Staff Blogs

By Nicholas Tangen

Last week, I spent three days hiking the Sage Creek Wilderness Area in Badlands National Park, a sharp, winding, and otherworldly landscape. We hiked a trailless loop through the backcountry, over tall geological formations, through knee-high prairie grass, and into concentrated stands of juniper trees.

The sky in the badlands was immense and the presence of bison, pronghorns, and coyote choirs transported us into a long-ago age for a few days. Everywhere we walked, cacti clung to the edges of crags and ledges, collecting water as they could from the harsh ground of the Badlands spires.  

“The harshness and the scarcity of even water in the desert put these early monks and hermits into a posture of utter dependence on God.”

In the evenings, as we recovered from hiking the tough terrain, I laid in my tent and read a short collection of the Conferences and Institutes of John Cassian, a Fourth-Century monk and theologian, who chronicled the wisdom and experience of early monastics in the Egyptian desert. I’ve been fascinated with monastic Christianity for years, and the chance to reflect on the Desert Fathers and Mothers in a setting like the Badlands – very much like a desert – was a gift for those days in the backcountry.  

WHAT IS IT about the harshness of a desert, the sharp rocks, the dry ground, and the overwhelming silence that has drawn faithful Christians from the beginning? In part, it’s the chance to follow the example of Jesus who traversed the wilderness, the desert, for 40 days following his baptism. But John Cassian also points to another motivation in Conferences XVIII: 

Finding then that [hermits] were living near the river Nile in a place which is surrounded on one side by the same river … habitable by none but monks seeking such recesses, since the saltness of the soil and dryness of the sand make it unfit for any cultivation – to these [hermits], I say, we eagerly hastened, and were beyond measure astonished at their labours which they endure in the contemplation of the virtues and their love of solitude. For they are hampered by such a scarcity even of water that the care and exactness with which they portion it out is such as no miser would bestow in preserving and hoarding the most precious kind of wine. 

The harshness and the scarcity of even water in the desert put these early monks and hermits into a posture of utter dependence on God and thanksgiving for the small immensity of the mere essentials for life. The stripping away of anything unessential, anything comfortable, anything distracting allowed for these followers of Jesus to contemplate the richness of God’s mercy and the gift of life itself. And it bred resilience and discipline in their daily lives. 

“The chance to reflect on the Desert Fathers and Mothers in a setting like the Badlands – very much like a desert – was a gift for those days in the backcountry.”

While inspired by the intensity of the lives of these desert mothers and fathers, I don’t think I’ll be retreating to a cave in the Badlands anytime soon. But their lives and the sharp rocks of the Badlands did have me wondering about the distractions and comforts that often cloud my awareness of God’s mercy and activity in my own daily life, those things that hijack my attention and draw me away from my neighbor.

They helped me as well to think about those neighbors who live lives of harshness and inhospitality in our very midst, who do not have the privilege to retreat to the desert as a spiritual exercise, because they live it every day. And they challenged me to hold fast to the knowledge of God’s love and accompaniment when blessings seem dried up, when the challenges of community contribute to isolation, and when the possibilities for new life appear unlikely. Because, just like the little cactus I encountered in the Badlands, all along the crags and the ledges of the deserts in our own lives, God makes a way and the presence of these small miracles is beautiful to behold.  

By Johan Baumeister

The first time I walked into Salem English Lutheran Church was a cold and dreary day in early 2006. I’d visited the Lutherans Concerned (now ReconcilingWorks) website and found the congregation listed as a Reconciling In Christ (RIC) congregation. While I was hopeful that it would be a place where I would feel welcome, my past experience had taught me that not every faith community would meet that need.

There’s a certain vocabulary to exclusion – one which is part learned and part inherited. At its most obvious, it can take the form of condemnation and slurs and stereotypes and policies that prevent not only full inclusion but any meaningful participation in church or society. Over my life I’ve seen this applied to a long list of people that society or the church refused to see as deserving of full dignity and inclusion – a list that included women, people of color, people living with disabilities, and my own LGBTQ+ community.

Exclusion can also have a more subtle vocabulary: One that reserves words like “normal” for certain people and lives. One that expresses resentment about the effort required to unlearn language that demeans others. One that shares a wish that certain folks weren’t “so sensitive”. One that diminishes the concerns of those most impacted by exclusion.

