Blog

By Maya Bryant

Walking into Lord of Life Lutheran in Ramsey on October 6, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. It was our second Communicators Gathering in person since the beginning of the pandemic, and our constituents were excited to come together again with some new faces in the mix.

The topic: style guides – their importance, their use, how to make them, etc. The communications staff cultivated a group of panelists – journalists, editors, and style guide lovers – to hold a Q&A about their experiences of interacting with these essential rubrics for editing and design.

If you don’t know, style guides are “instructions” that help communicators format how they share information with their audience. These “suggestions” or “rules” can range from things as broad as color schemes in emails to things as minute as whether or not to add a colon and two zeros after the three in 3:00 p.m.

“Style guides are ‘instructions’ that help communicators format how they share information with their audience.”

While the minutiae of style guides can be overwhelming for some, I find them to be relieving. To have a set of rules to follow to make sure that everything is included correctly and succinctly allows an author’s creativity to shine and simultaneously allows English written language to be understood by most. Keyword: most.

By creating your own style guide with your colleagues, you can build an identity for how you communicate. (This is a project I believe our synod staff should consider going forward with our written language). So, I was certainly anxious to hear what these panelists had to say.

I WAS PLEASANTLY surprised by the immediate and extensive conversation about the importance of inclusion. When asked about a time in their work when a style guide was important, Christina Colón, a well-versed journalist and editor, spoke about her excitement that in 2019, the accent in her last name was recognized in the AP (Associated Press) style guide. Previously, the accent was not allowed to be inserted in her name in journalistic writing because AP claimed it to be untransmissible between computer systems.

Her statement struck me in way I wasn’t ready for.

Despite the wonderful conversation around me, I kept going back to that little accent. A single accent was the difference between perceived inclusion and authentic inclusion. A single accent allowed an important part of Christina’s identity to exist in the places she thrived. And that was not afforded to her until 2019.

“A single accent was the difference between perceived inclusion and authentic inclusion.”

It made me think of the times my identity was erased for the sake of “ease.” The ‘I don’t see color’ people; the ‘what are you, really?’ people. Because my identity was too difficult for them to grasp, they’d drop certain pieces to fit their narrative.

The accent matters. The accent is part of who you are.  Without it, people can’t see all the parts that matter to you.

Are there accents that have been taken from you because someone deemed it “too difficult? What are you going to do about that? And, perhaps a more challenging question: Are there accents that you have edited out in order to fit with the rules? What can you do about that?

By Nicholas Tangen

Last week, John Hulden and I spent three days in Indianapolis meeting with other leaders who have received a Thriving Congregations grant from the Lilly Endowment. Each day we gathered for worship, listened to the stories of project leaders and participants, and met in small groups to process the work we’ve all done over the past couple of years. It was a very helpful time for me as the director of a pilot project (Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices) and it really helped to clarify some of the key tensions and opportunities for the work ahead.

In one small group session, participants discussed the fluid and emergent nature of Christian community – how plans, curriculums, and systems often fall apart in the face of genuine and mutual relationship with God and neighbor. We talked about how, as project leaders, to convene space that makes room for the Holy Spirit to do that messy work, and each of us gave examples from our own lives of times when our relationship with God was transformed. And as we talked, I was overwhelmed by a rush of images and memories of my two grandmothers and was struck by the simple but immense impact these two women have had on my life and my faith.

Nick dances with Grandma Joan at his wedding

“Plans, curriculums, and systems often fall apart in the face of genuine and mutual relationship with God and neighbor.”

Grandma Joan, my dad’s mom, grew up and lived her whole life in one small town in Northern Minnesota. She was quick to laugh, stern in correction, and exuded a kinetic and always determined energy. My memories of her are full of yard work, cooking leftovers, hanging laundry, church basement volunteering, and trying to keep up with her as we walked to the Benjamin Franklin for crafting supplies. In everything, she was diligent and intentional – and she maintained a disciplined daily routine that encompassed meals, work, and free time.

My most precious memories of her include us seated around her kitchen table – directly underneath the well-known colorized photo “Grace” – where she would give me coffee with milk to dip gas station donuts in while we played cards. Over these card games, we’d talk about her family, and she’d share stories from her life.

I always looked forward to these table talks, because it was in these moments where my grandmother opened up and told me parts of her life story and the stories of my relatives. It made me feel immensely connected to her and my own history, and ever more curious about her life and experience.

GRANDMA MADONNA, my mother’s mom, grew up in St. Anthony, Minnesota, not far from where my spouse and I live today. Gramma Bruhn, as we called her, was raised Catholic by a very strict and sometimes cruel mother, but still had a very deep and intimate relationship with God.

