Blog

By Brenda Blackhawk  

I’ve just returned home from the 155th annual Homecoming Powwow in Winnebago, Nebraska. I knew when my family packed up the campers and vehicles 10 days ago that I would be writing a blog about the trip, so I had it in the back of my mind to notice the way God was showing up. 

I could write about my 2-year-old niece and how watching her discover new things about herself and the world every day was simply magical. I could write about how missing powwow last year because of COVID was painful and how simply being there this year was spiritual.  

Instead, I’ll tell you about the last thing I did before we packed up the trailers and the van to make our way home.  

MY DAD WOKE ME up before the sun. He had asked me the night before if I would get up with him and take pictures of the flag raising. The Winnebago Homecoming Powwow is a celebration to honor our veterans, our warriors. So, every morning at dawn, living veterans, like my dad, go down to the powwow arena and raise the flags of fallen warriors.  

I’m not exactly a morning person, but I put myself together and walked down to the arena with my Nikon. The flag raising ceremony is much more than simply lifting up the 50 or so flags. (There are usually more than 75, but attendance was lower due to to COVID-19.) A drum group played special songs as the flags rose toward the sky. Then, they played four warrior songs and we danced, with one veteran leading as he (or she) carried the eagle feather staff. It all ended with prayer, storytelling, and a meal.  

“But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” 

The emcee yesterday morning was Mr. Boyh Ladd – a Vietnam combat veteran and one of our Winnebago elders. He had a lot of great wisdom to share, but one thing in particular stuck out to me.  

He recapped the story of Chief Little Priest (the person who started the powwow 155 years ago and it’s a fascinating story – ask me about it sometime) and how the custom of our people was to “respect our enemy.” I hesitated at that a little bit – I’m pretty good at totally ignoring my own enemies, as I’d rather do that than think hateful thoughts. Respecting them feels like a stretch. 

But Mr. Ladd went one step further. He said, “feed your enemies.” He talked about the old practice of “honoring” our enemies – with food and prayer and song. He also recognized that people today – especially our country’s dominate culture – never understood why this is so important.  

As he spoke, I thought of two things. First, I’ve heard similar words before. Perhaps, from Jesus in Matthew 5:44, “But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” I’ve always looked at that verse a little skeptically.  

I’M A FIRM BELIEVER in cutting out the toxic people – the ones who intentionally hurt others mentally, emotionally, spiritually; the people whose beliefs are rooted in the oppression of me and my family. Loving those people feels like living in victimhood or martyrdom; I won’t sacrifice my happiness to be abused by another.  

“I’m pretty good at totally ignoring my own enemies, as I’d rather do that than think hateful thoughts. Respecting them feels like a stretch.” 

But the second thought I had after hearing Mr. Ladd’s words, was that this nation has made enemies of their neighbors. We are so divided by the categories we’ve created for ourselves. Republicans are the enemies of Democrats; conservatives vs. liberals; rural vs. urban; dog people vs. cat people (that last one was meant to lighten the mood).  

The point is, I’m thinking about it all differently today. I’ll never surrender myself to being a victim or a martyr. But I’m beginning to think about possibilities. What does it look like to respect the enemy? But more, how can we feed them? How do we love them? And how do we stay whole while we do it?  

By Pastor Craig Pederson

My 17-year-old son Evan sometimes finds it a challenge to get going in the mornings. (Can I get a witness?) On school and work days, thankfully, he gets up to speed pretty quickly.

But on other days, he ambles down the stairs from his bedroom with his eyes half open, heads directly for the fridge to grasp for the milk, then lurches toward the pantry for the Rice Krispies (or whatever cereal is within the closest reach), then slides by the cupboard and drawers for a bowl and a spoon. He ends up in a nearly collapsed state at the table, where his quest for morning Resurrection commences.

“While church folks have long talked about the church not being dependent upon a building, we encountered the actual reality of being separated from our facilities for an extended period of time.” 

