Blog

By Pastor Craig Pederson

We recently celebrated two significant rites of passage in our household. In September, our 16-year-old son Evan successfully obtained his driver’s license on his second attempt. (He maintains that he should have passed the first time, but the test administrator nailed him on a minor technical detail – another “life just isn’t fair” moment.)

Then three weeks ago, our 14-year-old daughter Nora affirmed the promises of her baptism at a beautiful, socially distanced, attendance-limited Service of Confirmation at First Lutheran Church in Columbia Heights (where Pastors Bonnie Wilcox and Jill Bergman are outstanding Christian leaders for the church and the broader community). Through her mask, Nora prayed the Prayers of Intercession for the church, the world, and the life into which she would now carry her baptismal promises.

“At a national and global level, the disruptions caused by the pandemic, by economic upheaval, and by racial justice awakenings are at a level we’ve not seen in our lifetimes.”

Rites of passage take us from one side of an experience to the other. Through the process of maturation, observation, and study, we usually know what will be expected of us once we pass through to that other side – that is, assuming the systems in which we are doing the “passing” are relatively stable and predictable.

This is not such a time.

“Disruption” is a buzzword often used to describe business dynamics, change management strategies, and even church trends. But the level of disruption we are experiencing right now in at all levels our society is mind-numbing.

AT A PERSONAL LEVEL, with his newfound mobility my son might have expected to drive to and from school and his extracurriculars, as well as to hang out with his friends, essentially unencumbered (other than our parental parameters, of course). But as I write this, an already pandemic-affected Halloween party he planned to attend has been altered because one of his friends had a family member test positive for COVID-19.

And for Nora, with her confirmation into the membership of our church, she had hoped to participate more fully in worship and service and to teach Sunday School. These things may still happen, but they will be much different than “normal” because of distancing restrictions and reduced opportunities for in-person experiences.

“Disruption is not always a bad thing. The tension it can produce is sometimes healthy.”

At a national and global level, the disruptions caused by the pandemic, by economic upheaval, and by racial justice awakenings are at a level we’ve not seen in our lifetimes.

Disruption is not always a bad thing. The tension it can produce is sometimes healthy, and sometimes necessary – as in the case of our current need to look squarely in the eye of systemic injustices and to commit to tangible actions.

But disruptions also mean that rites of passage do not automatically deliver us into a safe, predictable future.

THIS WEEK I AM reminded of another rite of passage that is being exercised by millions of Americans: young people, new citizens, and others. That “rite” is the “right” to vote. Even if we know the election results soon after the polls close, we may not know what those results mean on the other side. Many believe this is when the hard work of healing, reconciliation, and restoration will begin – in our churches, in our communities, and in our nation.

“But disruptions also mean that rites of passage do not automatically deliver us into a safe, predictable future.”

And what will be expected of us as children of God? That is a question for us to continue to discern together. The 2nd Reading for All Saints Sunday says it well:

“See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. … Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: When he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.” (1 John 3:1-2)

Let us look for Christ in the face of others, and shine the light of Christ into the lives of others, as we pass into the weeks and months to come.

By Madeline Troyer

While hiking the Great Smoky Mountains on the Appalachian Trail, I wrote in my journal: “It’s amazing how much the forest can change in a day, for a while we were on a ridge with small trees ancient trees, then a pine forest, now hardwoods, clusters of beech trees, a different type of pine forest, forest made of big strong trees, tunnels of rhododendron, and so many others I can’t describe.”

Alongside these stands of trees, diverse communities of fungi, slime mold, birds, salamanders, rocks, and other life thrived. Each ecosystem remains vivid in my memory.

“Trees, the same age as me, are using resources to call back the life that left the barren fields they are changing.”  

These forests are often understood as unique and separate worlds. But, as I walked from Georgia to Maine, I realized how these forests were connected as a larger system – a green corridor made up of unique individuals all acting towards a larger goal.

MY CONNECTION TO forest systems started the year before I was born when my Dad first started his tree-growing journey on our property by planting a small mix of pines and hardwoods. Over my lifetime, my Dad – ever dreaming of spaces to continue his passion – has planted more than 3,500 trees.

