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By Emilie Bouvier  

“Eight… Nine… Ten.”  

I finish the count with a strain and glance up, squinting at fluorescent lights. Another set down. I put down the dumbbells and move over to the kettlebell for deadlifts, next in the circuit.  

Two years ago, I would have never imagined that I’d relish this – the sweat and exertion of a grueling strength-building workout. 

But the thing is, as I get into alignment on the mat with a heavy weight in front of me, everything else fades away. All I have capacity to concentrate on is that 96Lb of cast iron and my effort to pick it up. 

“One… Two… Three…” 

We’ve been talking a lot these days about resiliency. And as unexpected as it’s been, this challenging workout class came to be a saving grace for me during a season that would have otherwise broken me, I’m sure. It’s become a balm amid a particularly hard day or hard week.  

“Two years ago, I would have never imagined that I’d relish this.”

I know I’m a little bit biased because it’s my brother who runs the class, but the added sibling time is just a bonus. Now, not only do I have a whole new appreciation for what my brother’s work is like as a personal trainer, but I also have a whole new understanding of what it looks like to tend to my body in building resiliency.  

I’ve become much more attuned to how much we hold onto our experiences physically, and just how physical our need is for health, connection, and healing.  

PART OF THIS JOURNEY TOWARD EXERCISE AS A RESILIENCY PRACTICE was fueled by a dear friend recommending the book “Breaking the Burnout Cycle,” by Emily and Amelia Sagoski. She didn’t offer this as an optional suggestion; she literally left it at my house and demanded I read it! Of course, in true irony I only found time to get through the first chapter. Yet, even that short excerpt was a helpful guide for using exercise as way to visualize and physically let go of the tension I’m so used to holding onto. 

As I’ve been reading another book that’s sat on my shelf all too long, “My Grandmother’s Hands” by Resmaa Manakem, I’ve also come to see my physical workouts as a way to better connect with and settle my body. Alongside the other embodied practices in the book, I’ve found strength-building has helped me metabolize my emotions and work to reroute the perpetuated harms of racialized trauma responses held in my body. 

I know exercise isn’t everyone’s best strategy for resiliency; it’s a good and helpful pathway, but the pathways are many. 

For me, all I know is that at the end of the day if I can show up and slam a medicine ball on the ground that I’ll be ok. And most
days, that’s enough. At the end of the workout, when I’m lying on the astroturf in a sweaty gym basement, I put my shaky, noodle-feeling arms on my stomach and feel myself breathing. In that moment of rest, I feel deeply and physically connected to my own humanity, my vulnerability, my strength. By that point I’ve physically worked out all the frustration, mental lists, and hurts of the day, and in my exhaustion, I feel on a gut-level that I’m ok. And that I’m claimed and loved by God.  

This is a similar muscle memory, I think, to that of ministry. A lot of church work is taking on the repeat rhythms, putting forward your best effort, and pushing when you’re spent and it’s all you can do to go through motions one more time.  But then doing the thing, letting go, and remembering that you are loved.  

“At the end of the day if I can show up and slam a medicine ball on the ground, I’ll be ok.” 

Whatever your resiliency practice is right now, I hope it connects you back to your sacred humanity and moments of rest in God’s grace. After all, this challenging yet beautiful season of Lent is marked by God’s walking with us through the physicality, stress, and messiness of being human. 

[Again, I’m biased, but if you’re looking for a personal trainer, I can’t recommend my brother Alex highly enough! absolutestrengthmn.com] 

By Rev. Norma Malfatti 

One of the joys I have in my call as our synod’s Director for Evangelical Mission is spending time with our new start and strategic ministry communities and their leaders. These communities also happen to include our synod’s ethnic specific, culturally specific and multi-cultural congregations. Last week in a renewed practice from pre-pandemic times, pastors of these communities gathered in person for mutual support and relationship building. 

As part of the conversation, we talked about how the synod can be a stronger supporter of their communities. Pr. Melissa Gonzalez, the mission developer of Tapestry, a bilingual community that worships at Oak Grove, Richfield, shared some profound thoughts about partnership with these ministries using the story of Jesus visiting the home of Mary and Martha in Luke 10. 