As each spoonful of this breakfast elixir enters his barely opened mouth, signs of life appear. His eyelids open wider, his posture slowly straightens, and his legs start to bounce ever so slightly to whatever he is listening to on his earbuds and/or watching on his phone.

Watching his metamorphosis reminds me of the jingle for Rice Krispies that I remember vividly from my own childhood (because it was constantly in commercials during cartoons): “It’s fun to put SNAP, CRACKLE, POP into your morning!”

Though it soon became annoying, I had to admit it: the jingle was true! After I poured the milk, I eagerly listened for the snap/crackle/pop, then anticipated the sensory joy of the crunchy krispies that gradually turned into pasty mini-morsels the longer they sat in the milk.

OUR SENSES UNDERGIRD and enhance our interpretation of life in this incarnational, 3D world. As we move toward a post-pandemic existence, I so much appreciate the return of sensory experiences and the decreasing reliance on 2D screen interactions in our professional and personal lives.

This shift has many church leaders asking what it means to return to in-person worship in buildings that have been mostly empty for over a year.

The pandemic forced us to learn about the flexibility and inclusiveness made possible by moving our communities online. Screens and connectivity became lifelines for people of faith to stay in touch with their churches that nurtured, challenged, and encouraged them. And while church folks have long talked about the church not being dependent upon a building, we encountered the actual reality of being separated from our facilities for an extended period of time.

Yet in the back of our minds, many of us longed to go back. We imagined how it would feel to be together with our siblings in Christ in a sacred physical space.

“My sensory-starved self has recently been gratefully inundated by the sight of worshipers, the smells of food and coffee and water and wind, the sounds of voices and instruments woven together in praise, and the touch of the “Peace of Christ” greeting and the bread and wine placed in my hands.”

But this was not the case for everyone. While most churches are now assessing what a dual online/in-person presence might look like, some have already decided to leave the building entirely and apply their energies toward being online communities. A recent article describes both new and existing churches that view buildings as a hindrance to experiencing more relational community, as well as a distraction from focusing on their core values like social justice and spiritual formation. They don’t want to deal with the cost and logistics (and some would add headaches) of maintaining a property.

Others, however, promote the benefits of gathering in-person in a sacred space. The human body – particularly the brain – is designed to interpret signals from all the sensory faculties. When we gather as the body of Christ, there is a “collective effervescence” that builds up our spiritual, psychological, and physiological wellness. (Note: As a sociology major from the last millennium, I totally resonate with “collective effervescence” – a concept first identified by my favorite late 19^th century sociologist, Emile Durkheim. The fact that it appears in a 2021 journal article is amazing!)

I don’t want to pick sides in the building/no building, in-person/online debates. Rather, I view it through the Lutheran lens of both/and – both online and in-person communities can have great value and be extremely impactful.

IN RECENT WEEKS I have had the privilege of preaching at a church on their second Sunday back together for indoor worship; representing the synod at the retirement celebration for a pastor of a large suburban church; worshiping outdoors at a lakeshore park for an ecumenical service; and installing a new pastor during worship at a redeveloping church. At each place, my sensory-starved self was gratefully inundated by the sight of worshipers, the smells of food and coffee and water and wind, the sounds of voices and instruments woven together in praise, and the touch of the “Peace of Christ” greeting and the bread and wine placed in my hands.

The “collective effervescence” of God’s people gathered may not quite match the sensory delight of a “snap/crackle/pop” moment, … but it sure gets me up and going in the mornings! As children of God we are made to gather for Word and Sacrament, mutual care and compassion, and justice and peace. Engaging the gifts of our full selves, let it be so!

By Pastor Norma Malfatti

My grandmother was a night owl. From the time I was old enough to stay up past an 8:30 bedtime, I learned that my grandmother never went to bed before midnight and she never, ever went to bed without reading her Bible. As a young adult, when I would come quietly into the house from a night out with friends or traveling home from college, there’d she be, reading her Bible in bed or in her rocking chair.