Nick sits with Grandma and Grandpa Bruhn

Her spiritual practices when I knew her, were praying the rosary and oil painting, which she learned later in life. She painted beautiful landscapes with big skies marbled with pinks, blues, and greens. When I visited her, we would often paint together, and she would graciously invite me to embrace my creative instincts and follow the brush. She was the first mystic I ever met in person, before I had any conception of what a mystic was.

“We are being asked to follow the creative process of the Holy Spirit, to do few things and to do them well.”

Later in her life, when my grandfather was nearing death, she showed me what it meant to accompany someone through the valley of death. One of my most treasured memories is helping her to get my grandfather ready for the night and then gathering for prayer around his bed. She would read prayers from her small prayer book; I would read a passage from Scripture; and we would close by praying the rosary together. In that room, with my grandparents, I encountered the Spirit of God holding us each in grief, love, and prayer and that experience will stay with me for as long as I live.

AS I REFLECTED on these memories with my small group in Indianapolis, I was struck by how much I had learned about community and faith from these two women. They taught me by the way they had both convened space where the Holy Spirit could show up in our relationship and our time together.

From Grandma Joan, I learned that there is no better place to build a relationship than around the kitchen table. I learned that everything we do is an opportunity to be intentional and purposeful, that a disciplined practice makes for an intentional day, and that the greatest tool for connection is sharing stories.

From Gramma Bruhn, I learned to let go and trust the Holy Spirit’s creative process, to get curious about color, form, and motion. I learned to pay attention to the world with an artist’s eye, knowing that there is beauty in the everyday. I learned how to accompany another person in prayer, how to appreciate tradition and the church, and how to believe immensely in the power of prayer.

The other small group members shared similar stories of connection, family, community, prayer, and simplicity. And we asked ourselves: “What would our community engagement look like if we centered these qualities? What would our faith formation look like if we centered these qualities?” What would we learn if we asked the grandmas in our communities to teach us their own unique spiritual practices and wisdom?

“We are experiencing an invitation to simplicity, to vulnerable and mutual relationships, and to the slow steady work of building connected and resilient communities.”

More and more, I am convinced that the church is experiencing a gracious invitation. It’s not to more and more, not to greater complexity, not to whatever we mean by “innovation.” Instead, I think we are experiencing an invitation to simplicity, to vulnerable and mutual relationships, and to the slow steady work of building connected and resilient communities.

We are being asked to follow the creative process of the Holy Spirit, to do few things and to do them well, to accompany one another in prayer, and to gather up around the table, trusting that God will meet us there. Maybe we are being invited into a spirituality deeply held and practiced by the grandmas. Maybe?

Neither of my grandmothers are still living, but I pray that their wisdom and their way of being will continue to live on in me and my family. I pray that each of us and each of our communities will look to the grandmas and see what we might learn about being church in this moment. Their wisdom, their stories, and their ways of being are a grace and nourishment for those of us drawn together around the table of Christ.

By Pastor Norma Malfatti

The story of Cleopas and the other disciple walking on the road to Emmaus in Luke 24 has been a passage resting with me for several months. If you don’t remember it, Cleopas and another, unnamed disciple left Jerusalem sometime after the women found the empty tomb. Dejected and a bit lost, they headed, presumably home to Emmaus.

Along the way they encounter a stranger who opens up the Scriptures to them and reminds them about the necessity of the Messiah’s death and the promise of the Messiah’s resurrection. That night when the stranger breaks bread with them, their eyes were opened and they recognize that the stranger was Jesus. And, instead of a “duh” with their proverbial forehead slap, they ask, “Were not our hearts burning while he was opening Scripture to us on the road?”

THESE LAST FEW MONTHS it has been a faith practice of mine to keep my eyes open for the ways Jesus has been walking with me, teaching me, and inviting me to tables where bread is broken. Ruben Duran, the senior advisor for new starts in the ELCA, often calls this awareness “being a detective of divinity.”

In my role as your Director for Evangelical Mission, Jesus makes my heart burn often as I spend time, not only with our new start and strategic ministries, but with all of our congregations. Here are a few snippets of where Jesus and the ministry of this synod has made my heart burn lately:

Zion Lutheran Church in Minneapolis is closing next month. (The congregation’s final service is November 6.) My heart burns witnessing the courage and boldness to follow wherever the Holy Spirit leads. Members spent months of discernment, visioning a variety of futures as they wondered what God had in store.

“Jesus makes my heart burn often as I spend time, not only with our new start and strategic ministries, but with all of our congregations.”

After listening deeply and openly, congregants heard Jesus calling them into a future that did not include Zion as a congregation. Instead of waiting until they had spent all of their finances down, they boldly chose to close now and use their resources to bless their neighborhood and the world. This decision included selling the church property to Simpson Housing, a Minneapolis nonprofit that has already begun the work of transforming the building into a homeless shelter, a much-needed place of refuge and safety in the Lyndale neighborhood for those experiencing homelessness.