The state regularly provides us with bundles of what looks like dead sticks with roots. Holes are dug and the small seedlings are tramped into place. The next two years involve stomping back waist-high weeds so the small trees can emerge in order to reach the sunlight. (It’s hard to imagine what all of this hard work is for when I can barely find the tree among weeds.)

“This week I picked up leaves as I walked around our neighborhood reflecting on the lessons dropped on me from the trees.”

Looking out across the property, I can see the trees planted in 1996, now a forest full of owls that did not fly there when I was born and delicate pink spring beauties that have slowly replaced the invasive multiflora rose. Trees, the same age as me, are using resources to call back the life that left the barren fields they are changing.

As I walk through forests and the air moves around me, ranging from a gentle breeze to the strong wind, I listen to the trees dance while reflecting on Isaiah 55:12, where the trees respond to the joy of the Lord with songs and clapping. From Georgia to Maine the types of forests are very different, but all are connected. Old trees and new each started with a struggle for life and a dream to come. Roots are connecting underground, forming communication systems that scientists are only recently starting to understand. A community joined together as the lungs for our world provides not only clean air but habitat, food, medicine, energy, and an ethos of placemaking.

This week I picked up leaves as I walked around our neighborhood reflecting on the lessons dropped on me from the trees – the importance of diversity, of clinging to a dream of a better life and struggling through dark shadows to find the light, of community with each other and interaction with the larger systems that connect us, of giving all that we have as we move together with the wind celebrating and proclaiming with joy all that we are growing to become. I take some of the fall leaves home praying that some of their wisdom would continue to enter into me as a member of the larger ecological community.

By Emilie Bouvier

Last year, while living in the Cascade mountain at Holden Village, I spent a lot of time thinking about mosses. I had a ritual of getting up at daybreak at least a couple of mornings a week (I’m not an actual morning person, let’s be honest) to read in early morning light sitting on the porch swing or curled up in a chair by the window. In this sacred time of the morning quiet, I read Gathering Moss by Robin Wall Kimmerer.

Well known for her book Braiding Sweetgrass, Kimmerer writes at the intersection of indigenous wisdom, plant biology, and personal story. An avid fan of that book, I leaped at the opportunity to hear her speak in Minneapolis, and learned in hearing her of her earlier writings about moss and her background as a bryologist.

“All sorts of mosses flourish from their corners on exposed rocks along stream beds or in the slopes between the towering Douglas Firs and Engelmann Spruce.”

During her talk, she was asked about how we could learn to live more sustainably, and she responded immediately that we have a lot to learn from the mosses. They are, she pointed out, some of the oldest plant life on the planet, so they are clearly very successful at sustainability. Mosses are experts at living small, taking only what they need, and living in balance with others – making them excellent teachers. This stuck with me.

LESS THAN A year later, while in a completely new part of the country, I found myself consistently mesmerized by the mosses around me. Water runs abundantly in the Cascades; all sorts of mosses flourish from their corners on exposed rocks along stream beds or in the slopes between the towering Douglas Firs and Engelmann Spruce. The film camera I was using was mostly quite insufficient for capturing such amazingly tiny beauty. That was ok – mosses required me to put down my work and simply peer down at them at look, … and listen.

Between hikes I read Robin Wall Kimmerer’s words, learning about the distinctive biological features of mosses, but more, learning from their lives and patterns. I learned about how mosses use their advantage of being small, carving out their space to live in the thin “boundary layer” between a surface and the fast flowing air just inches above it. I learned about how mosses live in relationship to rocks, other plants, air, water, trees.

“The radical permeability of moss leaves means that, when the wind or sun dry up the moisture, the mosses cannot sustain themselves.

Yet most importantly, I learned about how mosses open themselves up to water. They don’t have the same kind of waxy coat to their leaves that most plants do, in order to hold the water in. Rather than building protective layers and systems of transporting water, mosses have a simple system of permeable leaves. They let in water immediately and directly, even though they then have no way of holding onto that water or transporting it.

This radical permeability means that, when the wind or sun dry up the moisture, the mosses cannot sustain themselves. They curl down and appear to be lifeless. Yet almost miraculously, mosses don’t actually die in this condition. They are not defeated; they are merely dormant. The moment rain falls again the permeable leaves immediately absorb the moisture. Within minutes they open up once again, full of life.

