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By Bob Hulteen  

So, I’m probably not the best person to write this blog. After all, in the early 1980s I wrote editorials against having the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday as a federal holiday.  

Wait, you might be thinking: You were against MLK Day? Well, sort of.  

King was definitely a hero-from-afar as I was growing up in Western North Dakota. My parents were engaged in civil rights work, and I was inspired by King’s oratory, sparking my imagination that a more-just world was possible. After a move to Washington, D.C., I had the chance to work with many of King’s lieutenants (Rev. Fred Shuttleworth, Rev. C.T. Vivian, Lawrence Guyot, Diane Nash, Rev. James Lawson, James Forman, James Farmer, James Orange [lots of Jameses], Rev. Vincent Harding, Dorothy Cotton, Rev. Joseph Lowry). I found that same inspiration and spark in the faith, dedication, and ministry of this creative generation of prescient leaders.  

“I had never heard of Juneteenth until I moved to D.C., a Black majority city.” 

If the commitment of King and this circle of leaders was so deeply impactful on me, why would I oppose a day to honor the man who was the face of the 1960s civil rights movement? Well, I was actually more against using his birthday as the day of commemoration, because I felt like it could be more easily domesticated than recognizing the day of his assassination. (To be fair, this realization was not my own; some civil rights activists, including a couple named above, made this argument to me.) This conviction wasn’t intended to be morbid, but even recognizing the need for reasons for joy, there was concern the wrong lesson would be remembered.  

Unfortunately, to a great degree, I think the holiday has lost its teeth. Instead of using MLK Day as an opportunity to address systemic and structural issues, to take on the principalities and powers, it has become a day to promote volunteerism. That’s not a bad thing, but King’s deep understanding of both America’s possibility and its shortcomings are no longer the focus of the day’s remembrance. 

(Of course, one could have a parallel discussion about how the life and ministry of Jesus has been domesticated as well. The “popularity” of Christmas over Good Friday might be instructive, … even as we declare that it was Jesus’ death and resurrection is the primary gamechanger.)  

SO, THE THIRD WEEK of June has become another opportunity for white America to pause and reflect on a different day of commemoration. Does this mean we will more deeply engage in the work of structural change, anti-racist deconstruction, and opposition to white supremacist activities – those intentional and conscious, as well as those unacknowledged and subtle? 

Juneteenth is a “new” federal holiday, even as we last weekend celebrated its 157th anniversary. I know that I had never heard of Juneteenth until I moved to D.C., a Black majority city. Most of us hadn’t, I suspect, so we are learning new things about the combination of lament and joy through the acknowledgement of real history – history that has been too often erased.  

Thus, what irony it is that, as our awareness of historical events becomes more holistic, the bogeyman of “critical race theory” becomes the fixation of groups with a political agenda to deny some major parts – a through line, actually – of American history. Our own fragility as white folks means we are too often unable to be confronted by our past; we either say, “well, that wasn’t me,” or “it wasn’t that bad; some people even liked it.”  

“If the commitment of King and this circle of leaders was so deeply impactful on me, why would I oppose a day to honor the man who was the face of the 1960s civil rights movement?” 

The anniversary of the martyrdom of the Mother Emanuel Nine now falls on the same weekend as the Juneteenth celebration. As Lutherans, we have become very aware of the story of the Mother Emanuel Nine, nine members of an African Methodist Episcopal Bible study who welcomed a young, white, ELCA-confirmed man into their midst, only to be killed by him. Two of the pastors of this congregation, who were shot to death, were students of an ELCA seminary.  

Before we continue, let’s take just a moment to say their names:  

Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton 
Mrs. Cynthia Graham Hurd 
Mrs Susie J. Jackson
Mrs. Ethel Lee Lance 
Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor 
Rev. Clementa Pinckney 
Tywanza Kibwe Diop Sanders 
Rev. Daniel Lee Simmons, Sr.
Mrs. Myra Singleton Quarles Thompson 

The challenge for us as Lutherans is to tell the reality of this story – that someone could be confirmed in our church and still could shoot siblings of faith to death – and not “whitewash” it. These murders are abhorrent; and, we have a tie to this story. It is in our structures, in our policies, in our beliefs, in ourselves. We can choose to stay silent or to make change, to be comforted or to embrace the discomfort.  