Often when congregations or individuals reach out to develop relationships with new start and strategic ministries, they approach the relationship like Martha approached hospitality, tending to tasks: cleaning, cooking, or serving in some other physically active way. This kind of help is important; showing up with hands and hearts ready to serve is a faithful approach to building relationships.  

However, as Jesus told Martha, it is not the only approach and may not even be the needed one. Like Mary, sometimes we just need to sit down and listen, have a conversation with the people and communities we wish to build relationships with. 

“They’re looking for some more Marys to be in their midst.” 

Last summer, members of the synod’s Racial Equity Lens Task Force and Mission Table sat down and listened to members and leaders from our 13 new start and strategic ministries. They listened to hopes and dreams, frustrations and losses, as we seek to not only build better relationships in our synod but also to learn how systemic racism and othering impacts these ethnic specific, culturally specific and multicultural communities of faith. This was holy and hard work, not only for the interview teams but also for our communities as they relived and shared their experiences.   

One of the early learnings from the interviews was that our ethnic and culturally specific ministries feel disconnected and isolated from others in the synod. I was reminded of this as Pr. Melissa shared that Tapestry, and our developing and strategic ministries more broadly, were looking for some more Marys to be in their midst. To simply show up, to worship and share in fellowship with them.   

FOR THOSE OF US WHO ARE WHITE, it can be intimidating entering a space that is not centered on dominant culture, including language and worship practices. I will admit that when I attend worship at our congregations that do not worship in English, most of the time I have no idea what is being said, though there is usually someone nearby who interprets for me. And when there isn’t, I meditate on the Scripture that was read or silently pray for the community I’m with, for deeper understanding of, and relationship with, one another. I’ve learned that I do not need to know every word that is said to have meaningful experiences with my siblings in Christ; I just need to be present and listen. 

When Jesus responded to Martha’s plea to make her sister get up and work, he told her that she was, “worried and distracted by many things.” Jesus’s words are not unlike those of Pr. Jane Buckley-Farlee, pastor of Trinity Lutheran Congregation in the Cedar-Riverside neighborhood, who says that when we show up in places that are new to us, especially when visiting people of a different language or culture, we are going to feel out of our element and may even feel incompetent. And that’s okay.  

“It can be intimidating entering a space that is not centered on dominant culture.”

Our worries over having the right words, knowing exactly what’s going to happen or even if we’ll be able to communicate with everyone can distract us from what’s most important – showing up with an open heart and open ears, much the same way Mary did when she sat down with Jesus. Mary was sitting in a space typically reserved for men and I bet it wasn’t just Martha that wanted her to be in the kitchen preparing the food. Mary showed courage, along with her desire to learn, by sitting with Jesus and the other men that were in her home. 

Perhaps the invitation to be like Mary is one you or your congregation have already been pondering. I encourage you to respond with yes! If you’re looking for a place to start, feel free to reach out, I’d be happy to share with you about our ministries. In the meantime, you can learn more about them on the synod website on the developing congregations and culturally and ethnic specific ministries pages. Like Mary and Martha, I can promise that your lives will be richer for spending time together with them and Jesus. 

By Jack Hurbanis 

 As we enter the season of Lent, Lutherans all over ask ourselves the same question: “Should I give something up for Lent, and if yes, what do I eliminate from my life for these next 40 days?”  

Growing up, this practice of “giving up” seemed much more like a punishment to me – when sweets were sent away and screens turned off, I would beg my dad to allow me to give up doing my homework instead. Unfortunately, my pleas went unheard. As I got older, I moved away from the practice of giving something up for Lent and the season became mostly associated with heading to church on Wednesdays for soup dinner.  

This focus on loss and sacrifice is something I am used to. I’m someone with, what my friends like to call, “pessimistic tendencies.” When making decisions, I often think first about what will be lost and what I’m missing out on. On road trips to visit family in Chicago, we would stop at the Flying-J rest stop to refill the car and buy a snack. My family often reminds me that as a kid, I would become paralyzed in the candy aisle as I could only think about all the treats I would be missing out on when I finally made my decision.  