Sometimes we would stop and read together or she’d tell me about the story she was getting ready to read. (She knew her BIble backwards and forwards after so many years of daily reading.) She thought King David was a rascal, wondered about what it was like to live with all those laws in Leviticus as a way of being, and was always in awe of Jesus’ healings.

Norma’s mom received her life-long Bible from her parents on her ninth birthday. (See photo below for the inscription.)

I can still see her Bible on her nightstand – a worn, green cover that was falling off, bookmarks and scraps of paper sticking out with prayers and thoughts. That Bible is still packed away in a box of her keepsakes that I peek into from time to time.

“What would it look like if everyone in our congregations connected with the Holy Spirit every day by reading Scripture and wrote a note about what they read?”

I was reminded of my grandmother and her Bible at the synod’s First Call Theological Education retreat last month. Pastor Marlene Helgemo shared a wondering with our first-call pastors and deacons: What would it look like if everyone in our congregations connected with the Holy Spirit every day by reading Scripture and wrote (or full-fledged journaled) a note about what they read, much like those scrap papers stuck in my grandmother’s Bible?

She wasn’t talking about writing sermons or even reflections for public consumption, but reading a piece of Scripture and then writing about your feelings, questions, whisperings from God in the text. (Pastor Marlene’s hope of daily connections with the Holy Spirit was inspired, in part, by reading Ladder to the Light: An Indigenous Elder’s Meditations on Hope and Courage by Rev. Steve Charleston, former Luther Seminary faculty, former Episcopal Bishop of Alaska, and member of Choctaw Nation.)

MY MOTHER (WHOSE own worn and note-filled Bible is pictured) may have kept her Holy Book nearby but, in the last few years, she was no longer able to read it daily; her arthritic hands had made it too hard to turn the thin, fragile pages.

However, a day never passed by that she didn’t share a prayer, a piece of Scripture from the Bible she now read online, or worshipful piece of music on Facebook. In fact, after her death the number one comment I’ve gotten when talking with her friends and my older family members is how much they miss her daily words of encouragement – that simple faith practice of reminding others that they have a God of abundant love and welcome and that God will never abandon them.

“A day never passed by that my mother didn’t share a prayer, a piece of Scripture from the Bible she now read online, or worshipful piece of music on Facebook.”

Truth be told, I miss those notes too. Her prayerful posts were the way she shared a piece of how she dwelt with the Holy Spirit each day; they were her scrap papers now filling a social media journal.

Like Pastor Marlene, I wonder what it would be like if everyone in our synod spent a little time each day dwelling with the Holy Spirit in Scripture and prayer, writing snippets of feelings and questions that got stuffed in journals and Bibles. How might our lives be changed? How might the lives of others?

By Bob Hulteen

In 1985 I was fortunate to be invited by my then-pastor, Jim Ellison, to represent the synod at a national gathering in Chicago to discuss the church that was being formed by the merger of the Lutheran Church in America (LCA), the American Lutheran Church (ALC), and the association of Evangelical Lutheran Congregations (AELC). Lutherans from across the country came together to hear proposals from theologians, ethicists, and church leaders like Elizabeth Bettenhausen and Carl Braaten about the issues that were facing this merger.

Near the top of the list of conversation topics was the name of the merged denomination. As a young Lutheran, I was intrigued by the options: Some argued for one of the existing judicatory names to continue, but that seemed to be a non-starter for most people. Others preferred names that didn’t include any reference to Martin Luther (the “Church of the Augsburg Confession” or the “Evangelical Catholic Church of America” are two that I recall).  Cogent arguments were made that it would help this new church to be more ecumenically focused and flexible if we didn’t include the name of a 15^th century reformer.

As a recent college graduate who had thought about, but decided against, attending seminary, I was swept up by the bright lights of this historical decision-making gathering. I was impressed by the various arguments made by people whose names were familiar Lutheran royalty. I felt privileged to be in the company of those who were mapping out the possibilities of this new church. The future seemed bright.