Mosses have a lot to teach us about resiliency. Among all of the lessons mosses have to offer, this is one I most remember and carry. I see their ability to weather the harsh seasons and endure – not by shutting down vulnerability, but opening to it.

Robin Wall Kimmer writes of her own stories and learning in relationship to the mosses. As she navigates her own ups and downs, she herself is moved by the radical vulnerability and fortitude of these small but ordinary life forms. “Mosses have a covenant with change;” she writes, “their destiny is linked to the vagaries of rain. They shrink and shrivel while carefully laying the groundwork of their own renewal. They give me faith.”

Photo credits: Emilie Bouvier

THESE DAYS ARE hard days. There is so much hurting and such deeps wrongs. We have a lot of work to do. But we’ve been talking a lot about the work, so here I am, compelled to add a gentle word about resiliency and the beauty of mosses.

I’ve heard my pastor colleagues often talk about finding themselves preaching the sermon they most need to hear. This is definitely that kind of blog for me.

“Mosses have a covenant with change.”

I need to remember it’s ok to slow down and think small sometimes. I need to remember the mosses teaching me their lessons about the long haul, their openness to raindrops, and the way of reciprocal relationship. I need to give thanks for the tiny beauty of the most ordinary and ubiquitous green life that surrounds us. May their wisdom also be a word of renewal to you this day, that we might be ready for what will be asked of us in the days to come.

By Bob Hulteen

Let’s be honest: Christian community on its best days is challenging. And, the authors of the scriptures seem to be aware that it is virtually impossible when economic inequity is a lived experience within communities.

The Hebrew people knew that accumulation of wealth by fewer and fewer people would make them even more vulnerable to the ruling powers of the day. Theologically, they acknowledged this. Just like people need a day of rest every seven days and the land needs an opportunity for resurgence after seven years, they said that the entire community needed a fiscal reset after seven cycles of seven years. They called for a Year of Jubilee – a return of accumulated wealth to those who now had less – and were committed to release of the captives and good news for the poor.

Sojourners Community, the congregation of my 20s, took this all very literally.* As the early church in Acts, we sought to live out of a common purse.

“So, a system seemingly designed to bring equality did not have the impact of bringing equality of experience.”

In our zeal to live as closely as possible to the early followers of Jesus, those of us in the Sojourners Community shared one bank account. Each of the 50 members of the community (35 adults and 15 children) shared their paycheck with the community and received a $50 stipend back for personal expenditures. No matter what your salary, like those early Christians, we wanted an economy of equality.

We built an infrastructure to help us live out this equality. We shared seven row houses in a neighborhood that had been neglected for decades. We co-owned eight cars, with sign out sheets when one needed transportation. Each living situation received a bulk payment for food to be used collectively.

LIVING OUT BIBLICAL values it turns out however, can become increasingly challenging (and exhausting).

What was equality really fair? I confess that I spent most of my monthly allotment on beer and books. My housemate Janice, with early onset arthritis, spent most of her stipend on ibuprofen and other forms of pain relief.

Community members Dolly and Scott were able to travel to see their family — located in Maryland and Virginia respectively — nearly every week without any significant cost. Holidays were times to see nieces and nephews, grandmas and uncles. On the other hand, Jim and I, with families on the West Coast and Midwest, struggled to get home every other year,  pinching together any leftover cash from that spent on books (er, and beer).

“For the first time the majority of Minnesota’s six ELCA bishops will be women (when Bishop-Elect Amy Odgren is installed later this fall).”

So, a system seemingly designed to bring equality did not have the impact of bringing equality of experience.

Maybe I’m thinking of this because this year is the 50^th anniversary of Sojourners the magazine. (The communal living experience ended in 1990.) And 50 is the magic number of Jubilee.

But, it’s not magic. Justice and equality come with hard work. Our dedicated siblings in the faith who sought the professional priesthood for women worked long and hard to see it come into being. The first woman was ordained in a predecessor body of the ELCA 50 years ago. This is a year of jubilee for a more equitable table.

By 2009 when the table was expanded further to siblings who were gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer, still not one bishop in Minnesota was yet a woman. Today however, 11 years later, for the first time the majority of the state’s six ELCA bishops will be women (when Bishop-Elect Amy Odgren is installed later this fall). In lilting steps at times, we make strides forward.