BUT THIS LENTEN SEASON I HAVE RETURNED to the practice of “giving up” and I have realized that reduction isn’t always about what you’re losing. As part of my role at the synod as the Congregational Organizer for Environmental Justice, I am leading a group through a journey of giving up plastic for Lent. To clarify, we aren’t eliminating all plastic from our lives (as that is basically impossible in our current culture) but each choosing one single-use plastic item that we regularly use and replacing or eliminating it from our consumption. My decision was to eliminate plastic-packaged produce from my grocery shopping.  

In putting together this series, I found excitement in “giving up.” In this new lens of not only thinking about losing the things I love, like chocolate covered peanuts or watching television, I have found that there is a lot to gain when it comes to “giving up.” I have gained a sense of purpose as I live out my call to care for creation, a new challenge as I work to keep my commitment, and the opportunity to slow down and examine my own purchasing habits.  

“And I have realized that reduction isn’t always about what you’re losing.” 

So, for those of us who have taken on a Lenten challenge or who find ourselves thinking about what stands to be lost, I know it can be difficult, but it never hurts to remind yourself of what there is to gain. 

To help you remember some of the wonderful things that nature holds for all of us, I’ll share this prayer that we closed our first Lenten Plastic Session with: 

 We thank you, God of the sun and the moon;  

of the mountains, deserts and plains;  

God of mighty oceans, of rivers, lakes and streams;  

God of all creatures that live in the seas and fly in the air; 

God of every living thing that grows and moves on this sacred Earth;  

Help us to love and respect all of creation, to repair what we have damaged, to care for what you have made good and holy. Give us wisdom and the passion to change our minds and hearts and ways. Let us be mustard seeds in our world, bringing about ecological conversion which grows and spreads to every corner of the earth for our sake now and for every generation which is to come.  

We ask this through Christ, our Lord. Amen.  

(God’s Good Earth, pg. 295) 

If you are interested in learning more about giving up plastic, check out these resources: 

• Easy Guide To Giving Up Plastic  
• Hennepin County Plastic-Free Challenge 
• ELCA Young Adults #NoPlasticsForLent 

By Brenda Blackhawk 

It was about three Lents ago now, that my congregation last had a Lenten soup supper. I used to love coming to Salem, sharing a hot meal with my church family, and then singing along to Holden Evening Prayer. The Blackhawk family used to volunteer to make the soups for one week; my mom, my sisters and I each prepared a totally different flavor and style.   

I love food. That’s probably not a surprising statement for anyone who knows me, but what’s not to love? It nourishes, sure. But it is also a creative expression, a satisfying endeavor, a means of bringing people together, a way to show someone you love them, and so much more. 

“To me, food is about making memories with loved ones.”

I come from a family of cooks, coming down from the maternal side. My grandmother cooked in Northside restaurants and bars for most of her life; everyone down Broadway knew Betty Stoltenburg. My mother owned and operated Lou Ann’s Restaurant (in the Thrivent Financial building) from 2001 – 2012. And I had a spatula in my hand on a cooks’ line by the ripe old age of 14.   

In 2008, Grandma Betty, Auntie Shelley, and Mom struggle to make the Coconut Indulgences

We’re a family that doesn’t gather without a meal. We always show up with something delicious to contribute and are quick to share our favorite recipes. We all have different tastes and styles and skill levels, but we bond over the creating and the eating.   

We are cooks, NOT bakers. There’s a difference (other kitchen creators will understand). We don’t even like to bake. Yet, every year the women in my family gather a few weeks before Christmas to bake a ton of holiday treats. My mom and my aunt, Shelley, started the tradition some 16 years ago, when my grandmother was still alive.  

Not even one of us is a very good baker, nor do we really like the process of baking. But we love to do a project together. We love taking a whole day, analyzing the recipes, assigning tasks, laughing and talking, and reaping the rewards of a hard day’s work. Plus, we all have a bit of a sweet tooth.  