I remember feeling like “evangelical” needed to be, and could be, redeemed. I was convinced that including it in the name of the new denomination was a faithful attempt at that redemption.  Most of the representatives at that gathering agreed, and the name of our church became the “Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA).”

IN THE END MUCH of the conversation circled around whether to include the word “evangelical” in the branding. By the mid-1980s, that word was gaining credence for a certain expression of Christianity that became synonymous with fundamentalism. The recently formed Moral Majority had begun to use the term freely to describe the political movement it created.

I remember feeling like “evangelical” needed to be, and could be, redeemed. I was convinced that including it in the name of the new denomination was a faithful attempt at that redemption.  Most of the representatives at that gathering agreed, and the name of our church became the “Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA).”

Today I hear many voices debating whether this was a good choice.  Most Americans increasingly identify the term “evangelical” with the movement that connects conservative politics with fundamentalist theology.  Mainline Protestant churches find it more and more difficult to differentiate themselves from this movement.  Lutherans in particular are raising the question as to whether the name of our denomination creates more confusion than clarity – especially for those seekers who are otherwise attracted by the theological and social positions of the ELCA.

Both in person and on social media, people share anecdotes commending what they hear about “Lutherans,” but when they check out Lutheran churches online they veer toward Lutheran denominations other than the ELCA because of the word “evangelical” in our title. This generates discussion over whether this word expresses what we hope it does (“the good news”) or not.  And, there are calls from some corners to remove the word from our denominational name.

Others argue that now is not the time to take the “gospel” out of our name.  They say we could maybe part with “Lutheran,” but not with our identity as evangelists of the good news.

So, the discussion is re-ignited over the call to redeem a word that is sadly polarizing and weaponized within our culture.

It’s a worthy debate – and hopefully not just an esoteric one. The discussion can be critical if it indeed helps us clarify more deeply what our calling as Lutheran Christians is at this moment and in this place.

By Meghan Olsen Biebighauser

Later this week my family and I will be taking a beach vacation near my hometown on Long Island, New York. I’m so excited to introduce my kids to the sounds, smells, and sights of the ocean beaches that I grew up swimming in. I was an adventurous swimmer, always going in just a little bit deeper than my parents allowed, usually well beyond where the waves break so that it was hard for them to see me as I learned how to swim my way out of a rip current.

“I’ve never been particularly nervous about sharks in the ocean, so maybe my feelings are changing because my kids will be with me.”

As I was telling my colleagues about this upcoming beach trip, Brenda Blackhawk was quick to point out that there have been an unusual number of shark sightings on the East Coast, particularly around Long Island beaches. Yikes.

I’m a bit of an overreactor, so now, two days later, I definitely have several apps on my phone that are monitoring shark sightings, and tracking shark migration. (I’ve got my eye on you, Charlotte and Monomoy!)

I’ve never been particularly nervous about sharks in the ocean. Maybe my feelings are changing because my kids will be with me, or because as an adult I feel much more aware of just how vulnerable we are when we’re out there in the ocean far from shore. But sharks are on my mind these days as we pack our swimsuits and goggles.

BEING VULNERABLE AS sharks circle is actually a metaphor I spend a fair amount of time thinking and talking about as an organizer working on the issue of predatory lending. It’s common to hear predatory lenders referred to as “loan sharks,” as they prey on financially vulnerable members of our community. These human-sharks ensnare working folks in a debt trap that drains them of resources by charging more than $200% in annual interest.

I have the privilege of working alongside leaders from our synod and around the state who are well practiced at pointing out these sharks who are encircling the most vulnerable among us, looking for an opportunity to attack. My colleagues and I have the responsibility to blow the lifeguard whistle.

“’Shark Week’ is coming soon on the Discovery Channel.”

Following the example of Jesus, who overturned the tables of the money changers in the temple, our fair lending organizing team works hard to raise awareness of the issue of payday lending. We search for remedy for those who have found themselves in the debt trap, and hold lawmakers accountable to the community that demands protection from predatory lending.

