Staff Blogs

By Emilie Bouvier

An unlikely group of people gathered at a Catholic retreat center last month in rural Michigan. We were a combination of faith leaders from institutions around the Midwest and frontline activists from Flint and Detroit working amidst the ongoing water crises there.

Amidst the aromas of cafeteria-style comfort food, I sat down for lunch the first day next to a woman my age from Flint as she was sipping tea. She was fairly quiet yet playfully snarky, and we struck up a conversation about the unique mug that she picked up at a thrift store on her way over. (For those of you who know me, it won’t come as a surprise to you that we connected over such things.) She described the teas she brought and their healing qualities, and I assumed from her soft and raspy voice that she brought the tea because she was getting over a cold.

That evening as we gathered in a circle outside at dusk, she had difficultly speaking loudly enough for the group to hear her. I was wrong about the cold, as she apologized for her voice she added very matter-of-factly “it’s because of the water.” The tea I had noticed was just one of many healing practices she had incorporated into her daily routine to deal with the chronic health issues she was experiencing on account of the water contamination. Her routine also includes waiting in line every week, sometimes for hours, for bottled water.

“The young woman described the teas she brought and their healing qualities, and I assumed from her soft and raspy voice that she brought the tea because she was getting over a cold.”

As the sun set we made our way around the circle, sharing snippets of our stories and of the reasons that brought us together. When we reached Bishop Bernadel Jefferson, an African-American Non-Denominational faith leader, her voice started with the same matter-of-fact-ness. But then, as she began talking about the effects of the poisoned water on her grandson, the volume and tenor of her voice revealed an edge of emotion and continued to rise. “He loved school. He was an exemplary student, selected to go on a national trip to visit D.C. with other students from around the country, … representing our city.”

She paused, letting the irony sink in of her grandson’s pride to represent the city that ultimately poisoned him. “He was an A student! And now he gets Ds! We know it was because of the water!” She was almost shouting at this point, filled with a mix of anger at government officials who told her the water was fine, resentment of a system that clearly didn’t count her family’s well-being to be as valuable as economic gains, and despair over seeing her beloved grandbaby now unable to live his full potential. Her voice broke off and the silence returned.

THE SOCIAL AND POLITICAL context surrounding these stories are equally wrenching. The poisoned water was the direct result of decisions made by unelected government officials. Because emergency managers are appointed, they effectively take away the democratic rights of residents who suffer the consequences of decisions made by them. Of Michigan’s state population, 15% are people of color. Of Michigan’s state population currently under the direction of an emergency manager, 70% are people of color. The water crisis is the result of structural systems that are rooted in and perpetuate racial injustice, and dismantle poor communities from which the state has clearly already disinvested.

When race and class cry out for treason, when sirens call for war; they overshout the voice of reason and scream till we ignore all we held dear before. These words come back to mind for me as I revisit the stories and swell of pain I experienced in that circle. They are lyrics of an Advent hymn in Evangelical Lutheran Worship (#252). I just discovered it this week and its poignant verses are still turning over in my head.

“The water crisis is the result of structural systems that are rooted in and perpetuate racial injustice, and dismantle poor communities from which the state has clearly already disinvested.”

When we hear these voices crying out, what is it that we need to let go of that we held too dearly before? Is it the belief that our governments are infallible? That corruption that doesn’t disenfranchise me directly, isn’t my problem? Do we need to let go of the grasp on corporations too necessary that we should turn the other way when we see our water being commodified? Or maybe is it the feeling that since the majority of Lutherans (since our denomination is 98% white) aren’t likely going to have our water contaminated, that we can externalize these crises and separate ourselves from it? Is it that the world seems too heavy to continue to grieve and for us to believe we can actually fix such problems?

Can you hear the voices of our neighbors crying loudly enough to let such things go? Can you let yourself sit with the struggle such that growth can flower from our grieving, … that we can catch our breath and turn transfixed by faith?

I’ll leave you with that challenge. And perhaps the challenge to sing hymn 252 sometime during Advent.