TO ME, FOOD IS ABOUT MAKING MEMORIES with loved ones. You know that feeling you get when you eat a meal that’s tied to a special moment in your life? I call it a “food memory.” All my favorite foods are the ones with a food memory. I can tell you a story for almost every recipe in my little recipe box. 

Holy Communion is a perfect example of a food memory. We share food and drink in community with one another, recalling a sacred moment long ago, and it is a practice that brings us comfort.  

“Food memories are holy.” 

Food memories are holy. And they can become more potent when life changes things up on you. On February 17, 2022, my Aunt Shelley passed away after a six-year battle with cancer. We were so blessed to have those six years of meals and food memories. We even managed to have one last family cookie-baking day this last Christmas, creating one more shared food memory. 

The 2021 bakers. Our last time baking with Auntie Shelley.

The very best thing about food memories is their ability to mentally transport us back to those sacred moments in our lives. They connect us to our loved ones of the past as well as the future generations. An added bonus is that they are never stagnant; there’s always someone playing with the recipes and creating new moments, improving the food memories for years to come. 

I’m sad that we’ve lost Lenten soup supper to the pandemic, at least for the time being. And I hope and pray that all our other church communities can get back to sharing in their food memories soon. In the meantime, do me a favor and take some time this week to create (or buy) and enjoy a food that brings you comfort. Happy eating!

By Rev. Craig Pederson 

“I called to the Lord in my distress; the Lord answered by setting me free . . . It is better to rely on the Lord than to put any trust in flesh. It is better to rely on the Lord than to put any trust in rulers.” Psalm 118:5, 8-9 

These words of the psalmist are often proclaimed by a pastor at the graveside, where family and friends prepare to commit their loved one to the earth. In those vulnerable moments, the pastor is entrusted to be the messenger of God’s comfort and hope in the face of grief.  

But what happens when those who speak of the trustworthiness of God have their own credibility questioned? Are pastors to be trusted?   

Two recent studies address this very topic. The Pew Research Center surveyed the opinions of Americans about their confidence in a variety of professions and institutions. In the Pew report, religious leaders came in sixth out of the nine professions surveyed. Only 55% of respondents said they have at least “a fair amount” or “a great deal” of confidence that religious leaders “would act in the best interests of the public.” Professions that engendered greater confidence were medical scientists (78%), other scientists (77%), the military (74%), police officers (69%), and public school principals (64%). Those who were lesser included journalists (40%), business leaders (40%), and elected officials (24%).   

Another study, from Barna Research, reported a similar level of perception about the credibility of religious leaders. In response to the question, “Would you consider a pastor to be a trustworthy source of wisdom?” 57% of respondents said “yes, definitely” or “yes, somewhat.”   

“The pastor is entrusted to be the messenger of God’s comfort and hope in the face of grief.”

In that same study, pastors were asked their perceptions of their own profession. In response to the question, “Would you say the community/neighborhood where your church is located considers you to be a trustworthy source of wisdom?” only 21% responded “yes, very much so” (another 62% said “yes, somewhat”). 

Regarding their own congregations, the question, “Would you say your congregants consider you to be a trustworthy source of wisdom?” about two-thirds (67%) of pastors said “yes, very much so” while the remainder said, “yes, somewhat.”  

I READ ABOUT THESES STUDIES with a bit of defensiveness because their findings do not match my observations and experience. Over the seven years I have had the privilege to serve in my position, I have witnessed rostered leaders in our synod show courageous, stabilizing, and innovative leadership in their congregations and the broader community in some incredible ways. And beyond the challenges of leading their churches in a rapidly changing culture, over the past two years these leaders were handed the additional complexities of a global pandemic, racial justice awakening, and economic upheavals.   

But then I realize that my close-up “insider” view of pastoral ministry is not reflective of the broader population. They see pastors making controversial statements on social issues or in the political arena, or getting involved in financial scandals or sexual misconduct, and may generalize those actions to the profession as a whole.   

“Pastors who faithfully live out their calls earn the trust of the congregation and the community.”