“Shark Week” is coming soon on the Discovery Channel. Whether that’s an annual celebration that you and your family observe or not, I hope you’ll keep an eye on the Minneapolis Area Synod’s social media that week to learn more about our economic justice organizing efforts to keep Minnesota loan-shark free!

By Pastor Craig Pederson

Last week I returned to my hometown in west central Minnesota (Starbuck) to officiate and sing at the funeral of a beloved neighbor of my family. Joe Hoium died of heart complications at the age of 95. He was vigorous and alert until the end: He was doing push-ups until two months ago, and was still watching every Twins game on TV. (No jokes were made that his devotion to the team may have hastened his demise, … but some of us were thinking it!)

Joe was a quintessential pillar of this small-town community, not because of a powerful professional position but because of his character that was marked by a life of service jobs and volunteering. After high school and a distinguished term in military service, Joe returned home, married the school administrative assistant, and together began their shared life.

Joe and Corrine (his wife) adopted and raised two incredible children who remain my friends today. For more than 40 years, Joe was a bus driver, hardware store sales associate, funeral home assistant, ambulance driver, volunteer fire fighter, church volunteer, Boy Scout leader, and VFW member. In short, Joe served others.

DURING MY DRIVE out to the funeral that morning, I listened to a Radiolab podcast about the career and death of another man of character – or rather, characters: Mel Blanc. If you don’t know him by name, you would likely know his voice – actually, many voices. Blanc was the vocal talent and creative energy behind some of the most popular animated figures of the 20^th century: Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig, Elmer Fudd, Daffy Duck, Yosemite Sam, Barney Rubble on the Flintstones, just to name a few.

“Arriving at the place where my own parents are buried and sitting there for a while, I couldn’t help but think: Is this all, folks?”

The podcast was an interview with Blanc’s only child, Noel Blanc, who recounted the ups and downs of his father’s career and life. Noel Blanc described how his father totally immersed himself in his characters. He also described Blanc’s near-fatal auto accident in the early 1960s. After being in a coma for two weeks, unresponsive and with few signs of hope, a doctor came into his room and tried something different. He said to Blanc, “Bugs Bunny! How are you doing today?” Slowly, Blanc opened his eyes and said, “Ehh, what’s up Doc?” I know, this story is too good to be true, right? But it was verified by both Blanc’s son and the doctor himself!

Blanc eventually recovered. He became a workaholic and struggled to keep relationships and career in perspective. Near the end of his life, however, he and his son teamed up to do ads for Oldsmobile in the late 1980s. Some of you may remember this ad campaign that used celebrities and Warner Brothers characters to boldly claim, “this is not your father’s Oldsmobile!”

Blanc’s last recorded work was during this campaign, and his last character voice was Porky Pig uttering the iconic phrase, “Th-th-that’s all, folks!” At his own request, this is the phrase that is engraved on Blanc’s tombstone.

AT THE CEMETERY after Joe’s funeral, I heard the words of committal during the interment of his cremains: “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Then I walked the rows of tombstones where other community pillars – and many others who were lesser known – were laid to rest.

Arriving at the place where my own parents are buried and sitting there for a while, I couldn’t help but think: Is this all, folks? Even as Resurrection people, the immediacy and inevitability of death can be overwhelming.

One of the scripture readings at Joe’s funeral was Romans 5 (one of my favorites!) where Paul writes, “… we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us” (vv. 3-5).

“Joe was a quintessential pillar of this small-town community, not because of a powerful professional position but because of his character that was marked by a life of service jobs and volunteering.”

“Character” is variously translated as “a unique mark, a distinctive quality, an enduring gift.” Joe’s depth of character was expressed in a certain way, while Mel Blanc’s was in a very different way.

What is the character of your church? What is your character as a Christian? Many of us are asking these questions as we emerge from 15 months of a pandemic, racial justice awakening, and economic disruption into a new reality.

I encourage you to continue exploring these questions, knowing that God‘s love is poured into your hearts to give expression to your character. Through Christ, God’s promise is “that’s not all folks!” God is not done with us yet – neither in this life, nor in the life to come.

