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By John Hulden  

I heard a powerful news story on NPR last week. It got me to thinking how much I love a good story – news story, Bible story, a story told around the campfire or the kitchen table. If you are a Jesus follower like me, I’ll bet you like a good story, too. Jesus was all about stories. Do you have a favorite Jesus story? Either a story about Jesus or a story Jesus told? (Mine can be told in six words: “Showed up late, still got paid.” From Matthew 20:1-16.)

As a preacher, I depend on stories. I want, no, I need a good story.  If you have ever taught Sunday School, mentored confirmation students, were a part of a small group of any kind in your worshipping community — a good story can make your time together not only memorable, but meaningful.

“Despite being a news junkie, I confess I had trouble tracking — even remembering — the ins and outs of the Afghan conflict.”

A good story is sticky; it sticks with you. You might find you are re-telling a good story to someone — anyone — within hours or even minutes of hearing it.

I’ve been a news junkie since I was a teenager, which turned into a Journalism/Political Science double major in college. A few years after graduation that double major and holy nudges sent me to seminary … to be a pastor?

Not at first. I wanted to better understand Bible stories. The call to ordained ministry for me didn’t happen until that pastor-apprenticeship year in Barrett, Minnesota. (It’s called an internship!) I got to listen, study, play with, and preach about real life stories and Biblical stories with the good folks at Peace Lutheran.

9/11 WAS 20 YEARS ago. These past days we’ve heard stories about people in the Twin Towers, at the Pentagon, and on Flight 93 in Pennsylvania – the heroes, the heartbreak, the historical context. I suspect we hear these stories differently now that we are 20 years removed from 2001. Good journalism can move us forward as a society. It’s been said that “journalism is the first rough draft of history” (which is normally attributed to Philip Graham, former publisher of The Washington Post). What did we learn? What do we still need to learn?

Twenty years was also the length of our involvement in the Afghanistan war. Despite being a news junkie, I confess I had trouble tracking — even remembering — the ins and outs of that conflict. Here is the news story that stopped me in my tracks last week. You can also read a slightly longer version.

Many of you might know our colleague on staff, Jeni Huff. This story is about her dear brother who was killed in action while serving in Afghanistan. (The story incorrectly reports that he was killed in 2009; it was actually 2010.) God bless the memory of Chris Goeke.

“As a preacher, I depend on stories. I want, no, I need a good story.”

This story, like any really good story, continues to stick with me. I’ve shared it with family and friends. I have thought about our involvement in Afghanistan, our actions as a country post 9/11, the impact and on-going ripple effects of war and conflict — nationally, internationally, and now, personally.

Good stories do that: Hard truths. Real tears. Important lessons and often, more questions than answers.

Let’s keep our ears open for good stories. I hope you hear a sticky one today.

By Nick Tangen

Can I just share with you that I really love my job? One of the great benefits of working on a Lilly-funded project is the immense community of people who are engaging with similar questions, similar challenges, and similar opportunities in congregations and communities across the country. The Lilly Endowment launched the Thriving Congregations Initiative to “…equip congregations to”:

• Explore and understand the rapidly changing contexts in which they minister
• Gain clarity about their own values and missions
• Draw on practices from their theological and ecclesial traditions to adapt their ministries to their changing contexts

There are 92 organizations in the United States that received grants to explore these questions and imagine how best to invite congregations into this work. And the Lilly Endowment, in partnership with Duke Divinity, has created a number of opportunities for these organizations to come together and learn from one another. This community is such a gift!

“One community’s faith practices and neighboring practices will not look the same as the congregation next door.”

Meeting with other directors and leaders wrestling with questions about community engagement and Christian practice has reminded me again of the great diversity of our communities’ experiences, and the existing giftedness within each and every faith community. It is clear in conversation with other grantees that congregations across the country, while facing some very similar challenges, are facing them with their own unique flavor and are increasingly discovering the strength and wisdom present in their experience.

I THINK IT’S INCREDIBLY important for us to remember this fact: Each of us, each of our communities, are experts in our own experience and possess an abundance of gifts and strengths which we can bring to our work as the people of God. This is the promise of our baptism, and the beauty of God’s cultivation of human community.

This means that our community’s faith practices and neighboring practices will not look the same as the congregation next door. What animates and connects at Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church in East Bethel may be quite different from what animates and connects at Salem Evangelical Lutheran in North Minneapolis. Thanks be to God!

We need this diversity of experience and meaning making to flourish as the church in the world. This is exactly what the Apostle Paul was reminding us of in 1 Corinthians 12 when he said, “… the body does not consist of one member but of many.” Our uniqueness and our experiences as individual communities make up the whole of the Christian body.

“Each of us, each of our communities, are experts in our own experience and possess an abundance of gifts and strengths which we can bring to our work as the people of God.”

Over the next two years, Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices will hold space for congregations in the Minneapolis Area Synod to learn together and learn from one another’s experiences. God-willing we will find new ways to celebrate our gifts, to dig deep into our sense of baptismal vocation, and to challenge ourselves to confront the important and often difficult work ahead. The only way we can do so is by embracing our own experience and our own sense of call as a community of faith.