The table isn’t done expanding. Jubilee always challenges to reset – both our imaginations and our wealth. Christian community is still on its best days challenging (and exhausting). But, thankfully, at its best it is also renewing and liberating.

*I also belonged to St. Peter Lutheran Church in Washington, D.C., a small but mighty congregation offering many community engagement opportunities, like home delivery of groceries to shut-ins and a yearround shelter for women experiencing homelessness. (And, coincidently, the congregation where Pastor Kelly Chatman interned.)

By Brenda Blackhawk

A few years ago, a friend and I were asked to lead the Palm Sunday service. We chose the readers, wrote the prayers, and – in lieu of a traditional sermon – performed a spoken word piece we had written. The sermon at core questioned some traditional life choices and highlighted the different ways Jesus shows up in the world.

In the 20ish-minute poem, we emphasized Jesus’ call for us to engage the world: Pursue and follow truth, love neighbors by seeking equality, show mercy by sharing in our wealth and resources, and respect creation. And, my friend and I accentuated our perspective rather forcefully.

We ruffled a few feathers. Recognizing this was the reaction of some congregants, we offered to sit and talk with people after service about all the points we’d made. We used Bible verses, verified statistics, personal stories, and more to demonstrate injustice in the world, and to support our contention that it is our duty as Christians to combat it. In the end, some people couldn’t see past the fact that they didn’t want what they considered “politics” to enter the sanctuary.

“Not once does Jesus suggest we avoid the problem.”

In the 20 months that I have worked at the synod, I have spoken to a lot of pastors and church leaders from different denominations around the state. And I have heard from several pastor-leaders about how often some church members avoid contentious discussions or worry that a sermon is too controversial. I’ve heard stories of angry messages left on answering machines for pastors and of congregants walking out in the middle of worship, instead of engaging in conversation directly and openly.

In good Minnesotan Nice fashion, our churches have become “conflict avoidant.” We’ve embodied Switzerland.

IN THE GOSPEL READING for last Sunday (Matthew 18:15-20), Jesus tells us how to be in healthy conflict within the church. He gives a really good step-by-step guide for handling it. First, talk one-on-one with the person you’ve got an issue with. What if that doesn’t work? Next time bring two or three others to be witnesses. What if that still isn’t working? Bring on the whole church!

Not once does Jesus suggest we avoid the problem. He even reassures us that he’s present in our gatherings (including times of conflict) when he says, “for where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

As we approach election season, in what some pundits predict will be the most contentious election in memory, it will be tempting to shy away from “the perception of politics” at church. Congregations around the state have memberships divided by where they sit on the political spectrum. What can churches do in this situation? Could church leaders challenge us all to think about whether we care more about keeping the peace or preaching the gospel?

“As we approach election season, it will be tempting to shy away from ‘the perception of politics’ at church.”

Recently, the ELCA published a new social message, “Government and Civic Engagement in the United States: Discipleship in a Democracy.” The document reminds us that “… civil engagement is a vital aspect of discipleship for baptized Christians.”

As Lutherans we are called to live out the gospel. Sometimes that means peace (as in, absence of conflict). Sometimes that means protest. No matter what, as the new social message states, “… this church affirms that government’s failures and injustices need to be remedied through robust civic engagement.”

And sure, we might ruffle a few feathers. But at least we’re living out the gospel together. With Jesus among us.

By Pastor Craig Pederson

I first saw the phrase on a billboard a couple of months ago: EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE. “Huh, maybe it will,” I thought. I felt better for a moment; it was a welcome respite from the constant problem-solving, low-level-anxiety mode I had been in for several weeks.

Versions of that message seemed to appear more regularly after that: On store and home window signs, in sidewalk chalk and public art displays, and in social media. A neighbor a few blocks from our house created a beautiful sign loosely quoting Julian of Norwich: “All will be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

“How can positivity become toxic?”

I get a little boost each time I see one of these messages. Sometimes I walk the dog past that neighbor’s house just to see if the sign is still there, and it is. But the boost is short-lived.