By Pastor Norma Malfatti

One of my New Testament professors in seminary regularly assigned an integrative project for the end of the semester. This project required that students create some practical application of using Scripture, beyond writing a sermon, of course.  One friend of mine wrote a graphic novel, and another classmate connected a piece of classic artwork to a Gospel story.

One of my projects involved creating a youth group series called “Paul at the Movies.” Now, I am almost always see the themes of Biblical stories pop up at the movies, … which was likely one of the points of these projects (in addition to realizing that the Bible isn’t just for reading in worship).

“The expectations of the world and what people look for in a celebrity or pro athlete are not what God is looking for in a leader.”

Earlier this week I shared at the synod’s First Call Theological Education gathering that one of my favorite movie genres is Marvel superheroes. I have done a whole sermon series connecting the Holy Spirit, the purpose of the church, and your favorite superheroes (and mine!). Most recently I’ve been rewatching the Avengers series in preparation for the release of Loki on Disney+ on June 9.

Lo and behold, the Scriptures have jumped out at me once again. This time seeing the story of David’s anointing in Avengers: Age of Ultron.

A reproduction of Thor’s hammer

IN MARVEL LORE, ONLY the worthy are able to lift and wield Mjolnir, a powerful hammer forged at Odin’s request for his son Thor. Thor himself was deemed unworthy of his hammer for a time and had to re-earn the right to use it. During a party in the wee hours one morning, the core Avengers are gathered around Tony Stark’s living room chatting, as friends often do. Soon the bravado of the conversation leads them to test out the theory that “only the worthy” can handle the hammer.

“It was David’s heart – his desire to be faithful to his call as a shepherd – that had God saying, ‘This is the one.’” 

One after another member of the Avengers – the richest, the smartest, the wittiest, the ones with gadgets, the family man, and the strongest – tried to lift it. While Steve Rogers got the hammer to move a little, causing some concern for Thor, he too was deemed unworthy. (In case you’re wondering, the Black Widow said that she “[didn’t] need an answer to that question.”)

Watching these men, one by one, come to the table to lift that hammer was reminiscent of Jesse’s sons coming forward to the prophet Samuel waiting to learn if they were deemed worthy, so to speak, to be the next king over Israel. Samuel was expecting the best looking, strongest, the oldest, or wisest to be the next king. These were the same values and expectations that had him anoint Saul as King and that was a huge disappointment. A retired Methodist professor refers to God’s “no” to these seven elder sons as “been there, done that, and it didn’t work.”

While wielding Thor’s hammer in a comic book is certainly not the same thing as being anointed King over Israel, the similarities cannot be ignored. The expectations of the world and what people look for in a celebrity or pro athlete are not what God is looking for in a leader, though there may be some overlap. Afterall, when David finally arrives on the scene, he is first described as ruddy and good looking with beautiful eyes. Still, it was David’s heart – his desire to be faithful to his call as a shepherd – that had God saying, “This is the one.”

Now, we know the rest of the story and how easy it is for God’s beloved David to sin so tragically and egregiously by abusing his power, committing sexual assault, and plotting murder (to name a few trespasses). But this story demonstrates that, at the beginning of David’s call and rise to leadership, being faithful to God and being a leader in the Church isn’t about who is the most popular, smartest, strongest, or any other superlative.

Being a leader involves a deep commitment to caring for others, pushing past fear to work for God’s justice, and listening for God’s voice, not the world’s cacophony of voices. Leadership in the church means striving to hear where God is calling. By God’s grace, we are made worthy.

By Madeline Troyer

I have been loving Minnesota lake culture. During the winter months, the lakes have a unique appeal. But it’s really warm weather that draws me to them. I grew up going to my great grandpa’s lake cottage in Michigan where I have fond memories of family gathering around plates full of summer food, tussling with my cousins in the water, and enjoying time spent on anything that floated. Lakes have always been a part of my summer and so gathering around them fills my soul.