What are some of your congregation’s gifts and strengths?

What are some unique challenges that your congregation is facing?

How might you bring your congregation’s gifts and strengths to bear on the challenges you face as a community?

By Bob Hulteen

Soon after arriving at Concordia College as a student, I declared my certainty that God was calling me into ordained ministry. So sure was I that I left my anticipated math major behind and started talking humanities, Greek, and Hebrew classes. I even served two terms as president of the Cobber pre-seminarian club, Mathetai.

Then I met Charles Lutz. He was working in communications for the ALC (American Lutheran Church) down in Minneapolis at the time. A lay social ministry specialist, he was invited up to Concordia to present at a “teach in” some students had planned on resisting the possible re-instatement of the military draft. Chuck had helped write the ALC social statement on military service and young people, and was well-versed on the topic. (He is a faithful member of Lutheran Church of Christ the Redeemer in Minneapolis and author of several books.)

“All pastors and deacons (as well as other church staff members) have borne a great burden the last year-and-a-half.”

I was eating lunch with Mr. Lutz in Concordia’s main cafeteria. I was intrigued by his encouragement that the church not only needed pastors, it also needed what he called “radically committed laypeople.” He wasn’t making a pitch for a political philosophy, but was suggesting that there is a vocation of working for the church without being an ordained person. We talked through the rhubarb pie that I had with my lunch and were still chatting when supper was served four hours later. I was enraptured with this new vision for faithful response to God’s redeeming love, … that didn’t require wearing a black shirt and a collar.

I realized that I was feeling called to work in the church, or alongside the church, much more than I was called to be an ordained leader in the church. I would work with pastors, but not be one.

I’M NOT A pastor and I don’t play one on television. But I am aware that all pastors and deacons (as well as other church staff members) have borne a great burden the last year-and-a-half.

The pivot required to move from the familiar and traditional to the new and innovative created anxiety and doubt. Many church leaders have confessed a feeling of ineptness and guilt for not being ready for this culture-changing pandemic. And now, as there is some transition happening, I hear pastors regretting decisions made and missed opportunities. (They are being hard on themselves.)

I am saying this because I need all you readers to know: Your rostered leaders are tired and hurting – at least many of them are. This would be a good time to do some pastoral care – by which I mean caring for your pastors (and deacons … and musicians and youth workers and communicators and admins and custodians and more).

“The pivot required to move from the familiar and traditional to the new and innovative created anxiety and doubt.”

Often, we as lay folk are pretty hard on our clergy. The range, of course, can be from passive aggressive behavior to out-and-out harassment of varying kinds. We can be downright mean and unhealthy. (Of course, religious leaders are not exempt from this behavior either, but that’s a story for another day.)

I’m asking you, my fellow lay people, to be conscious of the astounding work that so many of our ordained leaders (and their staffs) have been doing this last year. They rose to the challenge and found new ways to connect us as church. And find a way to thank them for their service to the church and the world.

So, see if you can offer a good word to your faith leader this week, or maybe even a piece of rhubarb pie. You never know when appreciation can change a life.

By Eric Howard 

When I was a kid, I used to love playing with kaleidoscopes. The shapes, colors, and movement could transform everyday objects into infinite complexity and beauty. As an adult, kaleidoscopes still inspire me to look at the world in a new way. If you pointed the scope at the work of equity, for example, what might you see? What if the light of our faith shaped it?  

In March 2020, the Minneapolis Area Synod Council took a historic step toward financial equity in a vote to initiate an “equity lens study of the current funding strategies.” As a starting point, our Vice President Felecia Boone introduced us to our own reflection tool for this work, a “Racial Equity Impact Tool,” which she noted in her VP’s address at the 2021 Synod Assembly. 

This “lens” considers the struggles of the global pandemic, the anguish and unrest over George Floyd’s murder, and the inequities felt throughout the synod. The Synod Council’s vote, coupled with the impact tool, holds us more firmly accountable to racial equity outcomes. 

The scope and impact   

The study looks explicitly at the synod’s 12 immigrant, ethnic-specific, BIPOC, New Starts, and Strategic Ministries. What is the goal? Every dollar the synod grants would stay accountable to racial equity outcomes. The study aims to create stronger, more resilient ministries that fully reflect the dignity of every person.  

And, because equity lifts us all, the impact of this work will ripple through all 143 churches. 

What’s happened? 

In November 2020, the Synod Council reserved $200,000 from the Resurrection Fund to make this impact a reality. In January this year, seven pastors and lay leaders designed a proposal, articulated their own hopes and dreams for this study, and started executing a plan.  

Over the past three months, nine leaders (many from the synod’s Mission Table) interviewed 25 pastors, deacons, and lay leaders from the 12 targeted ministries. Together, they explored the questions: What does equity look and feel like for you? How can the synod invest in the most vital parts of your ministry? 