By Pastor Deb Stehlin

I had one of the most remarkable Sundays of my ministry not long ago. In the morning, I practiced the ministry of showing up, and joined the people of Edina Community Lutheran Church for their first Sunday after Pastor Stephanie died. I was a witness to these things: Seeing people enter the building and fall into each others’ arms, hearing broken-hearted people sing sustaining songs, smelling the perfumed oil as I traced crosses on mourners’ foreheads, and holding in my hand bread that carries the presence of Christ and strength for the week.

“The grief of an entire faith community is immense and is heavy. Is there anything strong enough to hold it?”

The community named the truth of their profound sadness, proclaimed the good news of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and insisted that even as their hearts were breaking, they were being broken open for the sake of joining God’s mission in the world.

The grief of an entire faith community is immense and is heavy. Is there anything strong enough to hold it? Yes! A community that lives trusting the work of God in Jesus is indeed strong enough to hold all this.

AFTERWARD, I GOT IN MY car and drove to Fridley, where our new Hmong ministry is taking root. Pastor Nhiabee Vang invited me to show up to witness nine people getting baptized. This was the second such Sunday in which baptismal candles were stacked up to be ready for a large group of people who have heard the good news about God’s love for us in Jesus and want to be part of Christ’s body, the church.

There was such joy! Being claimed by this amazing, grace-filled God and being received by a vibrant Christian community as siblings, made the new Christians (and more experienced ones) feel buoyant and light. Where else can you go to be set free like that? What else can hold this immense, expansive promise of God, except for Christian community?

“Being claimed by this amazing, grace-filled God and being received by a vibrant Christian community as siblings, made the new Christians feel buoyant and light.”

My call was renewed that day. What a valuable, beautiful, and sometimes fragile thing is a faith community! What else has the strength to hold the worst that life brings, and can also carry the best that God has to give us? I want my life to be about the flourishing of faith communities, … because nothing else can hold what life and death bring.

By Bob Hulteen

Two of my colleagues jokingly challenged me to work a clip from The West Wing into my next staff devotions. I would say that they know me so well but, in all honesty, you probably only have to know me for about 10 minutes to know of my addiction to this TV series.

In fact, the only thing on my bucket list (thus far) is taking a week’s vacation before the next presidential election to live Tweet a season of The West Wing each day. (I think I could get about four hours of sleep, a shower, six bathroom breaks, and one meal preparation in daily and still watch all of a year’s episodes.) Who’s with me?

Of course, the headline to this post is one of character C.J. Cregg’s famous lines from the series (season 4, episode 3, to be exact). I’ve been reflecting on that a lot lately, as C.J. was talking about young people having an impact through participation in the process.

“In fact, the only thing on my bucket list is taking a week’s vacation before the next presidential election to live Tweet a season of The West Wing each day.”

I have received an upswing in calls, voice mails, and emails lately about the role of the church in policy discussions. Most callers have expressed appreciation for the church’s commitment to stand with vulnerable people (especially from young people saying they would attend church more often if it was more courageous or saying they wouldn’t be able to stay in church if it wasn’t). A handful of callers have expressed concern over their perception of the church’s involvement in politics.

With “election season” jumping into full-on frontal attack as we turn the calendar page to September, it is valuable to ponder how the church can appropriately participate in “social issues” as they come into clear focus during this heightened time of politics.

OF COURSE, WHAT IS one person’s “politics” is another person’s “faith.” I cannot fathom my faith commitment separate from love of my neighbor in society. Of course, that doesn’t prescribe a particular policy as a “Christian” policy. We have to discern more deeply than that.

Out of fear for crossing a line into the political, many faithful people draw a line at charity. We can give of our time or our resources directly to someone in need – perhaps at a food pantry or a shelter for people experiencing homelessness. We can carry energy bars to hand out to people with cardboard signs at highway exits.

“Out of fear for crossing a line into the political, many faithful people draw a line at charity.”