“There’s a certain vocabulary to exclusion.”

Society argues endlessly about that vocabulary these days: What is acceptable and what’s not? Why is “callout culture” or “cancel culture” a problem or why isn’t it? Who is to blame and what level of retribution does their perceived faults merit. And all the while, the souls who are bearing the weight of that extensive vocabulary of exclusion continue to be crushed.

Expending anger at or sitting in judgment of those who create communities of exclusion won’t build what we need. It’s tempting though. Oh, is it ever tempting.

In our 24/7 world, the outrage-driven engagement algorithms center and highlight all the awfulness we can bear – and then some – and only occasionally leaven our feeds or news programs with hope. It is a radical act to resist losing the best parts of ourselves to the outrage, … almost as radical as resisting the exclusion itself.

Resisting outrage for strategic reasons is a difficult one, too. I know I’m not always successful.

SALEM LUTHERAN AND THE ELCA have taught me that we can do better. That first day that I walked into Salem, I met Barb and Roger. They and others there made a practice of deep and radical welcome. I felt respected just as I was, and like I belonged. It only took a handful of conversations, where folks who were loving and caring Lutherans actively listened and expressed support, for Salem to feel like a place of welcome for LGBTQ+ folks.

Instead of responding to exclusion solely with outrage, we can respond with a robust vocabulary of inclusion – a vocabulary built not as a rejection of exclusion but rather as an embrace of the excluded.

A vitally important part of the vocabulary of inclusion is reconciliation. There is no one right path to reconciliation, but there are many ways to avoid doing the work. As someone whose congregation is a RIC congregation, I’m glad to know that more than 10% of the congregations in the ELCA have now become RIC, committed to actively welcoming LGBTQ+ folks and rejecting exclusion. Modeling the importance of inclusion, ReconcilingWorks, the organization that facilitates this process, have themselves committed to building their intersectional work around racial equity and inclusion.

“Instead of responding to exclusion solely with outrage, we can respond with a robust vocabulary of inclusion.”

Being a part of a congregation that has made a public commitment of welcome and reconciliation is deeply meaningful to me, a person who was rejected by the denomination that baptized him. Moreover, that commitment by my congregation has helped me to know it is a safe place in a world that hasn’t always been so and still often isn’t, especially for my transgender siblings in Christ.

I believe that one of the most powerful words in the vocabulary of inclusion is ally. And it isn’t really one we get to bestow upon ourselves. Instead, just as faith without works is a barren tree, claiming allyship without demonstrated efforts is as well. Those we seek to make welcome will see us as allies not by our claim of that label, but by making their well-being our priority and by advocating for their priorities. Leaders in this church did take public stances for and with my own LGBTQ+ community in 2012 and 2013 when they stood in public witness for the dignity and love of same sex couples who weren’t allowed to be married.

I know we can build our vocabulary further, because my church did it for me and others like me. I have faith in us and in our ability to learn from Jesus, who rejected no one and loved all. So, as you celebrate LGBTQ+ Pride, I invite you to recommit to the work. Find ways to keep building your vocabulary of inclusion, because that inclusion is a reflection of Christ’s love.

By Bob Hulteen

The group of synod leaders (Vice President Felicia Boone, Pastors Jen Collins, Ryan Fletcher, David Larson-Martinez, and Siri Strommen) who are helping to plan the 2024 Bishop’s Theological Conference (BTC) gathered at the synod office a couple months ago. When the conversation shifted to the kinds of topics or messages that might be important for our rostered ministers – pastors and deacons – in the fall of 2024, the impact of political elections came up. These leaders were already burdened and fearful by the tone and content of what was happening on the national (and even the local) stage.

“When anxiety runs high, we are normally not at our best.”

Every person in the room had had recent conversations with colleagues who expressed concern over the divisiveness of the political climate, … and its effect on conversations within congregations. They worried about how they would lead in the midst of animosity – if not within their congregation, then in their community. The level of angst is already high, and we haven’t crossed the traditional Labor Day entrance into political debate.

And, it’s not just deacons and pastors. Lay leaders are also experiencing high levels of anxiety about this year’s election. What complicates the normal strong feelings about election this year is the sense for many that it’s not just about who wins; it’s about the prospect of maintaining democracy.