Zion, “the little church with a big heart,” will be using the proceeds of the building sale to leave a legacy of their commitment to walk with neighbors so that all may experience beautiful, diverse, and just neighborhoods.

MY HEART ALSO BURNS when I hear the difference other congregations are making within their communities, too. I think of Bread of Life Deaf Lutheran Church (BOLD), also in Minneapolis. Over the summer in response to questions about what difference it made to have a Deaf congregation in this synod, the joy of its members was tangible as they spoke about their congregation and the importance of having a place where they can show up as their full, authentic selves.

While some communities offer ASL-interpreted worship services, which is a great gift, Bible studies and fellowship time often do not have an interpreter present. Without interpretation a Deaf or hard-of-hearing person often cannot fully participate in the life of the congregation or make meaningful connections with other Christians.

“My heart also burns when I hear the difference other congregations are making within their communities, too.” 

Life at BOLD is created so that those who are hard of hearing, Deaf, and/or deaf/blind can fully participate in all aspects of ministry. Members seek to offer a space of welcome, safety, and belonging where all people can wrestle with what it looks like to be faithful to Jesus and have a space to break bread with others who use the same language. They are so committed to this that they also try to ensure there is an interpreter at all events so that someone can voice for those of us who aren’t fluent in ASL because the Good News of God is for all people.

These are just two of the dozens of stories I could share about how the Holy Spirit has caused my heart burn at the powerful ministry happening in our synod and beyond. Like Cleopas and the other disciple, we’re living in a season where there is a lot of uncertainty in what it looks like to be faithful and where any single congregation fits in the world. Also, like Cleopas and their friend, Jesus continues to show up in unexpected ways on the roads we find ourselves on making our hearts burn.

When has your heart burned lately? I’d love to hear about it.

By Emilie Bouvier

If you’ve talked to me in the past five months, you’ve probably heard me talk about my planned trip back out west to go hiking in the Cascades. It’s been almost three years since I was a full-time artist at Holden Village, and I’ve missed those mountains something fierce. That landscape taught me so much about a capacity I didn’t know I had – to adventure deep in the backcountry wilderness and have an absolute ball.

Just anticipating and planning the trip was life-giving. To say that my planning was meticulous is a bit of an understatement. I had two spreadsheets with multiple tabs, detailing everything from trail reports and shuttles to itemized gear and food weight. (I owe many thanks to my ultralight backpacker friends and colleagues, Nick Tangen, Eric Hoffer, and Madeline Troyer, for all the inspiration and tips).

“To say that my planning was meticulous is a bit of an understatement.”

But here’s the thing, even when you’ve tried to anticipate everything, the joy always comes in the unexpected. And even when you’re over-prepared and have trained well, it will always be hard and there will be challenges you didn’t see coming. As I went from months of planning to actually doing the hike – a 50-mile loop over seven nights in a tent – I realized that sometimes the challenges are more mental than physical.

MY MOM ACCOMPANIED ME on this backpacking adventure, her very first. Having only ever done one camping trip in her whole life and never having been in the backcountry with no cell service, it was a new experience to say the least. She had been training all summer, but I knew she could do it because she is adaptable and has the mental toughness to get through the unexpected challenges.

Sure enough, on night two of the hike, the bugs were wreaking havoc on us, which I had wholly not anticipated. With temps in the high eighties, rivers of sweat flowed under our rain jackets and rain pants that shielded us from swarms of insects while we set up camp for the night. Still, as we took shelter in the cramped mesh tent, we spent the evening telling stories, watching the sunset, and laughing our way through the ritual of killing the 15 mosquitoes that flew in the tent every time we entered or left. Instead of being miserable, we rolled with the punches and enjoyed what we could.

“The mental toughness involved in hiking could continue as spiritual practice for the next busy season.”

Sometimes mental toughness looks like staving off the brain fog that happens when the bugs fiercely attack while you try to hang up the food. Sometimes it looks like focusing on the relief of the first cool breeze of the night (rather than endlessly cursing the heat). And sometimes it means just being grateful for time uninterrupted by screens.

Thankfully, as we made our way over a mountain pass to the next valley, the landscape changed again, and the bugs eased. We camped in a rocky cirque filled with many more marmots and pikas than insects and watched a clear night of stars surrounded by mountain walls in what felt like our own secret planetarium.

Later on, when faced with an unexpectedly difficult creek crossing over a precarious-looking downed tree, we looked at each other and our eyes both said, “No way.”