Pandemic. Systemic racial injustice. Economic inequality and upheaval. Extreme political division. Climate change. Everything is not fine. All is not well.

And as far as I know, there’s no cosmic egg timer counting down to the buzzer indicating when “well” will be done.

RECENTLY I READ an article that introduced a new concept to me: “toxic positivity.” Huh? What is toxic positivity. Those are two words I never would have expected to relate to each other.

We are in a moment where we are celebrating the 100^th anniversary of women’s right to vote and the 50^th anniversary of women’s ordination in the ELCA. Men are learning to listen ppand change behaviors from the #MeToo movement, and to address persistent workplace inequalities between men and women. In this moment, the concept of “toxic masculinity” is helping us understand how males grow up in a culture that allows and even encourages male superiority, violence, and aggression in ways that are harmful – toxic – to women and to men themselves.

But how can positivity become toxic – especially at a time when we need encouragement and good news more than ever?

“I see some of this toxic positivity in the disciple Peter in Matthew 16:21-28, this week’s assigned text.”

“While cultivating a positive mind-set is a powerful coping mechanism, toxic positivity stems from the idea that the best or only way to cope with a bad situation is to put a positive spin on it and not dwell on the negative,” said Natalie Dattilo, a clinical health psychologist with Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston. “It results from our tendency to undervalue negative emotional experiences and overvalue positive ones.”

I see some of this toxic positivity in the disciple Peter in Matthew’s gospel that happens to be appointed for this week (Matthew 16:21-28) for the Revised Common Lectionary. Jesus has just lauded Peter for recognizing that he is the Messiah, the son of the living God. Peter will be a cornerstone of Christ’s church. That’s got to feel good, right?

But then Jesus starts to tell the disciples how he will undergo suffering and death, and Peter wanted none of it. Whether Peter actually intended to protect Jesus or he just didn’t want to feel badly himself, he blurts out, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” Jesus calls him out and says, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” Satan, ouch! That’s about as toxic as it gets.

IF WE COULD DENY pain and avoid suffering, of course we would sign up for that, wouldn’t we? Peter thought that was an option. When he later denied Jesus three times, he realized it wasn’t.

Nor is it an option for us – at least it’s not an equal option. Part of toxic positivity is realizing that some people have less choice to say “all will be well” than others. Psychologist Dattilo says:

‘Looking on the bright side’ in the face of tragedy of dire situations like illness, homelessness, food insecurity, unemployment, or racial injustice is a privilege that not all of us have. So promulgating messages of positivity denies a very real sense of despair and hopelessness, and they only serve to alienate and isolate those who are already struggling.

Theologically, there is another name for this: The Theology of Glory. Deny the suffering, brokenness, and injustice of the world and get right to the good stuff of God’s love through Jesus Christ and eternal life. Skip right over Good Friday, and land on Easter Sunday.

But Jesus didn’t skip over the tough stuff, and we can’t either. Jesus taught and lived the Theology of the Cross. “Let anyone who would deny themselves take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” ( vv. 24-25). This is where we will find true life, true love, true purpose and meaning.

“Part of toxic positivity is realizing that some people have less choice to say ‘all will be well’ than others.”

So does that make the 14^th century mystic Julian of Norwich a purveyor of toxic positivity 700 years before it became a thing? I don’t think so. In chapter 27 of her Revelations of Divine Love, she says,

It is [sayeth] that sin is cause of all this pain; but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner [of] thing shall be well. Then were it a great unkindness to blame or wonder on God for my sin, since [God] blameth not me for sin. And in these words I saw a marvellous [sic] high mystery hid in God, which mystery [God] shall openly make known to us in Heaven: in which knowing we shall verily see the cause why [God] suffered sin to come. In which sight we shall endlessly joy in our Lord God.

The church is uniquely called to be a place of hope. As we practice being neighbors in this new reality, as we listen to the voices of the marginalized and stand in solidarity with the oppressed, let us be positive and encouraging without denying the deep challenges we face. That is the way of Christ who goes before us.

By Meghan Olsen Biebighauser  

I don’t know what it’s like at your house, but in my house the kids are running wild. Frances, my seven-year- old, changes out of her PJs maybe every other day, and spends her time alternating between throwing birthday parties for her dolls, interrupting my work Zoom calls to say hi to everyone, and making questionable design choices for our shared Animal Crossing island paradise.