Madeline and her dad enjoy a summer at her great-grandpa’s lake cottage

I enjoy biking through the city and passing different lakes. Each of them has unique qualities, but all of them have people enjoying their experience, albeit in different ways.

“I enjoy biking through the city and passing different lakes.”

Two weekends ago I went to Lake Nokomis in South Minneapolis. People were out on paddleboards, kayaks, and canoes; people were fishing, playing games, and picnicking; and on the beach people of all ages were playing in the sand, cooling off in the water, or just enjoying the company of others. While it was shocking to see so many people unmasked in one place, it did allow me to see what each of us had in common – joy.

PART OF MY WORK involves talking to congregations about watersheds. As we share our stories, I have learned that each of us has a water narrative and everyone’s face seems to light up with joy when remembering how we are connected to water.

In Minnesota, people often connect with others through paddling and water.

Water is also a part of our faith story through the act of baptism. Martin Luther says that “holy baptism was purchased for us through this same blood, which [Christ] shed for us and with which he paid for sin. This blood and its merit and power he put into baptism, in order that in baptism we might receive it. For whenever a person receives baptism in faith, this is the same as if he were visibly washed and cleansed of sin with the blood of Christ.” (Luther’s Works 51:325).

This same cleansing, life-giving water of baptism is the water we pollute with our oil, trash, herbicides, salt, yard clippings, etc. Each of us have the ability to take action to keep our waters clean for generations to come as we deepen our vocation as disciples of Christ through caring for creation.

“Water is also a part of our faith story through the act of baptism.”

Individually you can commit to not using salt in the winter or using chemicals in your yard or in your house; you can plant native species and adopt a storm drain to take care of. A church or other group can work to plant a rain garden, install permeable pavers, or become a certified smart salter.

Madeline can often be found at her favorite Minneapolis Lake.

We can all advocate for larger change by contacting our legislators about policies to protect our water, such as removing lead pipes or planning about how we handle manure. (Both of these issues that are currently being discussed by elected officials.)

You can also join synod leaders in July for a joint ecumenical service as we come together to share stories and learn how others are taking action to care for the waters that connect us and bring us so much joy. More details will be coming soon. Feel free to contact me at m.troyer@mpls-synod.org if you want to be added to the registration list.

By Bob Hulteen

When no one else was really coming into the office in the first months of the pandemic (as per guidelines), I decided to grow my beard out. I mean, I’ve had a goatee for more than a decade. But goatees require some shaving daily, and that’s hardly been worth it during COVID times. Since no meetings were being held in the office, I decided I could wear unmatched socks, pants with holes in the knees, and a big ole’ beard.

Masks became a bit of a problem. You wash your beard and put on a mask: Boom, sitting at your desk, your chin hairs stick straight out – a Mohawk under your lips.

My office — it’s not as bad as it looks

My office space itself also started getting a little sloppy. With no one else at the office, I started to roll tables from the conference room into my office and use tables instead of file folders. I had my info-for-the-enews pile, my crisis-communications pile, my payday-lending pile, my ecofaith pile, my Uprising pile, my narrative-budget pile, and so on.

“Goatees require some shaving daily, and that’s hardly been worth it during COVID times.”

As colleagues stopped by the building to pick up mail, their hearts sunk as they peered through the window to my office.

Now with relaxed restrictions regarding vaccinated people being indoors together, synod staff members are spending some more time in the office (while still not hosting broader meetings). I’m back to a goatee, so I have less issues with unruly whiskers. Since we need the tables for group meetings, I’m putting memos and reports back into folders. Civilization is returning to the sixth floor of the Minnesota Church Center (specifically, my 12’ by 12’ nook).

BUT, I AM ALSO aware that the pandemic has uprooted more than just my work space and facial hair. Learning how to “share” the synod office with colleagues again is requiring some intentionality, … and I’m an extreme extravert.

In some ways it feels like we’ve all just been on vacation and are just coming back to work. In others, I feel like it’s a whole new workplace.