Instead, we took up The Sound of Music’s advice to “ford every stream!” Holding onto to each other with one arm in the shin-deep rapids, we took turns taking deliberate steps through the force of current. And it was so unexpectedly wonderful – the rush of the water over our tired feet, the exhilaration of the adrenaline and focus, the healing sharpness of the cold against our scratched and bitten legs, the joy of our laughter as we came across the other side with the last tumbling steps. We had found our own way, the pleasant chill of the water and giggles of the journey lifting our spirits for the next several miles.

AS I COME BACK to the throws of ministry and a fall season filled with new challenges and much good work to do, I’m reminded of two things. One, I have abundant gratitude for the deep rest that comes from getting deep into the wilderness – even when it’s hard, and especially when it’s joyful. Two, the mental toughness involved in hiking could continue as spiritual practice for the next busy season – expecting it to be hard, creating room for the unanticipated, and choosing to be joyful even when exhausted or uncomfortable.

Perhaps these resonate with you too, as ways to invite intentionally the Spirit to abide along the way … even if actual mosquitoes or precarious creek crossing (hopefully) aren’t involved.

By Bob Hulteen

If I learned anything from my religion professors in college (which, of course, I did since they were great), it was that a deep understanding of context is essential when working with sacred texts. If one doesn’t know the context, they can’t know the text.

I mean, how could you? If you superimpose your modern assumptions onto a complex situation from long ago, you should realize that you are comparing apples to persimmons. If you don’t, you probably will make a really bad pie.

And, I care about pie. (I should admit that just because I have never heard of persimmon pie, I don’t know that they are terrible. Maybe I just don’t know the context of why there are no persimmon pies.)

“And, I care about pie.”

I also care about having a couple of good laughs as the fall schedule clicks in, especially now that the Great Minnesota Get Together is over and it is . (I didn’t see many of you at the State Fair sheep judging on Tuesday, by the way. I was deeply disappointed.)

Speaking of good laughs and context, this blog writer is going to share with you some “behind the scene” realities of the synod office – you know, your synod staff working for you as co-workers for the sake of the gospel. (You might question the “working” part when you finish the blog.)

WELL, ON A WALL IN THE OFFICE KITCHEN, we have what we call The Quote Wall (TQW). Maybe you have one, too. Staff members can get a “quotation” added to the wall when they utter a phrase that you wouldn’t expect to hear at a synod office … or anywhere else in polite company probably.

Perhaps a couple of examples would help. I’ll start with one of mine:

“Nuns were pretty hot.” Yep, I did say it. Without context you might have concerns about me. So, let me share the context. Over lunch the “more mature” staff members were recounting how many nun stories were very popular in the 1960s. Think of The Flying Nun and The Sound of Music. So, innocently, I said “nuns were pretty hot back then.”

“Over lunch the ‘more mature’ staff members were recounting how many nun stories were very popular in the 1960s.”

Here are some of the others. I will let you play the game of figuring out the context for each. Maybe someone will even be able to write a novel based on one of these out-of-context declarations.

“Why is God such a creeper?”
— Brenda

“Ugh. I hate being human. I wish I could photosynthesize.”
— Kayla

“Beige is the mushroom soup of afghan colors.”
— Emilie

“And, usually football commentators are so nice.”
— Candy

“John Legend is the Tom Hanks of our time.”
— Meghan

“Working with people is weird.”
— Jeni

“I love leading hymn sings.”
— Eric

“Between Aethelred and Edward I get very confused. I need a map.”
— Karen

“It’s hard to remember that there was a time before Lady Gaga.”
— Emilie

“I think it’s okay to compost people.”
— Jack (this one might be a comma problem)

“Take puffin and put B.A.”
— Lynda

“Who raised you, opposums?”
— Bob

“I can handle the pastors.”
— Meghan

“Bob and I are Oreo-simpatico.”
— Karen (with Jeni’ response: “That’s adorable.”)

So, while writing this blog, I made a keen observation: None of our ordained staff have made the kitchen’s quote wall. Why is that? Do they worry about saying things out of context? Or, did they just listen better to their religion professors?

By Pastor Craig Pederson

As the odometer on my body passed the 54-year mark earlier this summer, I gave thanks for the gift of living a relatively healthy life thus far. I also took stock of the “routine maintenance” items one must tend to when reaching that odometer reading, and I’m still working on some of those!

But I have also been feeling the effects of a few midlife “unexpected repairs.” Over the past five years I’ve had two orthopedic surgeries (quadricep tendon reattachment to the knee, and rotator cuff shoulder repair) and another orthopedic intervention (immobilizer brace for three months on a partially torn Achilles’ tendon).

As many of you know, with these injuries or procedures you don’t just undergo the surgery or get fitted for a brace then walk out the door where life returns to normal. There is a prescribed period of healing and recovery, with a corresponding regimen of physical therapy to train the body parts to work again – both on their own and in relation to surrounding body parts. Physical therapists, for whom I have the utmost respect and appreciation, guide this recovery journey.