Robin, my two-year-old, is at all times running back and forth across the living room carrying an old iPhone and singing along to either Hamilton or Disney’s Descendants songs.  These routines are interrupted by the occasional visit to a park or bike ride, but this has basically been our whole summer.

“This summer has looked very different from the kids’ usually daddy-centric summer days of public pools and zoos and playdates.”

My spouse, Jeff, is a teacher and thankfully has been available to be the primary parent all summer while I worked. However, it’s looked very different from their usually daddy-centric summer days of public pools and zoos and playdates.

It hasn’t been easy – even though we acknowledge all the privilege that has come with being a two-parent household with jobs that have remained secure. This summer has been a struggle for our family and for every family I know.

WE’VE FOUND SOME REAL grace, though, in glimpses both small and large.

One friend surprised us by dropping off “ice cream for the grownups” on our stoop. The public school breakfasts and lunches that we pick up from school each week have brought some semblance of routine, as well as connection to classmates through distance.  Frances can eat her blueberry waffles or tamales and think about her classmates sharing the same meals with their siblings in their homes (in an almost eucharistic sense), the most connection they’ve had in months.

We’ve also been offered grace from our colleagues, (and by extension, Congress). I was able to take several weeks of leave this Spring through the Family First Act, which entitles many workers with children whose schools are closed to leave with (2/3) pay which is reimbursed to the employer. It was a total lifesaver for my family, and one we’re likely to have to call on again this Fall. It’s not perfect, but it helps. It does, however, need to be expanded and extended in future coronavirus relief acts, so that more working parents can have access; please consider talking with your Senators about this extension if the program has been meaningful to your family as well.

“Let’s commit to offer grace to those struggling with the vocation of parenthood.”

Fall is going to be a doozy. Let’s commit to offer grace to those struggling with the vocation of parenthood, valued so highly by Martin Luther. (He wrote in The Large Catechism, “To this estate of fatherhood and motherhood, God has given the special distinction above all estates.”) How can your workplace offer flexibility to families who are juggling competing priorities? How can your congregation offer this grace to its staff?

Sometimes it is an expression of grace to let people work flexible hours or bring their kids with them. Sometimes it is an expression of grace to offer to Facetime their kid for 20 minutes so they don’t have to hear their kid tell the same. Story. Over. And. Over.

Sometimes it is an expression of grace just to listen as a neighbor or friend vents about schooling decisions, or navigating unemployment benefits, or the struggle of doing a socially-distant visit with grandparents.

And, it’s always an expression of grace to drop off ice cream for the grownups.

By Pastor John Hulden

Bread for the World was in the news a few weeks ago. Florida Congressman Ted Yoho resigned from its Board of Directors after his very uncivil exchange with New York Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.

Bread for the World (“Bread” for short) is not often in the national news spotlight. But it should be. They do amazing work fighting hunger and hunger related causes.

Bread has been my favorite nonprofit advocacy organization since I was a teenager.

As a kid, I was deeply bothered that people were dying all over the world from hunger and hunger-related causes. (FYI, it still bothers me.) The answer, of course, is to send money and food to starving people in the “third world.” Right?

Thanks to Bread I gained a deeper understanding of world hunger. Plopping a boatload of rice on the dock of a majority-world country makes the price of rice plummet in that country. The poor rice farmer is undercut and can’t sell rice for a profit. My teenage mind was blown (poof!) by such second-level thinking.

I CONVINCED MY ENTIRE high school youth group — all three of us — to raise awareness about would hunger by organizing a Hunger Meal. For our Hunger Meal, we got a bunch of people from church to buy tickets, and then we served most people watery soup, a handful of people rice and beans, and a lucky few a full course meal.

We made placemats with world hunger facts. We told them world poverty and starvation rates — and how that related to which meal they were served. We also tried to ignore the grumpy people who didn’t like getting fooled into thinking they’d get a full meal deal.

I also remember seeing a few trying to sharing their “first world” meals with others — but no, we teenage leaders would not allow it. That was against the Hunger Meal rules! (Like the Hunger Games, the Hunger Meal had hard, fast rules!)