Personally, I feel the need to engage public policy as well, as part of my Christian commitment. I am not against meeting the immediate need of people who are hungry. But, I’d rather not have them hungry in the first place. I’d rather seek public policy solutions that don’t demand that my charitable obligation be direct. (For me, taxes are a means to build a just society that meets people’s needs, hopefully before those needs are dire.)

This can be a hard message for some, preferring the comfort of charitable frameworks over the messiness of the political. And yet, the words of C.J. Cregg still ring in my ears when I look at people of faith daring to journey into the unknown, into the difficult discernment of acting in the political realm. “Decisions are made by those who show up.”

By Pr. Craig Pederson

One of the joys of ministry is discovering insights into the ways of God through vehicles I never expected. This week, the ways of God have been revealed to me through an actual vehicle: the Rally Car!

Let me explain.

At this time of year, the reference to “rallying” will not be lost on many of you; we are approaching the annual “Rally Sunday” in churches throughout our synod and beyond. Following the summer slowdown, Rally Sunday brings renewed energy and refocused action on the ministry efforts over the months to come.

“Rally Sundays first appeared on the scene about 100 years ago as a way to build momentum for the Sunday school movement.”

Curious to learn about this “Rally Sunday” tradition, I set about doing a bit of historical research. As you might expect, it does not have deep ancient liturgical or theological roots! Rally Sundays first appeared on the scene about 100 years ago as a way to build momentum for the Sunday school movement. In later decades, Rally Sundays came to include all the ministries of the church that needed a boost of revitalization as they entered the fall months.

But in researching the origins of the “rally” in the church, I came across other expressions of the term as well. This led me to a “Back to the Future” moment of another form of rallying I enjoyed in my younger years – rally car races!

I GREW UP WATCHING dramatic rally races televised from obscure locations around the world. And in my extensive Hot Wheels and model car collections were a variety of rally cars, from Baja buggies to Fiats to VWs. These unorthodox vehicles represented ways to explore adventurous and unconventional paths.

“Is it a stretch to glean lessons for Rally Sunday from Rally racing?”

And now as I look through the lens of ministry (in a whimsical yet insightful way) at these remarkable road races, I think we can learn a few things:

• They run in stages: Rally races are not singular start-to-finish events; they tend to have several stages based on time, distance, and road conditions. The approach to each successive stage is built on the learnings from the previous stage.
• They require teamwork: Not only does a rally car have a full crew to help prepare it for the race, but the driver often has a co-driver in the seat next to him/her. The co-driver is fully a part of the success or failure of the race, keeping notes, monitoring conditions, and advising the driver on how to approach the different stages.
• They run on both known and unknown roads: Some rally races run on public roads in highly populated regions; others run on mountain trails, uncharted desert routes, or intercontinental passages. They require knowledge of both familiar and unfamiliar terrain.
• They require partnerships: Rally races that run through an urban core city or a remote ocean village necessitates working with local authorities and event planners to manage traffic flow, ensure public safety, and promote economic opportunities.
• They race where the people are, not vice versa: Rally races don’t rely on people coming to them at a designated speedway; there are no rally “temples.” They go out and race through neighborhoods, country sides, wilderness villages, and sprawling beaches where the locals live and enthusiastically attend the races.
• They have adapted over the years: Rally cars have evolved with advanced technologies, and rally races have grown more sophisticated to adjust to changing demographics, local policy considerations, and increased environmental awareness of the effects of racing.

So, is it a stretch to glean lessons for Rally Sunday from Rally racing? Perhaps! But you could do worse than to approach your new program year with these principles:

• Building and assessing your ministry in stages,
• focusing on teamwork vs. going it alone,
• being attentive to both known and unknown roads,
• valuing partnerships beyond the church,
• bringing the gospel out to where people live, and
• adapting proactively to changing external conditions.

Whatever your Rally Sunday traditions or new adventures might be, I pray that the Holy Spirit blesses them richly!