The supporters of eliminating “critical race theory” would say that learning this history might make some of us increasingly uncomfortable, so we shouldn’t do it. They might argue that we don’t need to know about the Mother Emanuel Nine or the young man who killed them. They might contend that we don’t need to know about the intentionality of slaveowners moving to Texas to avoid the imposition of Reconstruction, leading to the June 19, 1865, announcement of emancipation. They might make the case that we don’t need to know that MLK called for acts of civil disobedience more often than warmly calling us to become volunteers.  

Again, I’m not sure I’m the best person to write this blog. But, I am sure that all gospel-believing folks are being asked to reflect on where we are on this path, … and how we will chart a new course while continuing to move forward.  

By Maya Bryant

My family likes to say that tragedy strikes in threes: If one thing goes wrong, two others (big or small) are bound to follow. And when they happen to you, they’re Tests. There’s something you need to learn to grow, and hardship might be the only way to do that.

The three Tests this month are wearing me down. On the weekend of June 3, on my way to see my boyfriend in Madison, Wisconsin, my car decided it no longer wanted to accelerate 45 minutes away from his apartment. I was revving the engine and crying panicked tears as I slowly followed behind an RV the rest of the way.

My dad is a mechanic and very tech savvy, so I called him and did everything he said to try to fix it on my own, but to no avail, of course. I took it in to a local mechanic, and they said that I might need a new transmission, which averages about $5,000, something a 24-year-old working at a religious institution definitely cannot afford. I literally rolled in on June 3 and could not leave until June 8.

“The place you are in needs you today.” 

On the afternoon of June 5, my mother called me and told me that she plans to call someone about my cat. I’ve had my cat, Joey, since I was nine years old. Recently, he’s lost weight because of digestive issues. But, apparently during the days that I had been gone, he got progressively worse. He stopped eating the day I left. When I got home, I could feel his bones under his fur. He wasn’t like that just five days before.

My mother was torn; she was raised on a farm, and animals on a farm either die on their own or run away. This is the first time my family has had to decide whether to actively euthanize a pet.

JUNE 13 MARKS THE two-year anniversary of my grandmother Marlys’ death. She was the family matriarch, a force to be reckoned with, and an extremely devout Lutheran. She brought joy and snacks for everyone everywhere she went. We couldn’t host her funeral in the church she’d been a member of for decades because of the pandemic; we couldn’t invite any friends or long-distance family to attend for fear of COVID spread.

We were stuck. And now I was stuck. Stuck on how to proceed, how to move. I felt immobilized, unable to do anything because I feared that something else would fall apart, or that maybe I would.

I sat down at my desk at the synod office last Thursday morning – after an almost six-hour journey home from Madison – and sighed, ready to leave after just arriving. I glanced over to the right side of my desk. I keep a little box of quotes by inspirational leaders there. And sitting on top was a quote from writer Katherine Logan. It said: “The place you are in needs you today.”

“Grandma Marlys brought joy and snacks for everyone everywhere she went.”

I hadn’t placed it on the top of the pile, and I didn’t know who did. I stared at it for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure how to take that. Does it mean my emotional state? Does it mean my physical presence? Does it mean my experiences?

I’m still thinking about it. But I’m going to give myself the grace to be my fullest self within my capabilities as I learn from these three Tests. I’m going to let myself feel all the feelings and frustrations. I’m going to let myself be where I’m at because maybe that’s the place I’m in. And I’m needed there.

By Emilie Bouvier

“Ambient heaviness.”

“So disheartened.”

“Feeling amped up.”