And I must also acknowledge that in our fallen humanity, there are pastors who do not always live up to the calling and expectations of their office. Some of the hardest work we do in the synod office involves situations where trust has been broken through boundary violations or other inappropriate actions by rostered leaders. Thankfully, this is not the norm – far from it.  

Dr. Glenn Pakiam, the researcher and author of the Barna study, suggests, “the crisis of credibility is a symptom. The misuse of authority is the root cause. . . Credibility is the result of the good and right stewardship of power. When you understand the purpose of your power and the limits of your authority and act accordingly with humility, you earn trust and gain credibility.” 

Pakiam’s assessment of pastoral trustworthiness is sobering, but I believe it is also encouraging. Pastors who faithfully live out their calls earn the trust of the congregation and the community. They are stewards of God’s promises, bringing comfort and hope in times of distress, and proclaiming a vision of God’s justice and peace for all the world. Pastors, we see you – and we are grateful for you!   

By John Hulden 

 On April 30th I’ll attend, oh, maybe my 34th Synod Assembly. I look forward to meeting in-person with the church-y folks of the Minneapolis Area Synod as we safely spread out at spacious Central Lutheran Church for a shortened assembly. Almost like old, pre-pandemic, times. Hey, we are even promised “Gourmet Box Lunches”!  

We meet under the theme “Life Together”. Our guest speaker, Dr. Eric Barreto, will help us explore the Book of Acts.  The recent registration email explained: “Just as Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrestled with what ‘life together’ meant for Christians in Nazi Germany, we wonder what ‘life together’ means for Christians in the dual pandemic of COVID-19 and racial injustice.” 

Hey, I thought, I have that book by Bonhoeffer! Wait, have you heard of Dietrich Bonhoeffer? 

Bonhoeffer was a young Lutheran pastor from Germany who resisted the evil Nazi regime. In April of 1945, at the age of 39, he was killed at the Nazi concentration camp in Flossenburg.  

As a pastor in his 20’s and 30’s, Bonhoeffer wrote insightful essays, letters, and books about what it means to live with Christ and how to act as a Jesus-follower in the world.

The book “Life Together” was written while Bonhoeffer lived communally with twenty-five vicars in an underground seminary in the late 1930’s. After a few years, the Nazi Gestapo shut down the community and ordered Bonhoeffer to stop writing and publishing. He didn’t stop. Bonhoeffer was sent to prison after he was involved in a plot to assassinate Hitler. (Another important book is his “Cost of Discipleship.”) 

I GOT TO THINKING, SINCE MY SEMINARY DAYS in the 80’s, I have read much, much, more about Bonhoeffer, and what folks think about Bonhoeffer, than I have spent time actually reading Bonhoeffer. 

So, I found my copy of “Life Together,” copyright 1954, and cracked it open. Yes, it made a cracking noise. For real. The glue on the paperback spine isn’t what it used to be.  

“So, I found my copy of ‘Life Together,’ copyright 1954, and cracked it open.” 

I blocked off time last week and read all 122 pages. Yay! (Note: by far, the hardest part was blocking off the time.) And you, my diligent blog readers, if you dare click on the link, can be the beneficiaries of four pages of my “best of” from “Life Together,” which are linked at the bottom of this blog. Below are a few “best of” moments to get you interested. 

Bonhoeffer, the theologian and martyr, has had a deep impact on Lutherans around the world. And the ideas written more than 80 years ago can inform our “Life Together” today. Maybe, block off some time to read Bonhoeffer and ask your deacon or pastor what they think of his writings!  

Chapter 1: Community 

“It is not simply to be taken for granted that the Christian has the privilege of living among other Christians. Jesus Christ lived in the midst of his enemies.” 17 

Chapter 2: The Day with Others 

“As a whole the Scriptures are God’s revealing Word. Only in the infiniteness of its inner relationship, in the connection of Old and New Testaments, of promise and fulfillment, sacrifice and law, law and gospel, cross and resurrection, faith and obedience, having and hoping, will the full witness of Jesus Christ the Lord be perceived.” 51 

Chapter 3: The Day Alone 

“Let him who cannot be alone beware of community. He will only do harm to himself and to the community… The reverse is true: Let him who is not in community beware of being alone. Into the community you were called, the call was not meant for you alone; in the community of the called you bear your cross, you struggle, you pray.” 77 

