatest intercultural and community engagement tool. It’s not often that I meet a food I’m unwilling to try and, if it’s really tasty, I’ll go back for seconds or thirds. Tamales, pozole, injera, any kind of dumpling, hotdish of all kinds – if you want to make sure the food gets eaten, I’m your guy.

So many of the incredible experiences I’ve had in neighborhoods over the years have been around the table. Folks bring food they’ve made themselves, maybe recipes that have been handed down for generations. We reflect on memories of food and fellowship from our past and talk with one another about what these foods mean to us. And we open ourselves up, just a bit, in the vulnerability of nourishing our bodies together.

I’d argue that table fellowship is one of those spiritual disciplines we often take for granted. We live in a culture that often wants food to be fast and eaten on the go. Family dinners are less common than they were a generation ago, and meals shared with folks outside of our immediate family are even less so. But there’s a reason that our worship is centered around the table – something miraculous happens when people share a meal together.

Community members enjoy a meal and share conversation at Salem Lutheran Church in North Minneapolis.

IN THE FAITH Practices & Neighboring Practices learning community, our congregations have been hosting listening events in their communities, inviting neighbors and congregation members to get to know one another better – listening deeply, without agenda or pretense. Almost all these listening events have included food of one kind or another, and the connections that have been made through these simple invitations have been incredible.

Two weeks ago, I joined the folks at Salem Evangelical Lutheran Church in North Minneapolis for their weekly community meal. Through the uprisings, these meals were largely packed to go, with neighbors stopping in to grab a meal or two and carrying on with their day. But this week, Salem volunteers, and a great batch of volunteers from Trinity Lutheran Church in Long Lake, set up tables and tents in the parking lot and invited neighbors to eat together.

“Table fellowship is one of those spiritual disciplines I think we often take for granted.”

Burgers, hotdogs, watermelon, chili, and a variety of salad – I came ready to eat. And Salem’s neighbors did too, with more than two dozen folks sticking around for dinner. As I stood in line, I watched as folks gathered at tables, introduced themselves, and began to have conversation as they ate. And, as I took in the scene, something incredible started to happen.

You could literally see this gathering of individuals transform into a community. As folks shared stories, listened deeply, and laughed together their posture changed – they began to sit up more, they leaned in eagerly as someone shared, and there seemed to be a lightness and a brightness present across the tables. It was beautiful, like watching flowers open their petals after a refreshing rain.

I SAT AT A TABLE with two women and talked about the neighborhood, our favorite BBQ essentials, and the churches we grew up in. Rose, a woman who lives near Salem, stayed for nearly the entire time of the event, and she and I spoke for well over an hour. She told me how she had lived in her house for more than 50 years, and that she loved living next to her neighbors, many of whom have lived in the neighborhood as long as she has. We talked about fishing and hunting, and how our families both love the outdoors. And she talked excitedly about how she loves taking the grandkids fishing at the lakes in Minneapolis.

We also talked about COVID and the grief of isolation. She told me about losing her husband far too soon, and how she was grieving the death of her eldest son who passed three years ago. I asked her to tell me about them, and she lit up as she remembered them and shared stories about their lives together. When dinner was done, and our popsicles eaten, we prayed together, and she headed back to the home she so dearly loves.

“You could literally see this gathering of individuals transform into a community.”

This simple encounter with a neighbor in North Minneapolis reminded me how powerful the practice of table fellowship can be, and how much it means for people to see one another and to be seen by one another – to share their stories and to hear the stories of others. Sometimes churches can complicate their community engagement work, over-programming and focusing on service, rather than simply holding space for connection and community and watching the Holy Spirit do her thing.

Recently, I’ve been describing the work of Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices as reminding congregations and their members that as followers of Jesus we are called first to those small simple practices of our faith – prayer, scripture, worship, hospitality, and love of neighbor. Table fellowship is one such practice.

There are not many community engagement practices simpler than bringing folks together for a meal, but truly the impact can be immense. Imagine what might happen in our neighborhoods if our churches, just for a little bit, set down the need to serve our neighbors, and leaned into the invitation to be with our neighbors (… maybe with a little food)? I’m betting we might encounter something simply miraculous.