By Emilie Bouvier

“FWAP.” There’s something so gratifying about feeling the weight and hard slap of clay against the wedging stone in my kitchen. This is the first step in the process of pottery throwing – wedging out air bubbles, getting the clay pliable and consistent. Then over to the wheel. A final “fwap” of the newly formed ball of clay sticks it to the middle of the wheel head. I press my foot to the pedal and the familiar gentle whirring wells up around me as the wheel starts to spin.

Pottery has been a grounding and meditative practice for me; it draws me into a spiritual place through its own patterns, rhythm, and rituals. It’s very physical, yet frees my mind to through the repetition and familiarity of the sounds and movements. The time I spend throwing brings me rest and rejuvenation. It fills me with satisfaction and wonder to find respite and creativity in the same place.

I can’t help but feel relief and gratitude as I return to my pottery wheel in these days following the midterm primary elections. As a person of faith who believes deeply in showing up in the public square, I spent a good amount of personal time and energy engaging the primaries. For me, it stems from a commitment to live my faith values through civic participation and dialogue with my neighbors in that process.

Yet, it’s exhausting – especially the emotional ups and downs of Election Day. It’s quite a progression from the buildup conversations, casting my ballot, watching social media, and then refreshing my computer browser as the results come in (MPR on in the background), celebrating some of the outcomes, grieving others. And this has just been the primaries.

“How do you attend to the personal dimensions of your public ministry – the untangling of knots within yourself, the practices that keep you centered during times of intensity, the times that help you heal and rejuvenate? I’m looking forward to diving into this more during the rest and learning of Bishop’s Theological Conference this year at the end of September.”

Now, I realize I’m kind of a nerd when it comes to watching local elections. (This is not everyone’s experience or priority.) And I also believe that, while politics are an opportunity to participate in a process that protects the “common good,” elections are ultimately about values and relationships that can get us toward more just communities, not about feeling like your cheering for a sporting team. (Did I even say that right? I’m not a sports person.)

At the end of the day, I need to find rest and I need to remember what’s at the center. I think that’s true for a lot of ministry work that we do – especially when it has public dimensions, when the world feels heavy, and when we know how much is at stake.

AS THE WHIRRING OF the pottery wheel rises once again, I look down at the lumpy and lopsided ball of clay spinning unevenly in front of me. Before beginning to shape the bowl, first I must center the clay. Pressing in with both hands, I feel the malleable clay move more fully into the center of the wheel. The bumps smooth out, and, with a final push, I feel the unevenness disappear. Letting go, I watch the mound clay almost appear not to move, even as it turns at a high speed. It is centered. Ready once again for the creative balancing act of being pulled outward and formed into a new shape.

“For me, it stems from a commitment to live my faith values through civic participation and dialogue with my neighbors in that process.”

How do you attend to the personal dimensions of your public ministry – the untangling of knots within yourself, the practices that keep you centered during times of intensity, the times that help you heal and rejuvenate? I’m looking forward to diving into this more during the rest and learning of Bishop’s Theological Conference this year at the end of September. Former Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson will be speaking about this very question — the personal dimensions of ministry in times such as this.

Returning to my desk for a new week of work, I pick up my wheel-thrown mug, now fired and filled with hot coffee, and I’m reminded of the action that created it. Breathing in, I think of the calm rhythm of throwing and a newly centered feeling of balance, ever aware of the challenge it is to maintain that center.

By Pr. Deb Stehlin

Yesterday I spent time with one of our synod’s pastors, who’s dealing with brain cancer. The level of her suffering is difficult for me to describe. Each time I visit, I read her the gospel for the upcoming Sunday. Almost before I get to the end, she responds, “Here’s how I’d preach that, …” And then she rocks my world with a word that’s deeply true. She doesn’t spend hours wrestling a text to the ground before it yields a word. It just comes to her as gift.

There’s something in her.

A few weeks ago, another of our synod’s pastors invited me to be present for a baptism. He’s been tending to a group of immigrant Christians in St. Cloud, and God has added one more disciple to the mix.

Pr. Thiem Baccam (center) prepares for a recent baptism at Lao Evangelical Lutheran Church.