At a visit with my physical therapist a few weeks ago, he helped me identify why my recovery for both my shoulder and knee may have stalled out. He talked about the difference between “eccentric” and “concentric” muscle exercises. I’m sure therapists have talked with me about this distinction in the past, but on this particular visit it really clicked for me.

Briefly, in a concentric movement, the muscle tension rises to meet the resistance then remains stable as the muscle shortens. During eccentric movements, the muscle lengthens as the resistance becomes greater than the force the muscle is producing.

“During my therapy work, I had been focusing all my energy on concentric movements – pushing against the weight of the resistance and then quickly returning to the starting position to do it again.”

So, what does that mean? If you think of a pushup, the concentric movement is when you “push up” from the ground to a position where your arms are fully extended. The eccentric movement is when you lower yourself back down to the starting position close to the ground. Recent physical therapy research (according to my therapist) shows that eccentric movements produce greater strain on muscles, but also produce greater healing and strength development when done properly.

During my therapy work, I had been focusing all my energy on concentric movements – pushing against the weight of the resistance and then quickly returning to the starting position to do it again. I hadn’t been working at all on the tension of the resistance on the way back to the starting position. I’ve been practicing this new focus in my exercises, and the results have been remarkable!

WHY AM I WRITING a church blog about physical therapy and muscle movements?

This new insight made me think about recent movements within the church. For as long as I can remember, the predominant approach to ministry has been to push harder – push for more members, more money, more programs, more publicity. When a program or idea is exhausted, we go back to the drawing board and start pushing on something new. This approach is understandable and even successful in some ways.

But the pandemic, along with racial justice awakenings by the dominant culture and economic challenges faced by everyone, forced us to view ministry differently. Strains and forms of resistance that we hadn’t reckoned with before became apparent. The pain and struggles have been significant. We’ve needed to learn how to use our spiritual muscles in new ways.

“Out of the disruption and change, we are practicing our faith and experiencing community in new ways.”

Now I see new growth and new strength emerging in our churches. We increasingly understand that we can’t just “go back” to some sort of normal that wasn’t working so well for everyone in the first place. Out of the disruption and change, we are practicing our faith and experiencing community in new ways. With growing wisdom and humility, we see how God is at work not just inside the church but also in the lives of our neighbors outside the church.

We are entering a new season. Rally Sundays mark the return of additional worship services, Sunday School and Christian education programs, and increased outreach efforts. Many churches will participate in “God’s Work, Our Hands” activities that will bless their surrounding communities, even as participants say they are blessed by the service they provide to others.

As we bear witness to the love of Christ in the world, I pray that our hands – and our hearts and minds – will be open to new healing, growth, and strength in the days ahead.

By Bob Hulteen

I woke up this morning planning to write a great blog about how fortunate I feel, as a lay synod staff person, to be able to attend the Bishop’s Theological Conference (BTC) in September. The annual conference is always held the last week of September (Sunday afternoon to Tuesday afternoon). It’s a time for the pastors, deacons, and chaplains of the synod to come together, be challenged by a leading theologian, and share ideas or concerns about ministry.

I am lucky to be able to interact with and appreciate the quality of pastoral leadership we have in the Minneapolis Area Synod. Sometimes in the synod office, one gets to see some of the worst of the church. But, BTC is a time to celebrate the vibrancy of faith and commitment, … even as there is also a little “play time.”

But, even though the speakers this year are good friends, I couldn’t think of that great personal tale that would inspire rostered leaders to attend the conference or lay leaders to ask their pastors what they learned at the conference.

So, … I’m going to let Ched Myers and Elaine Enns, our featured speakers at this year’s conference (under the theme “Facing the Wilderness, Embracing a Path”), speak for themselves. And, as you read the words of these theologians, know that each of their plenaries at BTC will reflect on a different passage from Luke, readings that will come up in the Revised Common Lectionary later this fall. (REMINDER: Registration for BTC closes on Friday, September 9.)

From Healing Haunted Histories, a recent book with Elaine as primary author (2021):

“The Greek term metanoia (Luke 5:32) means to change fundamental direction. It is usually translated ‘repentance,’ a term which in spiritualized Christian circles today has become utterly domesticated and sometimes damaging (powerful medicine that is mishandled can become toxic). However, if we instead recognize the lethality of our disease (to borrow from Twelve-Step language) and turn to a Power greater than our own, we can turn our individual and communal history around in the service of wholeness and justice, and heal our haunted bodies and body politic. We long for faith communities to become places that nurture the courage to peel the settler colonial onion seven layers down, fueled by the prophetic hope intoned by Malachi that a day is coming when the Creator will burn the works of injustice to its roots, ‘until the sun of righteousness rises, with healing in its wings’ (Mal. 4:2).”