AS A HEAD JUDGE in Minneapolis (at the polling site hosted by St. Peder’s Lutheran Church), I am concerned about the safety of my team judges. Occasionally, disgruntled voters will become quite agitated; if they are already “ginned up” before coming to the polls, negative interactions are even more likely. I fear that, by fall, some of my trusted recurring judges may opt out of providing this basic civil service. (Pray for election judges.)

And, election judges won’t be alone in their levels of stress. Many of you may well be “on edge” as the leaves turn from summer’s green to the golds, oranges, and reds of the ever-too-short fall.

“The pastors and deacons worried about how they would lead in the midst of animosity – if not within their congregation, then in their community.”

Having a plan for response can be the best antidote to high anxiety. Reflect now about what you might want to do to lower your stress level and to be an agent of healing. Here a couple thoughts:

1. Host a service wherein people can acknowledge through litanies their concern and lament over the state of politics. There are many good resources for such services, including some from the synod’s website used a few federal elections ago.
2. Use the proposed draft social statement on Civic Life and Faith this summer or fall for adult education within the congregation.
3. Offer your space for a Respectful Conversations, a program that is sponsored by the Minnesota Council of Churches to offer structured, facilitated discussions intended not to change minds, but to “soften hearts.”
4. Become an election judge yourself. I can speak from experience that there is a definite need for election judges who can maintain calm in potentially tense situations. And, at least in the City of Minneapolis, the training for election judges is utterly amazing. Check with your own locality to inquire about the need.
5. If you feel like you have energy for it, participate in election protection efforts. 866OurVote is a coalition of nonpartisan organizations like the League of Women Voters and Common Cause that have come together to ensure a fair election and to assure voters that participation is important.
6. Pray for the leaders of congregations and of civic organizations who will be under greater scrutiny than ever. Fear of retribution or violence even for nonpartisan activity is high, and we all expect courageous leadership in times that are challenging. Be sensitive to the pressure of leaders of all institutions during this election season.

When anxiety runs high, we are normally not at our best. Preparation may well be the best way to deal now with the coming stress. Make a plan for the fall, … one that keeps the health of your congregations and communities at its center.

And, maybe take a break from social media …

By Pastor Craig Pederson

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”  (Hebrews 12:1-2)

This is a time of year for endings: school years, graduations, church program years, confirmations, Timberwolves seasons (which has blissfully been extended this year, but probably not for much longer).

The endings in our household are heightened this year. I’m in the last week of my position as an assistant to Bishop Ann Svennungsen. It is also the last week of high school for our youngest child, Nora, who graduates on June 8.

For Nora, it is also the end of an enjoyable high school sports career that she shared with her dear friends. For five years, she has played soccer in the fall, basketball in the winter, and ran (and high-jumped) in track and field in the spring.

“As the baton of faith is passed from one generation to the next, sometimes the handoff is smooth and energizing.”

This year’s track season will not likely experience the same crescendo as the previous three, when her 4 x 200 meter and 4 x 400 meter relay teams went to the state tournament. Then two key seniors graduated, and this year’s team hasn’t quite found that extra gear.

But they ran their races hard. They ran with perseverance. And, they ran with joy!

FAITH IS LIKE A relay race. Is that a simplistic analogy? Kind of, … but if it worked for the writer of Hebrews, it works for me!

There is a great cloud of witnesses who, in their unique times and places, ran the race of faith before us. They did their best to believe and receive God’s freely given grace, to teach their children, to love their neighbors, and to form (and reform!) a church that would give glory to God. Holy scripture, bread and wine, and baptismal waters shaped their faith in ways that gave them endurance to trudge through the hard parts of the race, and to celebrate the wins that came when they glimpsed the kingdom of God among them.

As the baton of faith is passed from one generation to the next, sometimes the handoff is smooth and energizing. Sometimes it is shaky, and costs valuable time to try and overcome the flub. And sometimes, the baton is dropped – requiring an assessment of what happened, and a correction to try and prevent it from happening again.

“The cloud of witnesses did their best to believe and receive God’s freely given grace, to teach their children, to love their neighbors, and to form (and reform!) a church that would give glory to God.”

During my nine-and-a-half years on the synod staff, I’ve had the privilege and responsibility to assist with more than 150 transitions of rostered leaders in congregations. Most of these handoffs went smoothly, but some were a bit shaky and required extra attention. And a few were rough – the baton was dropped, assessments were needed, and corrections and new approaches were undertaken.