I know myself enough to know that this period of transition is also a time to be gentle – with myself and with my colleagues. Certainly anxieties have built up over the last 14 months; I don’t want to unleash my fears and hurts and worries on my coworkers. And, I will if I am not intentional.

I think similar feelings are likely true in many of our congregations as well. As we return to in-person worship over the next few months – whether outdoor or indoor, whether with singing or without – we all have opinions about when that should have happened (or when it should happen in the future, instead of now). Our disappointments over funerals unattended or youth trips untaken could manifest themselves in acts of dissent or passive aggressiveness (a real problem in the dominant culture of Minnesota, ya’ know). We could be very ungracious to each other.

“Our disappointments over funerals unattended or youth trips untaken could manifest themselves in acts of dissent or passive aggressiveness.”

I’ve seen some rostered leaders take some pretty hard hits over the last few months. Parishioners who do love to worship with their friends and families have challenged the leadership of the congregation – those people tasked with developing the plan to re-engage in public worship – in sometimes hurtful ways. Pastors have sometimes shown their irritation with increasing demands to develop skills that were not imagined in their seminary education.

As we return to in-person worship, we have a chance to live out the grace that has been given to us, that we have experienced from a loving God. We have the opportunity to extend to our leaders, our neighbors, our friends, our families an incarnated love that is unconditional. We can apologize; we can make amends; we can live differently. Intentionally.

We can be the church – embodied and free to serve.

And, if necessary, we can even apologize for actions like taking all the tables out of the conference room for our own personal use. (But, I’m not apologizing for the beard.)

By Pastor Norma Malfatti

This Thursday we mark Jesus’ ascension. (You may remember Jesus tells Mary in the garden, “Don’t hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to Abba God.” John 20:17, The Inclusive Bible: the first egalitarian translation.)

This day is a turning point in the life of the early church. Unlike his death and resurrection three days later, this time Jesus really will be gone. No longer will the apostles have their friend, rabbi, and Lord with them to answer all their questions, to help them figure out what’s next, or even to have him offering those calming words in the middle of storms. While Jesus has promised not to leave them orphaned (John 14:18), life will be different.

So, it’s no wonder why, at the very beginning of Acts as the story of Jesus’ ascension is retold, the disciples are left standing staring at the sky where Jesus has disappeared into. Even though Jesus has given them some pretty clear instructions on what to do next – wait for the coming Holy Spirit and then go and be witnesses in Jerusalem, the entire region, and to the ends of the earth. Still, the disciples are truly in the in between times – the time between what they knew and the new life and roles promised to them with the Holy Spirit.

WE ARE LIVING in a particularly interesting confluence of Biblical stories and our present life. The governor has begun lifting COVID-19 restrictions, which includes capacity limits being removed at the end of the month for indoor gatherings, though face masks will still be required.

We are left with the question of what now? What do we do with these new rules? How do we live out Jesus’ instructions to be witnesses (Acts 1) and to love others as Jesus loved us (John 15:12)? It’s one of the many times in my life that I just wish Jesus would simply come and tell us what to do, something I assume the first disciples wanted quite a lot.

I don’t have any answers to solve your congregation’s building reopening questions, if you don’t already have plans in place. I do however have some questions that apply to our entire lives as Jesus-people, not simply whether or not we worship inside buildings. I also believe these questions are similar to those questions the disciples asked themselves again and again after they stopped staring at the sky.

• What does it mean to be a witness to Jesus right now?
• What does loving others as Jesus loves us look like right now?
• What is at the core of what it means to be a follower of Jesus?
• What are those things people initiated when following Jesus grew from a small number of people in Jerusalem to a global movement that has lasted 2000 years?

As we live in these in between times – between pre-pandemic and post-pandemic; between the way we’ve always done things and the new ideas that are springing forth; between the generational shifts in leadership that are always happening – I invite you to ponder these questions again. You may not have tongues of fire bouncing on your head, but you may just feel the fire of Holy Spirit burning in you to leap into what’s next.