These were some of the comments I heard from colleagues today as we spent time checking in with each other after the long weekend. There seems to be so much swirling right now: the immense tragedy of mass shootings in Buffalo, Orange County, and Uvalde; the conflict and pain in the Sierra Pacific Synod, ELCA; the anniversary of the murder of George Perry Floyd; the remembrance and loss felt in honoring veterans; the flashpoints of local and national politics that intensify divisive rhetoric. Collectively, we are reeling.

I personally don’t spend a lot of time on social media, but from the glimpses I’ve caught and what I’ve gathered from others, I know it’s been getting pretty ugly pretty quickly on all these topics and more.

“With everything that’s stirring right now, it’s clear that we’re all grieving.”

Don’t get me wrong, there is so much to be rightly angry about and so much to lament, that is most certain. But how it all comes out reminds me a lot of what it’s like to be at a family funeral.

I’m sure you all have been there. Just mentioning “family funeral” in conversation with a few folks evoked many horror stories, mostly involving shouting matches, tearful meltdowns, and fights over heirlooms.

IN MY OWN FAMILY after two big losses in quick succession a few years ago, I remember just how tumultuous the family dynamics were getting leading up to the funeral. Things were not going well but, in a moment of stepping back from my own inner tumult, I suddenly had a moment of clarity. I had this very real conversation with myself that I very much needed to make it through the 24 hours that followed.

“Oh, I see it now. Everyone is grieving. They’re sad, angry, and processing in their own ways. Ah yes, that’s the thing, they each have different expectations and need different things. One person wants all those gathered to be joyful in remembering, but another wants to be alone and sit with their own sadness. Another wants attention and affirmation of what they’re doing to help, and yet another prefers to give care, but isn’t listening to others’ actual needs. Oh, and the last one is about to implode because they want to keep the peace, but all the needs are conflicting and tempers abound.”

“Don’t get me wrong, there is so much to be rightly angry about and so much to lament.”

With everything that’s stirring right now, it’s clear that we’re all grieving. And many of us are grieving lots of different things at the same time and in differing ways.

How do we be gentle with each other while we are finding our best selves? How do we make space for our grief while remembering everyone’s humanity? When is leaning into righteous anger the appropriate response? When is it time to walk away or take a break from the turbulence of so many grief responses? How do we direct our frustration and anger into meaningful action from a deep well of faith and from our best self? What brings us back to presence when we become reactive out of our own hurt, frustration, or weariness? Where does God show up for you in all this? Where does God show up for us in community when we’re collectively a mess?

I don’t know the answers to all this, but I hope this invitation to ask the questions serves you. Sometimes it’s enough just to pause and feel your own breathing, to notice the tumble of emotions in your belly, and to hold yourself and those around you in a little more grace as we make space for it all.

By Pastor John Hulden

One million dead from COVID in the U.S. I know, that’s not a great way to start a blog. But, it is really big news that, well, is not really new; it’s a tragedy. That’s 1,000,000 people – an ever-growing number that is an unfathomable catastrophe. Now, let’s talk birds.

This pandemic is for bird watching

Perhaps you have heard that bird watching is way, way, up during the last two years. Isolating at home, working from home, only able to meet outside — whether you look out your windows or step outside, there are birds. Many folks took up the official hobby of “birding.” Using apps like eBird and Merlin, the enthusiasm of these “birders” has led to a surge of bird data these past two years; more birds are being watched and tallied.

From the porch of the farmhouse

“Just like it was for our kids when they were little, the farm is a pretty cool place for our two young Minneapolis-living grandsons to visit.”

I am not a “birder.” Brenda and Nick are the resident “birders” on your synod staff. But I live on my wife’s childhood farm with her parents (my favorite parents-in-law). Just like it was for our kids when they were little, the farm is a pretty cool place for our two young Minneapolis-living grandsons to visit.