From Ched’s Binding the Strong Man (based on Mark 3:27):

“Both the private sphere of the clan and the public sphere of the State equate personal sanity and political sanctity with maintenance of the status quo. Smarting from Jesus’ repudiation of their authority (1:22ff; 2:6ff), the scribes attempt to undermine Jesus’ popular standing by charging that he is in the service of the ‘prince of demons.’ It is a predictable strategy of threatened political leaders: neutralize the opposition by identifying them with the mythic arch-demon (in modern America this would be tantamount to calling Jesus a ‘terrorist’). Jesus’ deviant practice of exorcism, which liberates people for Jubilee and retribalization, is dismissed as either lunatic or traitorous.”

From “A Shameful Legacy,” an article by Elaine in Sojourners magazine (November 2012):

“A traditional whale-oil lamp is solemnly lit by an Inuit elder. After being brushed with cedar and smudged with sage, three commissioners take their seats. A survivor begins his testimony, haltingly narrating painful memories from 60 years ago. Soon tears begin to flow, and a support person carefully collects the tear-soaked tissues into a basket, to be added to the sacred fire that burns outside the hall. In this space, so filled with sorrow and rage, every ritual communicates respect, empathy, and determination, turning public halls into sanctuaries of healing.

For seven generations Indigenous Canadian children were taken from their homes and sent, most often by force, to Indian Residential Schools. Churches began operating these schools in the early 1860s, and by the 1890s the federal government had begun to make attendance mandatory as part of a policy of assimilation into Canadian society. In these schools children were forbidden to speak their native languages, forced to conform to European ways of life, and often abused emotionally, physically, and sexually. Though most residential schools were closed by the mid-1970s , the last was not shuttered until 1996.

As part of a 2007 legal settlement with survivors, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC) was created, with a five-year mandate to document the testimony of survivors, families, and communities affected by the residential school experience and to inform all Canadians about this tragic history.”

From “A Watershed Moment,” an article by Ched in Sojourners magazine (April 2014):

“Our history is increasingly hostage to a deep and broad ecological crisis. Stalking us for centuries, it is now upon us in the interlocking catastrophes of climate destruction, habitat degradation, species extinction, and resource exhaustion. Some call it ‘peak everything.’

‘All we have to do to destroy the planet’s climate and biota and leave a ruined world to our children and grandchildren,’ concluded environmental policy analyst James Gustave Speth in The Bridge at the Edge of the World, ‘is to keep doing exactly what we are doing today … to release greenhouse gases … impoverish ecosystems and release toxic chemicals at current rates, and the world in the latter part of this century won’t be fit to live in.’

Our Christian faith and practice now unfold either in light of or in spite of this crisis. Our choice is between discipleship and denial.”

It will be so great to hear from them in person and I’m confident our rostered ministers will walk away with new learnings and new energy. If you are a rostered minister, please join us. If you are a church-goer, please encourage your rostered colleagues to attend and then come back and share what they take away.

By Pastor John Hulden

A day or two before my first class at pastor-school many, many years ago, a classmate I had just met asked: “What is your mission statement?”

During those first days at seminary, I had never fully shaken off my reluctance about going to seminary. I didn’t major in religion in college. I could imagine what the professors taught in the church history department, but I wondered what “homiletics” and “systematic theology” are. (Is there an un-systematic theology department?)

“Where does fun fit into our church life?”

And now, before I even attended my first class, I’m supposed to have a “mission statement”! I’m thinking, “that’s a thing?”

Doing my best to stomp down what is now called “imposter syndrome,” I quickly replied with fake confidence: “Sure! To tell the story of Jesus, to work for peace and justice, and to have fun doing it.” My soon to be friend Carl liked it. And as I heard the words come out of my mouth, I guess I did too. For better or for worse, I’ve stuck with my made-up-on-the-spot mission statement now going on 40 years.

I WAS REMINDED ABOUT the “have fun” part of my mission statement after last Sunday’s StarTribune front page article about efforts to lure people back to the pew.

Is fun the answer for increased church attendance? I’m not fully convinced. Neither was Alice Digre. Alice was a lovely, smart, faithful, super-volunteer at my first call on the Eastside of Saint Paul. With about a year under my belt as their new pastor, I felt really good after a Sunday morning worship service. I remember commenting to Alice, “Wasn’t that fun this morning?” Alice took the question in for a moment – seemingly even longer – and replied introspectively, “I never thought of worship as being fun.”

Where does fun fit into our church life? How about in your spiritual journey?

MY COLLEAGUE, NICK Tangen, wrote a blog post last week about the ELCA’s Churchwide Assembly at the Columbus Convention Center in Ohio. The 30-or-so of us voting members from your synod spent Monday through Friday in worship, plenary sessions, and conversations about the past, present, and future of our denomination. It was important work. But was it fun? Hmmmm, yes, we did have some fun!