As he walked down to the river with the woman to be baptized, his face just glowed. He sang with the crowd, and pumped his fist in the air for punctuation. This man of God is a born evangelist; he has the gift of sharing the good news in a way that someone who’s never heard it before can receive it and become so full of joy at the discovery that they want to leave an old life behind for something new with Jesus.

There’s something in him.

“Another of our pastors filled a van full of brave folks and drove to Arizona to witness what’s happening at the border regarding the separation of families.”

Another of our pastors filled a van full of brave folks and drove to Arizona to witness what’s happening at the border regarding the separation of families. She knows the pain of being separated from a child, after her son died. She knows the soul of our nation is at stake and can’t not be there to bear witness to this atrocity.

There’s something in her.

WHAT’S IN YOU? HOW do you tend to your inner life? How does that make a difference in how you show up in the world and share your gift?

We’re going to talk about that at Bishop’s Theological Conference – an annual gathering of the synod’s rostered ministers – with former Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson at the end of September. We’ll explore the personal dimensions of ministry – the inner work we are called to do, for the sake of the public dimension of ministry – our work of proclamation, service, and prophetic engagement.

“I hope you can take a moment to think about tending to your inner life with God for the sake of using your gift for the life of the world.”

Whether or not you are invited to this event for pastors and deacons, I hope you can take a moment to think about tending to your inner life with God for the sake of using your gift for the life of the world. As my spiritual director describes it, I hope you can live each day “in the divine flow.”

By Pr. John Hulden

OK, so Matthew 18:20 is that oft quoted, much beloved verse: For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them. (NRSV)

It’s beautiful, right? (Caution: I’m going to get a little grumpy here.) Nine times out of ten, I really can’t stand when someone quotes this little verse. My pet peeve has two reasons.

#1) Context is important. The five verses before this lovely verse 20 in Matthew 18 are line-by-line instructions for what to do in a knock-down, passive-aggressive, nasty church fight.

1. Go find the person who did you wrong and point out the fault.
2. If that doesn’t work, bring some church friends with you.
3. If that doesn’t work, bring it to the church council.
4. If that doesn’t work, forgettaboutit.

Good ol’ sound-biblical-advice. Isn’t it interesting that there is an underlying assumption that options a, b, and c, just might not work? What’s been your experience in church fights?   :/

#2) I’ve heard this verse quoted way too many times at an event that is expecting dozens of people — maybe dozens and dozens of people — and lo and behold, only one or two show up. “Well,” some good meaning, bible-quoting leader says, “not many showed up, but at least where two or three are gathered.”

Bah Humbug.

DON’T GET ME WRONG. I l-o-v-e Matthew 18:15-20. I’ve been around church politics before I was born. These are some of the most practical advice-giving verses in the entire scriptures.

So, here’s my point:

I’ve fallen into the trap of planning events — because it truly is FUN to plan events — and then, totally forgetting to give any time to turnout. Yep, here in 2018, as we canoe up mountains against the current culture, planning an event is sooooo much easier than getting people to, well, actually show up at that well-planned event.

So here’s my case-in-point.

• Did you know the Bishop’s Theological Conference is at beautiful Cragun’s Resort on Gull Lake, near Brainerd, September 23-25?
• Did you know if you are a rostered leader in the Minneapolis Area Synod, it’s actually in your letter of call to show up at this thing every year. Yep, every year.
• Did you know our synod staff spends hours planning for this event? Of course you do.

But, …

• Did you know for the last few years we have put more and more hours in turnout work so rostered leaders show up at Cragun’s in late September?

This has been a wonderful blessing for me. Seeing the benefits of taking the time for 1-on-1 calls and contacts, encouraging and inviting colleagues to do something that will be well worth their time. And, all for an event, uhm, they are supposed to be at anyway.

“I’ve fallen into the trap of planning events and then, totally forgetting to give any time to turnout.”

Welcome to 2018, … where planning must include turnout work.