Our two young Minneapolis-living grandsons

Now that we got past April (that felt like November), I can sit on the front porch with a lovely view when I work from home. While plowing through my emails, I can hear birds. I can see birds. There are so many birds. I don’t need to be “birder” to recognize the many different birds on our 47-acre farm: songbirds of every color, sandhill cranes, bald eagles, vultures, turkeys, Canadian geese, barn swallows, hummingbirds, woodpeckers, various kinds of ducks on our two ponds.

One day there was a racket coming from a stand of trees. I caught on video a green heron taking down a chipmunk from the top limb of 75-foot tree. It didn’t go well for the chipmunk.

Living on a farm we see firsthand the cycle of life. Which leads me to …

There is a pandemic for birds, too

My wife is the farmer. She cares for five dozen laying hens and almost 100 baby chicks that are “meat birds.” She had arranged with our neighbors to butcher those fast-growing chicks in early June.

First one laying hen, and then a few more of our laying hens, died. After calling the Minnesota Avian Flu hotline, scientists came out to the farm to test the birds. We soon found out we are the 77^th Minnesota farm to get hit with the Avian Flu. Soon after that, USDA hazmat-fitted workers from Willmar came to our farm and killed all 165 chickens and we buried them out in the field — along with the eggs we were getting ready to sell.

It was a very sad day. Now our farm needs to stay poultry free for 150 days.

Chicks that would have become chickens

“After calling the Minnesota Avian Flu hotline, scientists came out to the farm to test the birds.”

How did this happen? I guess all it takes is infected droppings from a migratory bird landing in our chicken yard. Boom. Infected farm #77. As if one pandemic wasn’t enough.

We’ll be alright. Now there will be more time for work in the vegetable and flower gardens.

Any day is a good day to make a “grateful-for” list. Ours is long: care and concern from neighbors and friends, good science and scientists, government help from the USDA, Easter Season worship services and sermons, even deeper appreciation of creation, and the creation chapters in Job (39:26-30), and the Psalms (50:7-12), and, well, Jesus:

“Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Parent feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?” Matthew 6:25-27

By Pastor Norma Malfatti

Last week my brother came to visit; it was so good to be together. This is the first time he’s come to Minneapolis that we could explore the area and we went on some fabulous adventures. However, the real reason he came to visit was to help me continue to go through our mother’s things.

It’s been 15 months since she died and there is still much to tend to when it comes to her stuff and our father’s stuff too. He died 15 years ago and yet my mother hadn’t been ready to go through some of the boxes of his precious things and practice some Marie Kondo magic.  Regardless, I am now the caretaker of a lot of stuff and the people at my local Goodwill are getting to know me well.

If you’ve ever gone through things from your childhood, you know that it can bring up a variety of feelings as you sort through the treasures of the past. Seeing a picture that captures the time my older sister and I decided to make our brother wear all of our many tutus at the same time had me yearning for simpler (to me) times, when our biggest worry was whether or not we’d get a time out for our antics. After capturing a photo on my phone and texting it to my sister, I put it in its proper box and moved onto the next picture.

“The world is different than it was before the pandemic and the world watched George Floyd’s murder on electronic devices.”

Svetlana Boym, a cultural theorist and former professor at Harvard University, calls this reflective nostalgia, longing for the past while acknowledging that the past cannot be recreated and may not even be as idyllic as we remember. Restorative nostalgia, on the other hand, seeks to recreate the past, in the present. Boym writes, “Restorative nostalgia does not think of itself as nostalgia, but rather as truth and tradition.” It’s what my siblings and I do when we get dinner from the same chain restaurant in three different states on our parents’ birthdays because it was their favorite haunt.

I ALSO THOUGHT ABOUT the church as I sorted through boxes and boxes of knickknacks, baking supplies, pictures, and more. Even though there’s an Omicron variant running through the Twin Cities and elsewhere in the country, we seem to have entered a new phase of the pandemic where we are trying to create some normalcy. I wonder if these two types of nostalgia can help us figure out what that normalcy will look like.