As I prepare to hand the baton to the new synod staff members, I celebrate the joys of this ministry, and I confess where I could have done better.

As I prepare to receive the baton in my new position as pastor of Augustana Lutheran Church in Minneapolis, I’m in awe of the faithfulness of previous generations who built that church and its social service institutions like Augustana Care Corporation and Community Emergency Service (CES). And I’m ready to persevere with them through some of their recent challenges to discover a “second wind” with the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

And as we do among the generations, I trust Jesus – the pioneer and perfector of our faith – to make whole the places that are broken, to provide perseverance for the race, and to inspire joy where the shame of the cross gives way to the glory of God!

By Pastor Wondimu Sonessa

Long before the spreading of formal education, the priests of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church were teaching how to read and write. I remember some students joining our second-grade class because the government declared that such instruction was illegal and all children must join government schools.

About the same time, I found a piece of paper these students dropped on our classroom floor and read a story about Jesus’ incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection for the first time. For some reason, I didn’t throw it away. I took it home after school and read it to my uncle and asked him who Jesus is and how a man can live again after death. He told me that it is not for us ordinary people to talk about and understand this story. He stated that the Orthodox priests only can speak about Jesus.

I was not still baptized because my parents were adherents of Islam though my grandfather and all my dad’s siblings went to the Orthodox church occasionally. But four years later, at the age of 12, I received the Holy Baptism with my mom and my younger siblings, on the day of Ethiopian Epiphany at the Orthodox church.

“Jesus came to our village through local farmers preaching the gospel, healing the sick, setting people free from evil spirits, and giving peace and hope to the poor and the marginalized in society.”

Although it was beyond my little brain to comprehend what it means to be baptized in the name of the Holy Trinity, I remember the feeling of excitement and joy that being called a Christian created in my heart. Here started the companionship of the Holy Spirit that carried me through until Jesus himself, whose story I read from that piece of paper, came and found me when I was 17.

FOR ME, THAT WAS a time of transition as it is the case with every Ethiopian teenager. The country was in a traumatizing war between the military regime and the then-freedom fighters. For the adherents of Protestant Christianity, it was a time of severe persecution. Inviting someone to believe in Jesus was deemed a crime by the law of the country. Missionaries from America and Europe were not allowed to stay in the country because they were considered a threat for the regime’s socialist (and atheist) ideology.

“Although it was beyond my little brain to comprehend what it means to be baptized in the name of the Holy Trinity, I remember the feeling of excitement and joy that being called a Christian created in my heart.”

Amid this, the gospel they preached has already started to bear fruit. The Evangelical churches were in a spiritual warfare against the oppressive, unclean, and killer spirit ingrained in individual life, religious practices, and societal systems. They were committed to spreading the message of peace, hope, and love through telling the story of Jesus beyond boundaries.

Consequently, Jesus came to our village through local farmers preaching the gospel, healing the sick, setting people free from evil spirits, and giving peace and hope to the poor and the marginalized in society. The sermons that changed my life were preached by these lay preachers whose education doesn’t exceed elementary school.

VERY RECENTLY, I STARTED to wrestle with the question of whether I found Jesus’ name on the piece of paper or Jesus himself found an eight-year-old me on the second-grade floor. This brings to my mind the question Nathanael asked Jesus, saying, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you” (John 1:48).

“The sermons that changed my life were preached by these lay preachers whose education doesn’t exceed elementary school.”

Jesus came to the earth to find the lost and the less religious “ordinary people.” He confirms this when he asserts, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Matthew 15:24). It is true that God knows us even before we were born. But the question that matters to believers in Jesus Christ is beyond chronological order of our encounter with the divine reality. We all need to wrestle daily with the question of whether we are leading a life worthy of the calling to which we have been called (Eph 4:1).

We are called to share God’s love with God’s world. This requires hearing, understanding, and telling the story of Jesus’ incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection.

By Emilie Bouvier

When I lead art workshops with faith groups, one of my favorite activities is to use the Creation image from the Art of the Saint John’s Bible as our launching point. It is such a layered and captivating piece, and I always start by observing the intricate details – from geometric fractals to strands of DNA, from delicate constellations to wood cut stamps of fish.