In early May, I attended a conference that was simultaneously shocking, challenging, and inspiring. It was called “Neighborhood Economics” and was hosted at a variety of sites in and around Indianapolis. The purpose of the conference was to explore ways that churches, nonprofits, and foundations could use their assets for greater impact in their local communities.

The shock was the realization of an impending tsunami of church closures facing American Christianity. Pre-pandemic estimates were that churches were closing at a rate of 75-100 a week, or 3,750-5,000 per year. Now with COVID and the continuation of previous trends, it is anticipated that up to 100,000 churches may close in the next three-to-five years.

“Pre-pandemic estimates were that churches were closing at a rate of 75-100 a week.”

The challenge, of course, is how to be faithful, responsible, compassionate stewards of the church assets that are involved with the closures of so many houses of worship.

The inspiration is that there are several committed, courageous organizations and individuals around the country that are working on ways to assist churches to meet this challenge

ABOUT 130 PARTICIPANTS were grouped into ten cohorts with focus areas that included “Aligning Endowments with Mission,” “Bridging the Racial Wealth Gap,” and “Faith on Main Street.” My cohort was called “Church Assets in Transition: Shifting imagination and practice from property management to community development.”

The opportunity to attend this conference was timely: On a white board in my office is a growing list of congregations that are actively considering a variety of transitional options with their buildings and/or properties.  Some of those facing transitions are urgent, either because of financial challenges in the congregation or facility realities that are staring them in the face (i.e., deferred maintenance, emergency repairs, or other overdue upgrades to the structure or utilities).

Calvary Lutheran Church, Minneapolis, has voted to sell its building to a nonprofit partner which will turn the space into low-income housing. As part of a creative agreement, members will continue to worship in the current sanctuary space as it is developed as communal space for the new housing units.

Other congregations are trying to anticipate future facility needs as they come out of COVID and as they see other institutions and businesses in their community adapting to economic and cultural changes. Still others may have been approached by a developer with an idea to partner with them on a building project, or they have received an offer to buy their property outright.

“How can a congregation engage in a faithful, deliberate process of discernment about the future of its assets?”

Currently there are 15 congregations on my white board list – that’s over 10% of our synod. And these are only the ones I’m aware of; I would expect there are a handful of others that I’ve not heard about.

To be clear, I did not make this list because the synod controls congregational properties. It does not – congregations own and manage their own real estate and financial assets. However, the synod is in a position to provide guidance, resources, and connections that may be helpful to congregations.

How can a congregation engage in a faithful, deliberate process of discernment about the future of its assets? And at what point should that process take place?

IF YOU HAVE EVER asked yourself these questions, or if you’re asking them now based on what you’ve read in this blog so far, please contact me! I would love to learn more about your congregation’s situation and see if we can assist you in any way.

As a primer, I want to share a few resources that may be helpful to review on your own.  The first is from an organization called Rooted Good, which says of itself, “We launched Rooted Good so faith-based organizations can align money and mission, reclaim their relevance in a changing world, and be the Church the world needs today.” It has produced an outstanding guidebook called “How to Develop Well: A Guide to Help Churches Work with a Property Developer.” I have two hardcopies of this guidebook, and hope to get electronic access to it soon. If you are interested in seeing it, I would love to share it with you!

A second guidebook is from a long-standing organization that some of your congregations may have worked with in the past, Partners for Sacred Places. The guide is called “Transitioning Older and Historic Sacred Places:  Community-Minded Approaches for Congregations and Judicatories.” It is available online by clicking on the title above, then registering to receive it electronically.

“The shock was the realization of an impending tsunami of church closures facing American Christianity.”

A third resource that is ripe for “poking around” is the Ormond Center at Duke Divinity School. Its mission is “to foster the imagination, will, and ability of congregations and communities to be agents of thriving. We do this by equipping practitioners with the mindsets, skillsets, toolsets, and soulsets they need to serve their field, place, and neighbors.”

Each of these resources honors the importance of history, tradition, sense of place, and community context. Each discusses how a new mix of ownership structures, property uses, and partnerships might best serve the needs of churches as they move into the future.

Lastly, our synod is blessed with local consultants, architects, and developers who are also responding to the property needs of churches. I can put you in touch with these resources if you would find that helpful.

If nothing else, I hope you will at least begin to reimagine your building not as a burden to be cared for, but an asset that may have new uses for God’s mission in the world.