The convention booklet for the cosplay group that followed ELCA Churchwide Assembly

Thursday evening at our hotel, the next convention goers began to arrive – in costume. Everyone was in a costume. Those of us at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly were on our way out to make room for a Cosplay convention. (If you want to have a visual picture, see the attendees on social media here: #matsuricon2022.) According to the list of rules in the convention booklet, costumes with stilts were not to be worn in the elevator; once we saw that, we weren’t sure what to expect. With our Christian commitment to nonviolence, was it our responsibility to jump into mock fights between superheroes?

“Sure! To tell the story of Jesus, to work for peace and justice, and to have fun doing it.”

As we watched the transition between conventions unfold, it struck me that the ELCA voting members cleared our schedules to do the work of the church all week. And the next group not only cleared their schedules but spent hours designing and creating amazing costumes. … Why? Because it is their kind of fun. Heck, play is even in the description of their convention: cosplay.

Is fun the answer for increased church attendance? I’m not sure that’s even the right question. Still, in any given moment, I stand by mission statement: After all these years, I still like to have some fun at church.

By Nicholas Tangen

Last week I joined a number of other Minneapolis Area Synod representatives at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly in Columbus, Ohio under the theme “Embody the Word.” Churchwide Assemblies are the highest legislative body of our church and, every three years, voting members from each synod gather to deliberate and pass memorials, amend the constitution, and highlight the ways that God has been at work in our ministry.

This year, our Assembly passed a number of memorials calling on the Churchwide organization to examine and address inequity in the structures and policies of our church. These included memorials revising the process for removing rostered ministers on-leave-from-call, stronger encouragement for congregations and synods to avoid using non-disclosure agreements, and a call to audit the ELCA Constitution and Bylaws through a diversity, equity, and inclusion lens.

Worship celebration at the 2022 ELCA Churchwide Assembly in Columbus, Ohio

I must admit, the sheer volume of pre-assembly reading materials, the trickiness (and sometimes absurdity) of Roberts Rules of Order, and the often-niche issues and concerns can make the Assembly a real challenge for those of us with brains that struggle to focus, bodies that struggle to sit, and roles that don’t show up on the roster. But, despite that struggle, there was one experience that continually challenged, moved, and convicted me – our times of daily worship. In particular, the Service of Word and Prayer on Tuesday afternoon struck a chord, … and plenty of nerves.

“We were not going to simply hold space for an apology and then get back to business as usual, thanks be to God.”

That afternoon, Bishop Elizabeth Eaton had extended an apology to Iglesia Luterana Santa Maria Peregrina for the racist actions of one of our church’s bishops when they removed the congregation’s pastor on the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. This painful event, compounded by a series of troubling behaviors from Bishop Meghan Rohrer and the Sierra Pacific Synod Council, and the agonizingly slow response from Bishop Eaton, has served as a catalyzing and apocalyptic (in the true sense of the word) moment in our church.

The apology itself, in my opinion, mirrored too closely the procedural tone of the plenary sessions, but the response from Iglesia Luterana Santa Maria Perigrina’s leaders was a lesson in graciousness and accountability. They named clearly and emotionally how they were hurt, and why Bishop Eaton and our church have a responsibility to confess, repent, and make reparation. They extended forgiveness to those involved while still seeking appropriate accountability. It was a painful, but holy moment. Now the work to make reparation begins.

FOLLOWING THE APOLOGY, the Assembly gathered for a service of prayer and lament, which thankfully encouraged us all to sit with the discomfort and the challenge of the apology and the actions of our church, not only in regard to the Sierra Pacific Synod, but in every synod and every congregation. We were not going to simply hold space for an apology and then get back to business as usual, thanks be to God.

The service included reflections on Jeremiah 31:15 from BIPOC and LGBTQIA leaders in our church, with each speaking to their experience of the ELCA.

A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more.

The Rev. Imani Olear, the Director for Evangelical Mission in Upstate New York, reflected on Rachel’s prophetic grief and said, “The prophetic grief of real lament should be embraced as a real part of our spiritual practice here in this church – to look honestly at suffering rather than with numbness, fear, self-deception, denial of reality, all in the hope to maintain the status quo of white supremacy behaviors.”

A plenary session at the 2022 ELCA Churchwide Assembly August 8-12

The Rev. Manuel Retamoza, pastor at St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church in San Diego and member of the Cherokee Nation, reflecting on a quote from Vine Deloria Jr., asked whether the ELCA desired to be good or to be real: “We as individuals and a church can look back and say ‘We could have done better for our native people of the Americas,’ but that is not enough. Could we embark on new paths of action? How long O, Lord until we do more than good? How long until we make things right? Because we believe the lie – if we are real, then the truth will come out – that the church has not always been and isn’t now as good as we believe the church to be, or ourselves to be. Jesus has called us to do more.”