After guiding the group in a visio divina exploring the image, I introduce the concept of what we’re looking at – an “illuminated manuscript.” This is the core concept to the Saint John’s Bible, a contemporary revisiting of the medieval monastic practice of handwriting the scriptures and incorporating “illuminated” illustrations alongside the text as spiritual and theological practice. “Illuminations” are characterized by carefully adding goal leaf throughout the designs to signify God’ presence. Shimmering, reflective, and precious, the gold marks the sacred and draws the viewer’s eye to it. “Now look again,” I’d say. “Where do you see God’s presence stirring in the story?”

“I have long been interesting on reflecting on art making as a spiritual practice.”

Then, no matter what art medium I happen to be teaching the group that day, it will somehow involve gold paint. First, of course, we’ll do the image-making – usually photography, printmaking, or collage – and then go back over the image to trace outlines and layer new patterns in gold. This simple practice quickly becomes a holy time. Paintbrush or marker in-hand, these traces become a tangible way to invite God’s presence, to listen quietly, to discern, and to name in shimmering reflections where God is at work.

I’VE BEEN YEARNING for this in my own life these days – a spiritual practice of reflection and invitation. And when life feels filled up with screens and schedules, I find myself longing for the tactile beauty of art supplies and a tiny window of quiet time. It always amazes me how just a few moments of prayer-filled creating can hold space for wonder, longing, and gratitude.

I have long been interested in reflecting on art making as a spiritual practice. I was recently honored to receive a show at Hopkins Center for the Arts in the Redeppening Gallery. Preparing a new body of work for this exhibition will be the heart of my summer creative time. I truly cannot wait for schedule flexibility to have long hours of solitude in the studio that are a spiritual respite and balm for my soul.

“When life feels filled up with screens and schedules, I find myself longing for the tactile beauty of art supplies and a tiny window of quiet time.”

Unlike prior shows, however, this time I have felt a tug to practice what I preach and bring on the gold paint. Alongside my traditional framed prints, I will be working on several sculptural pieces that incorporate this process – which I hope will hold me to the same kind of reflection, openness, and spiritual centering that I’ve asked of my workshop participants over the years. I’m especially excited about a concept for creating semi-transparent hanging banners that involve a slow process of paper transfer, wax layering, and tracing with gold ink. I know that as I spend time away creating, that I need this kind of spiritual practice more than ever – to slow me down and tether me to inviting and tracing God’s stirring.

Whether it involves returning to a creative practice or simply pausing to marvel at the beauty of spring’s arrival, I invite you to do the same. May the glimmers of gold, however they find you, draw you to God’s presence this day and in the weeks to come.

**

PS – if you’re curious to see how my visual reflections turn out, I invite you to come visit my art exhibition at Hopkins Center for the Arts! The opening will be on Thursday, August 1, from 6:00 – 8:00 p.m., and I’d love to see you there. The show will also be available during gallery hours (Monday – Friday, 9:00 a.m. – 8:00 p.m.; Saturday, 9:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m.; Sunday, 12:00 – 5:00 p.m.) from August 1 – September 7.

By Pastor John Hulden

 At our Minneapolis Area Synod Assembly this past weekend, the 500+ voting members elected a new bishop to begin serving in August. Good work y’all! We are church together.

Full disclosure, I’m writing this before our synod assembly. Most of our synod staff have Monday off, after a busy synod assembly week, and I didn’t want to write a blog on my bonus day off.

“In my work with congregations in transition, the beginning and ending of the transition is not the same for everyone.”

As a synod staff, we’ve had May 2-4 on our calendars for a year. We also knew this assembly meant electing a new bishop. Besides ramping up, planning, and organizing all things for the assembly  –  in tandem with the Bishop Election Committee  –  we’ve been feeling the weight of the looming transition.

I suppose one could say we’ve now officially started the transition. But in my work with congregations in transition, the beginning and ending of the transition is not the same for everyone. In a congregation, often the church staff and a few lay leaders know in advance of a pastor’s retirement date, or that their pastor asked them to be a reference for their mobility papers as they make plans to leave town for an interview.

FOR THE LAST ten plus years, I’ve been blessed to work with experts in transitions. Interim pastors in our synod bring leadership to a congregation during that in-between time of a pastoral transition. The second Thursday of most every month, I meet with the interim pastors for prayer, for learning, and for connecting. Those two hours a month have been enriching for me, and that sentiment is echoed by the interims who show up.