I close with those beautiful verses about church politics: Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.  (Matthew 18: 18-20)

Thanks be to God!

By Grace Corbin

It was 6:45 in the morning. I was standing in the bathroom of my house, straightening my hair and getting ready for another day of classes during my junior year of high school. This is, for many people, a time when they start asking themselves: “What’s next?” Now, I had been asking myself that question since fourth grade. And, by eleventh grade, I had thought business was a likely vocation for me. I was organized and knew I had gifts in leading people.

My mother had a different idea, however. She walked up to me that morning – while I was straightening my hair – and said, “You know, I think you should be a pastor.” I paused, gave her a quizzical look, and began to laugh. “What? No way!” was my reply.

“How did I end up here?”

Fast forward to today. I am working for the Minneapolis Area Synod as a congregational organizer on environmental concerns and plan to attend seminary eventually to (very likely) become a pastor. How did I end up here?

GROWING UP I NEVER THOUGHT that I would follow in my father’s footsteps by becoming a pastor. Now it feels like that path is set before me.

I have questioned a thousand times whether becoming an ELCA pastor is the right choice. Each time, I remind myself of the things I love about this denomination: Lutheran theology and a strong commitment to community.

Having studied some Lutheran theology, I appreciate Lutheran theological core convictions. The strong reliance we place on God’s grace reminds me to be gracious to myself and others.

In that same vein, I adore the claim that we are simultaneously sinner and saint. This phrase reminds me of my fallibility and my power. This claim also guides me in my work for justice and raising up of leaders in the church to create change. We are a broken but powerful people and collectively can create a more just society.

“I adore the claim that we are simultaneously sinner and saint. This phrase reminds me of my fallibility and my power.”

This calling – to create a more just society – is my hope for and challenge to the ELCA. I love this church, but I continuously struggle with the ways in which justice is not pursued or lived out in our communities. At the same time, I am grateful to have many friends and colleagues with whom I can work to challenge the ELCA to participate in working and advocating just and healthy communities in which congregations reside.

I recognize that the Lutheran church is doing many, many things right. That’s why I am still here. I love what the Lutheran church aspires to be. Steeped in its Lutheran values and community-mindedness, the ELCA is on a path to be to becoming a more just institution. I am excited and hopeful for the journey ahead for us all.

By Bob Hulteen

Last Sunday I walked downstairs to retrieve the StarTribune from my front porch. Now, I hadn’t yet had coffee, which friends will acknowledge makes me potentially homicidal. Add to that a forecast for another day above 90 degrees and you will appreciate my mood.

As I unwrapped the rubber band from the newspaper, I immediately glanced Jean Hopfensperger’s “As Churches Close, A Way of Life Fades” on the front page of the front section. An article on “the unchurching of America” propelled me back to fifth grade, when I was transitioning from my little, but deeply engaged, LCA congregation (which was closing) to the large, but comfortable, ALC congregation (in which I was eventually confirmed).

“I immediately glanced Jean Hopfensperger’s ‘As Churches Close, A Way of Life Fades’ on the front page of the front section.”

The closing of a congregation is painful, and I remember the adults at Peace Lutheran in 1966 avoiding the difficult decision until just one-too-many families moved out of town for a new job. Even as the American church was still in ascendancy, the seeds for the deconstruction of church life (and other community institutions) was beginning. The adults at Peace experienced some sense of shame over the need to make the responsible decision.

Jean’s article points to the fact that many other congregations, including a couple in our synod, have had to make that decision in recent years. While anthropologists (and journalists) might take a sociological look at the facts, practitioners know the pain. So, I read with sadness the story of La Salle Lutheran church.

BUT THE TRIUMPHALISM of the period of church growth in post-war America in the 1950s and 1960s did not mark a high point of church life, in my humble opinion. The church of that age was so much enculturated that it was simply a puzzle piece to be connected to school, workplace, and Elks Club. Its mission was inseparable from the secular institutions it encouraged.