Way back in the 1970s, Bread for the World, along with the American Lutheran Church’s World Hunger office (one of the predecessors to today’s ELCA World Hunger program), taught me a very important lesson: If people are starving, you not only need to feed them right now, but you also must be compelled to ask, “Why are they starving?”

Suddenly, grappling with the challenges of world hunger shifted my teenage compassion in dangerous new directions. I started to recognize the difference between charity and justice.

“If people are starving, you not only need to feed them right now, but you also must be compelled to ask, ‘Why are they starving?’”

Art Simon, a Lutheran pastor in New York City, started Bread for the World in 1974. Art’s brother Paul Simon served as a U.S. Representative and Senator from Illinois from 1975 to 1997. The late Sen. Simon was known for saying, “Someone who sits down and writes a letter about hunger … almost literally has to be saving a life.”

Should I feed a starving person? Yes! But I should also write a letter to Congress. Bread has been teaching us how to do that for almost 50 years.

THE U.S. ALLOCATES $26.6 billion (or well under 1% of the federal budget) for overseas poverty-focused development assistance (PFDA). If enough people write a letter to Congress to increase that amount, legislators will be impacted and lives will be saved.

But should we team up with the government to fight hunger?

Yes! We would fail if fighting hunger were just up to churches. If the roughly 400,000 churches in the U.S. tried to raise $26 billion to fight world hunger on their own, each church would have to come up with $65,000. If U.S. churches tried to replace welfare programs here in this country (not even including Medicaid), each and every church would have to pony up roughly $1,157,500 — every U.S. church!

We just can’t have enough garage sales to make that happen. We need to entice the government to help fight hunger, here and abroad.

Thankfully, our Lutheran theology is unequivocal about our gracious and justice-seeking God working through the government.*

“I started to recognize the difference between charity and justice.”

So, … what does this mean? Besides voting and writing a letter, here is one example:

If your church participates in Feed my Starving Children or something similar, … great! But please, please, please don’t stop there. Give folks the opportunity to ask: Why are the children starving in the first place? Take the time to meet before and after you pack those meals. Use this ELCA World Hunger discussion guide for meal packing events. After that discussion, use Bread’s toolkit to organize an offering of letters to Congress.

And, please consider having teenagers lead this effort. They can get it done.

*see the reference to “good government” in the Small Catechism, 4^th Petition of the Lord’s Prayer, What then does daily bread mean? ELW p. 1164. And articles on the two realms of God, the left hand (temporal governing) and right hand (spiritual governing), e.g. https://www.livinglutheran.org/2016/10/luther-helps-todays-citizens/

By Rev. Dick Magnus

Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
1 Peter 2:10

I love this reminder that we are the people of God, richly blessed with God’s mercy and richly gifted to be God’s hands and hearts in our world!

At the beginning of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America in 1988, the church set a goal that in 10 years ten percent of the membership would be people of color and language other than English. Today we remain one of the whitest denominations in the country. So, we admittedly haven’t done as well as hoped on our goal. Why can’t we do better?

How are we doing with this goal in the Minneapolis Area Synod? Well, we have much to celebrate and much to build on.

MN Swahili Christian Congregation, sharing a building with Holy Trinity in Minneapolis, continues to do great ministry with Kenyans, Tanzanians, and other Swahili speakers from central Africa.

Christ the River of Life Lutheran has a vibrant ministry with Liberians.

Redeemer Lutheran on the Northside has a dynamic ministry with African Americans, spawning the incredible ministry of the Redeemer Center for Life. 

Our Redeemer Oromo Lutheran Church shared a building for many years with Bethany Lutheran in South Minneapolis, but has had its own sanctuary for more than a decade. This congregation is deeply committed to the synod and the ELCA, and takes significant leadership within the Oromo community.

Northside Center for Leadership and Neighborhood Engagement is a new venture arising this year which seeks to assist congregations in appropriately reaching out to the diversity in their neighborhoods.

Lao Evangelical, worshipping at Elim Lutheran in Robbinsdale, reaches into the Lao community in Minnesota, a community that often doesn’t receive much attention. Lao Evangelical is seeking partner congregations.

“I hope you are excited about these ministries, claim them as your own, and look for ways to support them.”