When we get together, we look at church work through the lens of transition. When an interim pastor begins their ministry at a congregation after the previous pastor has moved on, the work often centers on the five developmental tasks of interim ministry.

• Coming to terms with history
• Discovering a new identity
• Shifts of power and leadership change
• Rethinking the linkage to the larger church
• Commitment to new leadership and new future

Hanging out with the interim pastors has reminded me that these tasks could also apply to the change in our synod leadership.

“Interim pastors in our synod bring leadership to a congregation during that in-between time of a pastoral transition.”

As I look at those five developmental tasks, some of this transition work has already begun in the months leading up to our assembly. The history and identity of our synod have been addressed in listening sessions, conference assemblies to nominate potential candidates, and candidate forums. The brave and passionate pastors who stepped up to be in the election process have already helped us envision leadership change and how best to connect with the larger church. Now it is our job to support our new bishop-elect as this transition continues.

Take a moment and say a prayer for our next bishop, as well as for all the congregations in leadership transition. The synod staff can plan an assembly and walk along with congregational leadership, but all of us in our 130-plus congregations are “the synod.” May God bless us and guide us as enter a new chapter doing our church-together work.

By Bob Hulteen

Whew. I just got news that the American Sign Language (ASL) interpretation of the resolutions under consideration at Synod Assembly this weekend will arrive in time (barely) to publish them on the website today. The posted two-minute video recordings of each current bishop nominee are already interpreted in ASL and Spanish for our congregations where those are the primary languages.

Unfortunately, we had trouble with our Spanish interpretation of the budget hearing last week. The interpreters weren’t able to use the Zoom interpretation link, allowing for simultaneous interpretation. Our technology failed us, limiting the participation a bit for everyone.

On Sunday, as I was putting away some of Holy Trinity’s worship materials, I had a chance to visit with Pastor Andrea Mwalilino. He was setting up for the worship of Minnesota Swahili Christian Congregation, another one of the parishes of our synod, and we had a short conversation about the anticipation leading up to  Synod Assembly, and specifically the election of the next bishop.

“The Pentecost experience of Acts is a parallel story, a reminder of the post-flood Genesis reality.”

More and more, the Synod Assembly could be a time that prepares us for the celebration of Pentecost that comes in three weeks. Languages – the best-known theme in the first two chapters of Acts – are keys to accessibility in the U.S. right now, just as they were when Jesus’ disciples were discerning the way to be The Way.

BIBLICAL SCHOLAR Ched Myers, while known for his teaching on the Gospel of Mark and his book “Binding the Strong Man,” has done significant study of both Genesis and Acts. Not surprisingly, one of his key observations is about language and the nature of empire.

In Genesis 10:32 we read: “These are the clans of Noah’s sons, according to their lines of descent. … From these, the nations spread out over the earth after the flood.” And, immediately, in Genesis 11:1, “Now the whole world was one language and a common speech.” As Myers points out, “one language” becomes a means of centralization and consolidation of power and oppression. As poet and theologian Rose Marie Berger says it, “Monolingualism is one of the tools of oppression. The more coherent the society is, the easier it is to control.”

It is the Tower of Babel story that follows. The “one language” was a hallmark of the Babylonian centralization of power and control over peoples of the region, including the Hebrews. God frustrates that oppressive trajectory through the “confusion of languages.” Diversity becomes God’s “divine no” to oppression.

The Pentecost experience of Acts, Myers believes, is a parallel story, a reminder of the post-flood Genesis reality. These disciples were from a variety of countries, but were confronted by the domination of the Roman Empire and the lingua franca – the assumed dominant language – of Greek.

“God frustrates that oppressive trajectory through the “confusion of languages.’”

But, with a whirling  wind, a rush pneuma, each disciple spoke in “other languages.” Power is immediately  re-ordered to the value the gifts of local language over the centralized control of monolingualism..

The Holy Spirit is a great equalizer. In windy gusts she rushes over us, freeing us from the control of dominating forces. We are free to be a community – a diverse one.

As we come together as church in assembly this  week, we witness to this community. With ASL interpreters standing beside the speakers and Spanish interpreters speaking through headphones, may we experience the power of liberation that the Holy Spirit offers. May we feel the sense of community released from barriers so that we can be the siblings we were created to be.