Restorative nostalgia would have us attempt to recreate the past; to seek to revive all the committees, ministries, and other contextually important structures and events that were a part of our congregations in 2019. Reflective nostalgia would have us examine our pre-pandemic ways of being (ministries, teams, liturgies, etc.) and wonder whether they serve us and the community now, no matter how faithful and effective they were three years ago.

“I thought about the church as I sorted through boxes and boxes of knickknacks, baking supplies, pictures, and more.”

The answer might be yes, but it could just as easily be no. The world is different than it was before the pandemic and the world watched George Floyd’s murder on electronic devices. No matter how hard we try, we will never be able to recreate life as we knew it in those before times because we know what’s happened since then. Our ignorance cannot be recaptured.

I’m not saying that any of these conversations are easy and won’t be fraught with grief and a struggle for some to figure out their place and role. But, I do think Christians are called to have such discussions if we are going to figure out who God is calling any individual congregation, the synod, and the entire ELCA into the changed world we’re venturing into.

If you’re wondering how you might approach these kinds of conversations in your own congregation, I think Dr. Thema Bryant, a professor of psychology at Pepperdine University has wisdom to offer. At the Festival of Homiletics this week, she talked about post-traumatic growth and used Jesus’ crucifixion as the case study.

First, after the trauma he spent some time in rest — what she called “tomb time.” Take time just to be still after the trauma and heal. Perhpas there are ministries or programs that just need to take a pause as leaders figure out what’s next. There is no harm in taking a break, and the time will help peoples’ anxiety lower, which can help them engage in reflective nostalgia making space for vision and change.

“Our ignorance cannot be recaptured.”

Be honest without being judgmental. You were living into the ministry you thought was most faithful at the time. Whether your answer was “great” or “could have been better,” will your ministry help you live out your purpose today?When you’re ready to start the conversaiont about what’s next, you may want to talk first about how you’ve changed as individuals and as a congregation. You may want to give testimony to how you survived the last few years. Naming how you’ve changed will help you dig deeper into the question of “why.”

Why does your congregation/team exist? Has the answer to that question changed in the last three years? Do you think it should? How well were you living up to that “why” before the pandemic? Be honest without being judgmental; you were living into the ministry you thought was most faithful at the time. Whether your answer was “great” or “could have been better,” will your ministry help you live out your purpose today?

No matter how these conversations go (or have already gone), hear God’s words to Joshua as God’s words to you this day: “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. … I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:5b, 9 NRSV)

By Meghan Olsen Biebighauser

This week my spouse and I discovered that the app that our family uses for tracking our kids’ money was being discontinued in the U.S. It’s a real loss because this app allowed us to a.) automatically dole out weekly allowance without having to remember or have cash in the house, b.) help them set savings goals, and c.) earmark a portion of their allowance to donate to a cause of their choosing. The app has been a extremely helpful to us as we absolutely fail at having weekly cash available. (Now we only panic every time someone loses a tooth.)

Honestly, there aren’t many resources out there for talking as a family about money, and what is out there tends to seriously downplay the societal structures and systems that often have more to do with where we find ourselves financially than any personal decisions could. I want my kids to understand (and I have to remind myself as well) that, while financial education is important, we can’t educate ourselves out of structural oppression.

“While financial education is important, we can’t educate ourselves out of structural oppression.”

In fact, in my experience working with low-income families and individuals, a group that I often hear just “needs better financial education,” I’ve learned that the opposite is often true. These folks should be teaching financial education. Families without sufficient capital often know exactly where every dollar is and where it needs to be to keep their heads above water.

What our nation does need, though, are policies that give us a shot at stability. We can make collective choices that ensure wages and benefits that are livable, protection from predatory lenders of all types, and more.

For as much as Jesus talks about money (and it’s a lot…like, the most), we’re not that great at talking about it at church. Maybe we’ll talk about the budget or the capital campaign, but I hear repeatedly that many people feel like church is a place where they hide their personal financial struggles – either due to shame or feared isolation, like they’re likely the only one experiencing it.