Early insights 

After months of careful planning, training, and 18 hours of interviews, a few early insights from the 12 ministries have surfaced: 

1. More opportunities to give and receive God’s abundance: Ministries offer unique strengths; they inspire leaders differently; they teach and reach people worldwide; and there is much to learn from their resiliency.
2. Greater connection: Pastors and lay leaders would like more deliberate opportunities to deepen their ties with other synod congregations. Language, geography, and cultural competency can be a barrier. 
3. Targeted leadership development: Leadership development is a crucial piece of building self-sufficiency, sustainability, and sharing ministry strengths. Administration, fundraising, visionaries, pastors, and deacons were noted.
4. Resources for youth ministries: Cultivating the talents and passions of youth is vital to the future and sustainability of our ministries.

To me, the scope of equity can feel equally complex and beautiful, like the movement and dimensions of a kaleidoscope. This equity lens work can enable us to see a brighter, more dynamic future.  

Opportunities to act: 

1. Donate: Equity takes talents, food, stipends. Send a check to the synod with the memo “MAS Equity Lens Work.”
2. Tune into the (hybrid) Racial Justice Summit on November 6: There more lessons and insights will be discussed.
3. Tell us what you think: What does equity look like and feel like for you? (Submit your response here).

By Emilie Bouvier

Last summer, I wrote in awe and gratitude how “being church” in Calvary’s narthex looked different than it ever had before in the wake of the uprising following the murder of George Floyd. It was lovely seeing that space usually staged with lemonade and coffeecake then overflowing with an emergency supply of personal care items and an abundance of treats to share at the Community Table set up on the sidewalk to greet and support visitors to George Floyd Square.

Preparations for the Calvary Rummage Sale are underway.

In kind of an odd (or perhaps just ordinary) way, it seems the narthex has been an indicator of sorts, reflecting our congregation’s faithful efforts to show up as good neighbors in the struggle. Over the past year our beloved narthex has ranged from meeting space for our Rapid Response Team to a staging area for sidewalk hospitality; from socially distanced coffee hour setup to makeshift greenroom for Sounds of Blackness (a nationally acclaimed vocal and instrumental ensemble) ahead of the George Floyd Memorial concert in the square on the first anniversary of Floyd’s murder.

In these past few weeks this summer, our narthex space has shifted once again – this time piled high with items from the depths of church storage closets and cupboards. Why, you ask? In preparation for huge rummage sale – a full-on purge to prepare our building to be sold to Trellis, a nonprofit affordable housing developer. A partner who will, of course, radically transform this space once again.

CALVARY HAS BEEN MY church home for 10 years, and I continue to be amazed by the grit of this small yet fiercely loving congregation and its commitment to love God, care for one another, and be ever challenged in the way of justice.

We were grappling with how to be sustainable as a small congregation in a large and aging building, deep in budgets and tough congregational meetings, when the opportunity to partner with Trellis came to us as an incredible answer to prayer. Here it was, the chance to do what we had often dreamed of, but never had the resources to realize on our own. We could (and did!) choose to transform our large amount of outdated building space into a vibrant asset that concretely serves the needs of the neighborhood and make even our worship space more permeable and conducive to building community beyond the congregation.

“Calvary members were grappling with how to be sustainable as a small congregation in a large and aging building when the opportunity to partner with Trellis came to us as an incredible answer to prayer.”

Now, at a record time of housing shortage, deeply affordable units will be built in our space. Now, we won’t lose our beloved sanctuary, like we once feared. Instead, we will see it transformed into a space more flexible for community use, complete with “soft spaces” like couches and a reading nook. What a beautiful opportunity to make the walls of our worship space more permeable and our space more welcoming and adaptable to sharing it with the neighborhood. What a gift that Trellis welcomes our presence and partnership in this endeavor as they take over ownership and management of the building itself.

AH YES, BUT BEFORE any of this ensues, it’s now that time to clean up and clean out the clutter – through, you remember, a huge rummage sale! I know this metaphor is anything but new or creative, but I can’t help but think about how relevant a “rummage sale” is to being church in another non-quite-post-pandemic chapter of our life together.

While Calvary is going through some huge shifts here, I know we’re not alone in navigating new twists and turns in church ministry. We’re not going to be done anytime soon with this business of rummaging through all our past assumptions – thinking through what we keep and what we let go of for yet another wild chapter of “being church.”

Cups featured in the Calvary Rummage Sale

The twin pandemics of Covid-19 and structural racism have truly asked a lot of us in terms of adapting to new modes of being that require cleaning out and sometimes starting anew. If you’re feeling weary, stay tuned for some good words on resilience coming soon (including at Bishop’s Theological Conference).

“While Calvary is going through some huge shifts here, I know we’re not alone in navigating new twists and turns in church ministry.”

But for now, as I look from the rooms staged for the mother-of-all-rummage-sales to the sketched drawings of our future campus, I feel so hopeful for a new chapter of worship and ministry in this place. In the rummaging, letting go, and reimagining required of us these days – whether you’re exhausted or energized (or a bit of both) by it all – I hope that you’re catching those glimmers of hope and the Holy Spirit stirring.

Common, visiting with Calvary members in the church kitchen; cup location identified

And, of course, if want to do a little actual rummaging and enjoy items like these midcentury modern coffee cups that were once in proximity to Grammy-award-winning-rapper Common. (See accompanying photos, and I promise this subtle brag is now over.) Please, here is your official invite to come check out Calvary’s Rummage Sale later this week.

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!