Retamoza’s words have been with me all week. In some ways this challenge captures so clearly my own discomfort with the work of the Assembly; did we want to be good or real? This is, I think, a real tension for us as a church – at all three expressions. It’s a tension ongoing for myself. I know my own desire to appear good, to fall into the trap of perfectionism and performance, and I know how limiting that is when trying to root out injustice and inequity in our life together.

“What will need to die and rise again in order for each of us as the ELCA to embrace the reconciliation Jesus has set us free to participate in?”

This invitation into the vulnerability, the messiness, and the real-ness of confession and reconciliation stood in such stark contrast to the Assembly. The carefully curated plenaries with the steady march towards resolution felt oddly incongruous with the challenge to deeply listen to the cries of prophetic grief. While I am grateful for the provisions and memorials that the Assembly approved, it was the lament and experience of prophetic grief in worship and from the leaders of Iglesia Luterana Santa Maria Perigrina that my heart continues to return to. I feel both profoundly determined and deeply anxious about the church that I love.

Since I left Ohio, I’ve been asking myself what needs to change. What will need to die and rise again in order for each of us as the ELCA to embrace the reconciliation Jesus has set us free to participate in? To be honest, I don’t know. And I don’t think I am supposed to have anything like answers right now.

I think instead I am being called to listen and to be transformed by the prophetic grief in the story of my neighbor. To respond to the grief with confession and repentance. To set down the need to be “good” and learn how to be real. In that real-ness and the churning of the Spirit, I have faith that God will show us the way.

By Pastor Norma Malfatti

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Luke 12:34 NRSV)

This past week I had the great joy of being the pre-school leader at Vacation Bible School (VBS) on the Farm. This week-long summer project was a collaborative experiment of the synod’s Southwest Conference, River of Hope Lutheran Church in the Southwestern Minnesota Synod, and Cristo Obero, one of our synod’s new start congregations and the organization that spearheaded the event.

Nearly 200 children registered to participate and about half that number of adults and teenagers volunteered for this new adventure. Like any VBS, we sang songs, learned Bible stories, made new friends. Also, like most similar events, the adults, at times, lost their minds as they counted and recounted heads to make sure all the children in their group were present and accounted for.

Pastor Norma makes a new friend, the child of the camp nurse.

“The farm animals and fun aside, one of the most incredible parts of the week was the commitment made by the adults and youth helpers.”

Unlike my previous VBS experiences, VBS on the Farm was also bilingual. Pastor Hans Peterson from River of Hope, Hutchinson, and part of the band Dakota Road, translated some of his songs for us to sing. Each day we learned part of our Bible story en español; and we started and ended the day reminding each other of God’s love:

God loves me, Dios me ama
God loves you, Dios te ama

The farm animals and fun aside, one of the most incredible parts of the week was the commitment made by the adults and youth helpers. We all gave up a week of work or did VBS and still worked, used up vacation time or summer break, or just had to set aside chores so that we could support the elementary and pre-school kids as they grew in relationship with God, creation, and one another.

Jesus’ words, “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” took on a whole new meaning as I reflected on this long, hot, and glorious week.

THERE IS NO DOUBT in my mind that the adults and youth who participated in this week have a deep love for children and community, treasuring their presence and growth, valuing them as God’s beloved, because we spent hours upon hours of our treasured and limited time in the holy chaos that was VBS on a Farm. When the week drew to a close, parents began talking about how we could grow this next year and already were looking to book this week for vacation so that they could be even more engaged.

It was seeing Jesus’ words come to life with the passion and commitment of the servants Jesus goes on to talk about in Luke 12, who are at the ready and waiting for what’s next.

As Churchwide Assembly meets this week, I am reminded of Bishop Elizabeth Eaton’s challenge for the ELCA to reach out to one million new, young, and diverse people.  While financial resources may be needed for this audacious venture, I think taking a page from Cristo Obrero, River of Hope, and the Southwest Conference may be a more helpful place to start – using our treasure of time and compassion to invest in the young people already in our lives and communities.

It doesn’t have to be as grand an undertaking like VBS on the Farm, the community listening efforts of the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices congregations have shown that building relationships with our neighbors do not need to be complicated. It does, however, require an investment of time and a willingness to grow as relationships grow. And, as Jesus intimated, we may just find out that when our hearts are invested, it doesn’t feel like a sacrifice to use our treasure.

To view a two-minute video of the week’s activity: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1_HriCrqnLkAOLceuMUecCLBiEc7A5zWv/view?usp=sharing