I’M ONE OF THE founders of Exodus Lending, a nonprofit dedicated to breaking the cycle of predatory payday loan debt. In forming the organization, we were committed to create a culture where people could have candid conversations about money and how it has impacted their lives, as well as be supported without judgment.

During my time as a board member – along with people involved in corporate banking, nonprofit executives, faith leaders, students, and individuals who were previously program participants of Exodus Lending – we would open each meeting by sharing “money moment” stories. Someone would pose a question such as one of these:

• “Did you get an allowance as a child, and do you remember how much you received?”
• “What was your first job and do you remember how much you got paid?”
• “When did you become aware of your family’s household income and how did your parents talk with you about it?”

Obviously, any of these would lead to plenty of conversation. It was both fun to learn these things about one another, and inevitably led us to a deepened understanding of the roles that factors like race and class played in not only our experience as children but where we find ourselves now.

I HAVE NEVER TAKEN out a payday loan myself, but it wasn’t because of any particularly good decisions that I’ve made. And, I can trace back generations to see where racist policies benefitted my family, resulting in the stability that I enjoy today. It’s a reframing that I need to remember every day.

Even so, I need to shout out Lutheran Social Service of Minnesota (LSS). Its Debt Management Plan has created a manageable plan for my spouse and me to pay down credit card debt that was getting the better of us, and its counselors are currently helping me take the steps to qualify for Public Service Loan Forgiveness. (If you’re a church worker, get in touch with LSS to explore this opportunity!)

“Families without sufficient capital often know exactly where every dollar is.”

With financial talk in the air, this might just be a moment when we can get more practiced at having these conversations at church. Perhaps the next council or stewardship meeting could start with a “money moment” question. Or, maybe small group members could be encouraged to be vulnerable with each other about finances.

The summer lectionary in 2022 offers some great opportunities to talk about the structures that keep some people struggling financially while benefiting others. (If you are a preacher, get ready to talk about the shekel and the ephah on July 17!)

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.

By Nicholas Tangen

This summer, the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices learning community is embarking on a summer of neighborhood listening. Each of the 13 participating congregations is planning its own listening work in its context; the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices team will provide accompaniment, coaching, and resources along the way. This is an exciting time for our project, and the eagerness from our congregations to get out there and hear more about how God is at work in their community is incredibly energizing.

“More and more in American culture, the idea of truly connecting with our neighbors can be anxiety producing.”

In February, as we began laying out the plans for this summer listening, I challenged our learners to schedule a one-to-one with one of their own next-door neighbors. This project of neighborhood listening will require courage and openness. And more and more in American culture, the idea of truly connecting with our neighbors can be anxiety producing.

So, I thought this one-to-one assignment would provide an opportunity to stretch our imaginations and practice some bravery. Knowing that this would be a challenge for some of our learners, I also committed to doing this myself.

NOW, YOU MIGHT THINK that I have enough experience in community engagement that this wouldn’t be all that stressful for me. But you’d be wrong.

Much of my community engagement work has been in contexts that are not my own. This invitation was challenging me to connect with folks who have been only hundreds of feet away from my wife and I for nearly a decade. I was a little scared.

But I promised I would follow through, and I trusted that the learning community would hold me accountable – so I scribbled a quick note on a piece of notebook paper:

Hey there, this is your neighbor across the street. With all that’s unfolded in the last couple of years in our city, my wife and I are aware of how disconnected we feel from our neighbors. We’d love to treat you to a beer or a coffee and get to know you a little better. If you’re game, shoot me a text. Your neighbors, Nick and Kristin.

I dropped the note and our contact info in our neighbor’s mailbox across the street, and then we waited.

The next morning, I received a text:

Hey Nick, this is your neighbors. Your note LITERALLY made our day! We would love to connect.