Amazing Grace, worshipping at St. Philip Lutheran in Fridley, is a strong and growing congregation for Hmong siblings. A partner congregation would be well-received by the leaders of Amazing Grace.

St. Paul’s Lutheran on the Southside continues to reach Hispanic families along with their Anglo members. They have developed the creative La Semilla Center which has provided mosaics throughout their neighborhood.

Tapestry in Richfield continues to reach Hispanic families through English-as-second-language and Spanish classes, food ministry, and justice seeking work for Hispanics in its area and beyond.

Trinity Lutheran in Riverside enjoys a multicultural membership including Africans, especially Amharic-speking Ethiopians, and African Americans.  They also have a deep relationship with a Somali Mosque in their neighborhood.

Cristo Obrero in Shakopee is creating a growing ministry in trailer parks with Latino families. They often begin with youth involvement in soccer and proceed into culturally relevant experiences of the faith.

All Nations Indian Church, a congregation in partnership with the United Church of Christ, is deeply involved in support of the church’s deep involvement with our urban American Indian population by working for health, justice and peace. Members of the congregation are significant leaders in the surrounding Indian community.

I hope I didn’t leave anyone out, but I want all members of synod congregations to know that we have good work going on. I hope you are excited about these ministries, claim them as your own, and look for ways to support them.

One of the extra ways we support several of these ministries in this time of COVID-19 and the aftermath of the murder of George Floyd, is through grants from the ELCA COVID-19 Special Appeal. Our synod has received $17,500 to help mitigate some of the losses experienced.

I believe so strongly that, along with these ministries and our siblings of color and language, we can be a force to heal divisions and more and more reflect the vision of God’s people living together in peace and love. We are God’s people richly blessed with God’s gifts of mercy, love, and grace. And yes, in the Minneapolis Area Synod we can do better than 10% people of color and language!

I know we can!

By Eric Howard

I was driving through a small town north of Tucson, Arizona, headed back to my college dorm room. I was making a turn in when I saw the police lights against the night’s sky. Call me naive, but I didn’t know where to pull over safely, so I drove into a neighborhood where it felt okay to stop. I rolled down the window; the rest was a blur.

Several more cops arrived. A police officer questioned me at the tailgate as others searched my dad’s old pick-up truck. The police officer told me they thought I was someone else, then released me.

“My experience with the police that night is part of my coming of age story as a brown American.”

That experience is part of my coming of age story as a brown American. Having been raised in a white, middle-class family, it was part of my awakening to the unintended consequence of racial bias in our public safety system. This uncomfortable truth has never felt more egregious than George Floyd’s murder by a white police officer.

AT ONE SYNOD-SPONSORED debrief about George Floyd’s death and the social unrest that followed, a pastor told a story about a parishioner frustrated by the destructive acts around the church. The church member had been praying for understanding when a moment of clarity hit: The destructive acts are actually about pain. Deep pain around the church he never knew was there. He asked himself: why haven’t I seen this pain? Where have we, as a church, been?

My interaction with the police that night years ago left me with a feeling of mistrust that’s been with me ever since. (Who will they think I am next time?) Mistrust is painful and destructive: physically, mentally, spiritually.

“The church member had been praying for understanding when a moment of clarity hit: The destructive acts are actually about pain.”

I don’t know that Minneapolis parishioner mentioned in the debrief, but I know today’s protests against police brutality are cracking open something new – a new place where that parishioner and I might acknowledge, for the first time, a common pain.

At the synod, we strive to support congregations as they live out God’s call to do justice and love mercy. My hope, always, is that our work is a catalyst for stepping into the boldness and newness of Christ. At the moment, here’s what that looks like:

Pray. 30 Days of Silent Prayer: Healing the Heart of Our City

• African American-led collaborative to heal the pain of racism and the devastation of COVID-19 through silent prayer and meditation.

Give. Responding in Faith Fund

• Fund to support long-term racial justice and short-term restoration of neighborhoods impacted by social unrest.

Act. Organizing Forum Series

• Monthly forum series to help congregations live out God’s call to do justice. Catch the next forum on Thursday, July 23.

Hope. Ministry Imagination Grants

• Get inspired by grant recipients innovating in today’s challenges.