Chapter 4: Ministry 

“[Ministers] forget that listening can be a greater service than speaking.” 97 

Chapter 5: Confession and Communion 

“But it is the grace of the Gospel, which is so hard for the pious to understand, that it confronts us with the truth and says: you are a sinner, a great, desperate sinner; now come, as the sinner that you are, to God who loves you. He wants you as you are; He does not want anything from you, a sacrifice, a work; He wants you alone.” 110-111 

Can’t block off the time to read a whole book? No problem! John’s “Best Of” from “Life Together” can paint a picture for you!  

By Nicholas Tangen 

My spouse, Kristin, had often joked (or so I thought) that when we finally had to say goodbye to our elderly cat, Wallace, that she would need two kittens to compensate for the loss. It turns out she was not joking, and in early January we adopted two orange kittens named Alfie and Russ.  

I put on my best Do we really need two cats? face while Kristin ordered cat-toys and treats and seemingly every cardboard cat shelter that Petco had to offer. I grumbled as it became more and more difficult to move in our house without tripping over some cat accessory. And I put up a decent argument for why my home office was definitely not the best place for them to live for the first couple of months. I lost that one.  

But then, these two little kittens showed up. Have you ever tried to stay grumpy or annoyed with a two-pound kitten passed out and purring on your lap? Nearly impossible. I had to admit that my little Grinch heart grew a few sizes that day.  

So, for the last couple of weeks, we’ve been adjusting our home and our routine to include Alfie and Russ. Kristin works in my office, where she can get all the kitten time she could ever ask for, and when I’m working from home I pop in every hour or so to steal a few minutes with them. In the evening, when we say compline together, everyone gathers in the office and the kittens do their best to disrupt our quiet.  

“I had to admit that my little Grinch heart grew a few sizes that day.” 

Last week, while we were praying, I was reminded of a Buddhist folktale I heard many years ago. For the life of me, I can’t find where it originated, but here’s a version: 

When the spiritual teacher and his disciples began their evening meditation, a cat who lived in the monastery made such noise that it distracted them. One day the teacher ordered that the cat be tied up during the evening practice.  

Years later, when the teacher died, the cat continued to be tied up during the meditation session. And when the cat eventually died, another cat was brought to the monastery and tied up. Centuries later, learned descendants of the spiritual teacher wrote scholarly treatises about the religious significance of tying up a cat for meditation practice.

AS I RELAYED THIS STORY TO KRISTIN, I was struck by how quickly we had developed routines, habits, and best practices to adjust to life with our new cats. Kristin knows that the boys like to nap around the same time every morning, so she picks them up before they even take a step in her direction. When I complete a task at home, I very instinctually walk upstairs to play. When we say compline, we pick up all the little noisy cat toys. These routines developed so quickly! 

Of course, the point of the Buddhist folktale is much more significant than simple cat ownership. The point is that our habits and practices, our cultures, which often develop in earnest and with clear intention, can over time become disconnected from their original intent. If we are not careful, we can be tempted to transfigure the mutable and usual into the sacred and eternal.  

“If we are not careful, we can be tempted to transfigure the mutable and usual into the sacred and eternal.“

Each of our churches has developed a culture over time. I wonder how often we ask ourselves about the routines, the habits, and the practices that we hang on to because “that’s the way we do things.” Very few practices are self-justifying and I’m willing to bet that if we get curious and try to understand the ins and outs of our church culture, we might find some things that just don’t make sense anymore.

I know that I’m going to keep asking myself these questions in my congregation and at the Synod. I’d challenge you to do the same.  

Now, it’s about time for me to go check on Alfie and Russ. Peace! 

By Emilie Bouvier 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hennepin County congregations:  Use this form 

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

By Meghan Olsen Biebighauser

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

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

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

Finally! A Disney heroine who wears glasses!

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

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

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

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

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

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

By Kayla Zopfi

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

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

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

INHALE:
I can wait through the darkness.

EXHALE:
There is holy here too.