I suddenly felt so much of that fear and guilt fall away, and noticed it being replaced by excitement, curiosity, and joy. When my wife and I talked later that night we were so struck by what a simple invitation could do. Can the kind of neighborhood connections we want to build really start with scribbled notes on a torn off piece of notebook paper?

We had beers with our neighbors that Friday. We set aside an hour after dinner and ended staying well into the night. We talked about family, and work, and what we’ve seen in the neighborhood. We talked about the Second Precinct and the militarized energy they’ve held since George Floyd’s murder. We grumbled about the “joys” of living in houses over a century old. And we made a commitment to checking in more regularly. It was lovely.

I WAS SO EXCITED to tell our learning community about my experience connecting with these neighbors. It had confirmed something for me that I have been trying to instill from the beginning – our first steps towards authentic relationship can be small, simple, and straightforward.

That’s not to say that all our problems are going to be solved by having beers with our neighbors. But what it does mean is that the kind of community change so many of us want to see is only possible when it emerges from connected communities. And connected communities do the little things well – extending invitations, spending genuine informal time together, and getting curious about one another.

“What might be possible if each of our congregations and the folks in the pews committed to practicing little things well?”

What might be possible if each of our congregations and the folks in the pews committed to practicing those little things well? What if we devoted our attention to building connected communities, rather than trying to be the leaders, the providers, or the saviors? What might happen in our neighborhoods? What might happen in our churches?

Only God knows, but we can follow that curiosity right into our neighbor’s living room and dream about it together.

So, drop a note in your neighbor’s mailbox. I dare you.

By Pastor Craig Pederson

The miracle of Easter was celebrated again this weekend: “Christ is Risen!” (You know the response, right?) And, for the first time in two years, there was the option – largely unfettered by COVID – to worship in person with others who were seeking the joy of the open tomb.

“Easter is a reset of our anchors.”

As I worshiped with my family and enjoyed the spiritual blessings of that service – the music, the flowers, the message, the beautiful (unmasked!) smiling faces of young and old – I also wondered about the challenges that our fellow worshipers were bringing with them to meet the Risen Christ on that Easter morning. For many during this Easter Season, one of the most impactful struggles is conceptual, yet very real: Inflation.

Is this an exciting Easter topic? Not so much.

WHAT IS INFLATION? It is an increase in the prices of goods and services over time that causes an economic imbalance, leading to a decrease in the value of money. Said more simply, during inflation, your money buys less stuff.

While I don’t know much about the technicalities of how inflation impacts larger economic trends, I do know that recently I’m paying more for the things I need and want: gas at the pump for our vehicles (three of them in our perhaps too-mobile household), natural gas for our house, electricity, food (at the grocery store and the cafe), the interest rate on a loan to make home repairs and improvements.

“For many during this Easter Season, one of the most impactful struggles is conceptual, yet very real: Inflation.”

Inflation in our U.S. economy is at a 40-year high. What does that mean? Basically, the gap between the wages and salaries of workers and the cost of buying goods and services has not been this large since the early 1980s. In this environment, choices on how to spend money become more real. And, of course, those who were already struggling financially have an even harder time trying to meet their basic needs.

THIS INFLATION CAN affect churches, too. When people have to make choices about how to spend money, church offerings can suffer. We certainly believe in a God of abundance. But as faithful as a person might be, when having to choose between purchasing food or gas or medicine and contributing to God’s work in the church, it is understandable that offerings may decrease – or sometimes not happen at all.

Earlier I wrote that inflation is both conceptual and real. One of the concepts economists use to examine inflation is the “anchoring effect.” The anchoring effect describes the common human tendency to rely too heavily on the first piece of information offered (the “anchor”) when making decisions.

For example, if a person hears that inflation is historically bad and signs of improvement are scarce, they will likely make spending choices that reinforce the effects of inflation. There is a sense of pressure to only spend money on basic goods and services that are already expensive. Even when new information is presented, the anchoring effect tends to keep people in their original frames of mind. This plays out on an individual level for consumers, and on a macro level for policy makers.