By Nicholas Tangen

Last week, as the temperature climbed into the 50s and the sun shone down across Northeast Minneapolis, a familiar thing happened. Neighbors up and down Pierce Street began poking their heads out their front doors, opening windows, and making their way outside to soak up the first fruits of the spring air.

My wife and I were among this collection of Nordeasters stirring from our winter hibernation and the warmth of our old home. We waved at neighbors we hadn’t seen in months, being sure to mention how beautiful the weather was. We walked our dogs along sidewalks now full of others doing the same, greeting dogs we knew and puppies born and adopted over the winter. And we talked to our neighbors about the big plans we have for the yard this year, … and how we were committed to actually getting it done this time.  

“The first taste of warmth in the air draws everyone out of their home, pouring hopeful and grateful energy into the neighborhood.”

This annual emergence is one of my favorite things about living in Minnesota. Temperate weather is at a premium in this state, and that first taste of warmth in the air draws everyone out of their home, pouring hopeful and grateful energy into the neighborhood. We have the chance to walk, to sit outside and enjoy our little patches of grass and garden, and to run into the folks we live closest too. Spring signals the start of a season where we can be more fully present in the community as neighbors.  

FOR THE CONGREGATIONS in the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices learning community, spring also signals the launch of their Neighborhood Listening Projects – three months of intentional listening in the community where their congregations are rooted. Many churches will show up at community events, festivals, neighborhood association meetings, and more to participate in the life of the community and pay attention for gifts, strengths, and assets already at work in the neighborhood. Others will host block parties, house meetings, community meals, and welcome events, creating space for fellowship, conversation, and relationship building in church parking lots and courtyards.  

Every one of the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices churches is also invited to walk around their neighborhood at least once a month. In many churches it is often true that the only time our neighbors see us is when we walk from church to car, a journey of a few feet that sends a message about how we value the community. But as the air warms, as the sun comes out, and as neighbors begin to emerge from their homes, there is an opportunity for each of us to encounter someone we don’t know and make a connection.  

“Every one of the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices churches is also invited to walk around their neighborhood at least once a month.”

I often say that if I could get congregations to do only two things, they would be: 1) a meaningful and consistent practice of one-to-one conversations, and 2) a regular practice of walking the neighborhood. My own congregation, Gustavus Adolphus Lutheran Church, organizes walks during the spring and summer to connect with one another, learn about the neighborhood, and support local businesses. (We always end our walk at Parkway Pizza where we get Sebastian Joe’s ice cream.)  

These walks, and the brief organic connections we make with neighbors along the way, make a difference. Such experiences are part of what Keep Neighboring Edmonton (an initiative to build neighborhood relationships and capacities in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada) call “ambient neighboring.” The small, simple, and often organic practices that create a sense of familiarity between ourselves and the neighbors close by.  

FOR MY WIFE AND I, we find that these first few weeks of spring are often the most fruitful time to connect with neighbors that we may not know as well. Last week, we had the chance to meet a couple of new neighbors who moved into the house across the street, connecting about our pets and a shared love of Indian food. We were excited to make a new connection, and potentially get an invite for dinner – and we wouldn’t have made that connection if we hadn’t prioritized walking in the neighborhood.  

“Jesus walked everywhere he went.”

If you and your congregation are thinking about walking your neighborhood, here are a couple of suggestions: 

• Say a short prayer before your walk, asking that God would give you the awareness to see the Holy One at work in your community.
• Keep the group small. No one wants to be set upon by 30 Christians out of the blue on a beautiful day. 
• Walk different routes each time you gather. Make it a goal to see as much of the neighborhood as possible and pay attention to sites and landmarks that catch your attention. 
• Have a couple of questions ready to ask neighbors you run into on your walk. My favorite is “How long have you lived in the neighborhood?” If they say a long time, you can ask them how they have seen the neighborhood change over the years. If they say a short time, you can ask them what brought them to live in the neighborhood. Either way, you’ll learn something interesting.  

 Spring is an amazing time for churches and individuals to get outside and get to know their neighbors. Jesus walked everywhere he went, and often encountered unexpected moments of grace, healing, and joy in and through people along the way. What might you encounter on a walk in your own community?