“Do you remember when we used to …” might be the most dangerous statement within churches right now. While the pews might be filled for the Christmas program, churches were mostly indistinguishable from other organizations.

“The triumphalism of the period of church growth in post-war America in the 1950s and 1960s did not mark a high point of church life.”

Let’s have a conversation about how the economy is changing, how families are changing, how education is changing, how political parties are changing. The mediating institutions of our society do not carry the place they once did – for good or for ill. (One could ask which institutions have benefited and which have been hurt by these changes.)

But, in all my years in the church, I have never had a time where such pertinent questions like “For what does the church exist?” and “How do we meet the needs of the world” have been so central to discussions about the future of congregations than now. Pushed out of complacency, the church might be figuring out the mission of the church. Maybe we had to “shrink” to be challenged to be creative.

A former synod bishop once told me that managing decline was the most difficult task of a church leader. On the other hand, he reflected, there seemed to be more clarity on the unique nature of the church in society.

Staring into the sociological realities facing our churches is daunting. Considering the many social factors – racism, sexism, ableism, and more – may require us to be smarter and more nimble. But, from my angle of vision as a communicator within the synod, I believe there’s never been a better time to share the good news of God’s action in our world.

Will we do so … even if it doesn’t get newspaper coverage?

By Pastor Craig Pederson

If you were asked to describe your faith in one word, what would it be? “That’s impossible!” you might say; faith is too broad and meaningful to be summed up in just one word.

And yet, this is exactly the exercise that was required for a course I took in seminary more than 20 years ago. (Perhaps some of you took that same systematic theology course!)

The exercise involved a process of discernment. Over the course of the semester, you started by writing one full page that articulated the biblical and theological underpinnings of your faith. In subsequent weeks you winnowed it down to a paragraph, and then one sentence, and finally one word.

“Christian freedom is a faithful response, not a lawful duty.”

In the end, my word was “freedom.” It described the movement in my relationships with God and neighbor, from burdens of duty and merit to responses of gratitude and love. My “go-to” verses were ones familiar to many of you: “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free, … and if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:31-32, 36), and “For freedom, Christ has set us free” (Galatians 5:1).

This notion of Christian freedom has stuck with me, and has been a profound motivation – and liberation – in my faith life.

AND NOW, AS WE APPROACH the July 4 Independence Day holiday, and the many celebrations of national and civic liberties, I’m inevitably drawn into dialogue (internal, if not external) about what “freedom” means in our context. It can get a bit dicey when we start to mix civic and theological freedoms. Yet as Christians who live in a country with freedom as one of its core foundational principles, we can’t help but swim in this mix.

The Declaration of Independence served as a kind of separation agreement from the rule of external tyranny, and laid out the “inalienable rights” of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Self-determination and the “consent of the governed” were expressions of this new freedom being declared by the impassioned voices of an emerging new nation. While laudable and inspiring, I want to acknowledge that these impassioned voices did not include women or slaves, nor the voices of indigenous peoples who are labeled as “merciless Indian Savages” within the Declaration itself. That is part of what I wrestle with in trying to understand our national narrative about “freedom.”

“This July 4, we’re experiencing national tensions over refugee detentions, family separations, immigrant travel bans, international trade tariffs, and Supreme Court transitions.”

In On the Freedom of a Christian, Martin Luther said “”A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.” While paradoxical on its face (Luther was quite comfortable with paradox!), Luther claims that through Christ we are subject to no greater law or ruler on earth; yet through Christ we are also servants of God’s love that frees us, and we are called to show that same love to all people. Christian freedom is a faithful response, not a lawful duty.

What I glean from both civic and theological discourse is that freedom comes with responsibilities. We are not free to do whatever we want, with whatever power we have, in relationship to others.

This July 4, we’re experiencing national tensions over refugee detentions, family separations, immigrant travel bans, international trade tariffs, and Supreme Court transitions. “Freedom” thus takes on a different level of meaning.

What does that freedom look like for American Christians in 2018?  I invite you to spend some time in thought, prayer and conversation on that question this week.