“What have we first learned and heard that that we still cling to, even when new ideas and information may lead us in a new direction?”

This makes me think about the anchoring effects in our churches. What have we first learned and heard – sometimes recently, sometimes long ago – that that we still cling to, even when new ideas and information may lead us in a new direction?

Easter is a reset of our anchors. Disciples who first thought that the Resurrection was as idle tale were changed. New life coming out of death became real. As present-day followers of Jesus, we now have in the promise and hope that we, too, might live a new life. Our discipleship can change and grow to share the love of Christ with our neighbors in new ways.

Inflation is real, in our churches and homes, in our businesses and our schools. But the grace of Jesus Christ is also real – moving our anchors and making possible things we might never have imagined before.

Christ is risen! May this miracle be your anchor and your guide this Easter season.

By Pastor John Hulden 

My big brother David (a pastor in Iowa) and I always greet each other this week using the catch phrase of Batman’s sidekick – Robin, the Boy Wonder. As a kid, I so loved watching the half-hour Batman TV series with Adam West as the title character and Burt Ward as Robin. 

Good versus evil was so well defined. The unchanging ritual of the Joker or Riddler or Penguin capturing Batman and Robin at the end of the half-hour show on the Wednesday episode, and then, miraculously (again!) escaping and “winning” on the Thursday evening show. (If only I could walk up the sides of buildings and have every tool imaginable on my belt.) 

Ah, I can long for simpler times. 

“If only I could walk up the sides of buildings.” 

With wars and unrest around the world, COVID, a mental health crisis, the deep political divide, racial disparities in education, the deeper divide between the rich and poor, … I can sometimes hear in my own mind, “Holy #@*^&, Batman!” 

MY CHURCHY FRIENDS, blessings to you this week as you plan and carry-out Holy Week worship services and all that comes with them. I am cheering you on. 

Beyond encouragement to pause and appreciate the Jesus story this week, I don’t have any wise or even pithy advice. But I will point you to Anne Lamott’s Facebook post as she approached her 68th birthday on Palm Sunday. Here are some lines I appreciated:  

God, what a world. What a heartbreaking, terrifying freak show. It is completely ruining my birthday plans. … Turning 68 means you’ve seen what you’ve seen — Ukraine, Sandy Hook, the permafrost. … Marjorie Taylor Greene. By 68, you have seen dear friends literally ravaged by cancer, lost children, unspeakable losses. The midterms are coming up. My mind is slipping. My dog died. Really, to use the theological terms, it is just too frigging much.

… So, what does that leave? Glad you asked: The answer is simple. A few very best friends with whom you can share your truth. … You call someone and tell them that you hate everyone and all of life, and they will be glad you called. They felt that way three days [ago] and you helped them pull out of it by making them laugh or a cup of tea. You took them for a walk, or to Target. 

Also, besides our friends, getting outside and looking up and around changes us. … The world is warming up. 

Well, how does us appreciating spring help the people of Ukraine? If we believe in chaos theory, and the butterfly effect, that the flapping of a Monarch’s wings near my home can lead to a weather change in Tokyo, then maybe noticing beauty — flapping our wings with amazement — changes things in ways we cannot begin to imagine. It means goodness is quantum. Even to help the small world helps. Even prayer, which seems to do nothing. Everything is connected. 

… So, Sunday I will celebrate the absolutely astonishing miracle that I, specifically, was even born. As Fredrick Buechner wrote, “The grace of God means something like, ‘Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you.’”   [Facebook post, April 5, 2022, at 12:32 p.m.] 

So how do I plan to navigate this week? I will be Batman-like, of course, with an amazing smart phone and a Leatherman tool attached to my belt. Oh, and I will also spend time with my reliable family, good friends, helpful co-workers, spring walks outside, and Holy Week worship that leads us to the promise of this coming miraculous (again!) Sunday.