By Bob Hulteen

With apologies to those who use the Revised Common Lectionary (RCL), I am writing this week’s blog the week after this text (the parable of the “The Good Samaritan”) appears. You can read the text from Luke 10:25-37, the RCL gospel for the fifth Sunday after Pentecost, at the end of the blog, especially for those of you sitting in the back pew.

Why am I a week late and a dollar short in reflecting on this text? I recently read a devotional reflection using this story to talk about reparations. But, in a way that troubled me, that piece assumed that the Samaritan rightly paid for the help needed by the victim or robbery and assault. I understand at first blush that response, but I just think that’s a misreading of the story as Jesus told it.

“In all likelihood, the traveler who was leaving Jerusalem for Jericho would have held some bias against the Samaritans he saw hanging out at the street corner.”

To recap, the Samaritan, unlike the hierarchs who had already walked by, not only stopped to help the victim of robbery and assault, he transported the injured person to an inn and offered to pay for his care. Now, remember, it was the Samaritans who were often seen as the “almost-but-not-quite-like-us” group of the scriptures. They were quite normally treated poorly by the powers and principalities, the systems and structures of their day.

In all likelihood, the traveler who was leaving Jerusalem for Jericho would have held some bias against the Samaritans he saw hanging out at the street corner. There might have already been some immediate, maybe even unconscious, concern for safety for the traveler, and it would have been that he’d be attacked by the Samaritan. And, if not that, he likely would have at least assumed that, if the Samaritans were in trouble, they likely deserved to be. They are not like us.

And, now, Jesus tells us, the traveler was saved and cared for – physically and financially – by someone he might have tried to avoid when in polite company.

SO, MY WONDERING about this story is: How was the traveler changed? Did he wonder why the Samaritan helped him? Did he choose to continue to hold on to his prejudices? Did he start to see that solidarity with the Samaritans might make more sense? Did he tell this story to other residents of Jerusalem or Jericho? Did he go searching for the particular Samaritan in order to repay him for his kindness and generosity?

In real conversations about reparations, sometimes people in our current society can have feelings hurt or fears stoked about losing “what is theirs.” In response, we want others to take care of our fragility. We hope that today’s Samaritans will ensure our safety and well-being.

“Did he respond to the ‘neighborliness’ of the Samaritan by redefining himself as a neighbor to the oppressed?”

Back to Jesus’ parable, the traveler may have been changed by this experience. But, we don’t know yet about his commitment for reparations toward Samaritans, given his probable prejudice. Did his experience give him a new angle of vision, to challenge previously-held conscious or unconscious beliefs? Did he respond to the “neighborliness” of the Samaritan by redefining himself as a neighbor to the oppressed?

From the story Jesus told, we can’t answer those questions. But, we can ask them of ourselves.

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” 

And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 

Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 

“But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ 

“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

By Kayla Zopfi

With less than a month until my Lutheran Volunteer Corps year of service concludes, I cannot seem to go more than 12 hours without being asked the question, “So, what’s next for you?”

As an Enneagram 3, I cringe each time I have to admit that I don’t have anything lined up yet. My response has typically been “Good question! I’m not sure yet. If you have any leads let me know.” This typically gets people to wish me well and then move on to whatever point of order is next in the conversation.

“I want my vocational trajectory to always center around building better communities.”

While I don’t know what my next job title will be, I do know a few things: I want my vocational trajectory to always center around building better communities. I am deeply curious and love learning. And, if I ever am in a position where hiring people is within my jurisdiction, I will not require a master’s degree or five-to-seven years of experience for entry-level jobs.

THOUGH I’VE HAD a complicated relationship with finding ways to pray that feel authentic to me and my theology, working at the synod this year has given me great opportunities to see prayer modeled. Recently, I’ve been trying my hand at writing prayers for myself — for my gratitude, for my anxiety, for my scouring-to-find-a-job-that-feels-perfect.

Many people are in my situation, or in a similar one. So, I share this prayer with you — those who are recently post-grad, those who are in between work, those who are dissatisfied in their current role, those who have unexpectedly stumbled upon an opportunity that lit a spark in your soul.

Let us pray.

God of self worth, sit with us. 
As we meticulously edit our cover letters,
Google new adjectives for our resumes,
And click ‘submit’ on job applications that feel like
Step One of making our dreams a reality.

Amen.