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By Brenda Blackhawk

I have a six-year-old sister, Camille. She is the youngest of nine siblings, so she is the cutest, the whiniest, and the most picked-on (which makes her the toughest, too). She also has the biggest case of FOMO of all of us. FOMO is the “fear of missing out” and the youngest of my parent’s children lives in this state constantly.

At mealtimes, she frequently requests whatever condiment others are using, even if she has never had it and has no idea if she likes it. During the day, she is often found standing in one place, whipping her head back in forth, determining which brother or sister is having more fun before joining in. And bedtimes are a nightmare. Being only six, her bedtime is quite a bit earlier than the other kids, who get to stay up and watch movies. Her tantrums have been known to shake the walls.

“I spent my vacation in a constant state of FOMO. I wanted the food, the music, the shopping, the dancing, and most of all, the time with family.”

I often experience FOMO myself. But never more than this last week when my spouse, Chris, and I were stuck at home while the rest of our family headed off to Winnebago, Nebraska, for the 156^th annual Homecoming Powwow. I had already requested the time off, made all the travels plans, and found a dog sitter. Then, we took a covid test the day before we were to leave, and our plans had to change.

I spent my vacation in a constant state of FOMO. I wanted the food, the music, the shopping, the dancing, and most of all, the time with family. I wanted to get up early with my Jaji (father) and watch him raise flags. I wanted to watch the Battle of the Bustles on Friday night with my sisters. I wanted to hold my little niece’s hand as we danced around the arena.

Instead, I spent my time watching YouTube live videos, scrolling through pictures on Facebook, and closely watching the snapchat stories of everyone who was there. While I was stuck in bed, blowing through two whole boxes of Kleenex, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I was missing out on. And how unfair it all was.

A FEW MONTHS AGO, at a staff meeting devotions, the Rev. Norma reminded everyone about gratitude with Psalm 118:24, “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Gratitude isn’t always easy for me to find; I’m more the type of person always looking for the next best thing. But today I’m inclined to even be grateful for the involuntary pause in my life that this bout with COVID caused. It slowed me down enough to remember to be grateful.

“Gratitude isn’t always easy for me to find; I’m more the type of person always looking for the next best thing.”

It took a few days, but gratitude started to break though the FOMO. When I was feverish and had the chills, I could find two snuggly fur babies right beside me. When I started to feel better and got around to deep cleaning the bathroom, I remembered how much I love my house. When we were hungry but too tired or sick to cook, I was grateful that there was an option to order food. And I’ll be really grateful when I see my sister next week and she brings me the shirt she told me she bought for me at powwow.

Finding the places and spaces for gratitude is good for our spirits, our relationships, and our health. If you haven’t taken a pause in a while, do it. After all, it the day the Lord has made. Be glad.

By Nicholas Tangen

I’ve often joked that my large appetite is my greatest intercultural and community engagement tool. It’s not often that I meet a food I’m unwilling to try and, if it’s really tasty, I’ll go back for seconds or thirds. Tamales, pozole, injera, any kind of dumpling, hotdish of all kinds – if you want to make sure the food gets eaten, I’m your guy.

So many of the incredible experiences I’ve had in neighborhoods over the years have been around the table. Folks bring food they’ve made themselves, maybe recipes that have been handed down for generations. We reflect on memories of food and fellowship from our past and talk with one another about what these foods mean to us. And we open ourselves up, just a bit, in the vulnerability of nourishing our bodies together.

I’d argue that table fellowship is one of those spiritual disciplines we often take for granted. We live in a culture that often wants food to be fast and eaten on the go. Family dinners are less common than they were a generation ago, and meals shared with folks outside of our immediate family are even less so. But there’s a reason that our worship is centered around the table – something miraculous happens when people share a meal together.

Community members enjoy a meal and share conversation at Salem Lutheran Church in North Minneapolis.

IN THE FAITH Practices & Neighboring Practices learning community, our congregations have been hosting listening events in their communities, inviting neighbors and congregation members to get to know one another better – listening deeply, without agenda or pretense. Almost all these listening events have included food of one kind or another, and the connections that have been made through these simple invitations have been incredible.

Two weeks ago, I joined the folks at Salem Evangelical Lutheran Church in North Minneapolis for their weekly community meal. Through the uprisings, these meals were largely packed to go, with neighbors stopping in to grab a meal or two and carrying on with their day. But this week, Salem volunteers, and a great batch of volunteers from Trinity Lutheran Church in Long Lake, set up tables and tents in the parking lot and invited neighbors to eat together.

“Table fellowship is one of those spiritual disciplines I think we often take for granted.”

Burgers, hotdogs, watermelon, chili, and a variety of salad – I came ready to eat. And Salem’s neighbors did too, with more than two dozen folks sticking around for dinner. As I stood in line, I watched as folks gathered at tables, introduced themselves, and began to have conversation as they ate. And, as I took in the scene, something incredible started to happen.

You could literally see this gathering of individuals transform into a community. As folks shared stories, listened deeply, and laughed together their posture changed – they began to sit up more, they leaned in eagerly as someone shared, and there seemed to be a lightness and a brightness present across the tables. It was beautiful, like watching flowers open their petals after a refreshing rain.

I SAT AT A TABLE with two women and talked about the neighborhood, our favorite BBQ essentials, and the churches we grew up in. Rose, a woman who lives near Salem, stayed for nearly the entire time of the event, and she and I spoke for well over an hour. She told me how she had lived in her house for more than 50 years, and that she loved living next to her neighbors, many of whom have lived in the neighborhood as long as she has. We talked about fishing and hunting, and how our families both love the outdoors. And she talked excitedly about how she loves taking the grandkids fishing at the lakes in Minneapolis.

We also talked about COVID and the grief of isolation. She told me about losing her husband far too soon, and how she was grieving the death of her eldest son who passed three years ago. I asked her to tell me about them, and she lit up as she remembered them and shared stories about their lives together. When dinner was done, and our popsicles eaten, we prayed together, and she headed back to the home she so dearly loves.

“You could literally see this gathering of individuals transform into a community.”

This simple encounter with a neighbor in North Minneapolis reminded me how powerful the practice of table fellowship can be, and how much it means for people to see one another and to be seen by one another – to share their stories and to hear the stories of others. Sometimes churches can complicate their community engagement work, over-programming and focusing on service, rather than simply holding space for connection and community and watching the Holy Spirit do her thing.

Recently, I’ve been describing the work of Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices as reminding congregations and their members that as followers of Jesus we are called first to those small simple practices of our faith – prayer, scripture, worship, hospitality, and love of neighbor. Table fellowship is one such practice.

There are not many community engagement practices simpler than bringing folks together for a meal, but truly the impact can be immense. Imagine what might happen in our neighborhoods if our churches, just for a little bit, set down the need to serve our neighbors, and leaned into the invitation to be with our neighbors (… maybe with a little food)? I’m betting we might encounter something simply miraculous.

In early May, I attended a conference that was simultaneously shocking, challenging, and inspiring. It was called “Neighborhood Economics” and was hosted at a variety of sites in and around Indianapolis. The purpose of the conference was to explore ways that churches, nonprofits, and foundations could use their assets for greater impact in their local communities.

The shock was the realization of an impending tsunami of church closures facing American Christianity. Pre-pandemic estimates were that churches were closing at a rate of 75-100 a week, or 3,750-5,000 per year. Now with COVID and the continuation of previous trends, it is anticipated that up to 100,000 churches may close in the next three-to-five years.

“Pre-pandemic estimates were that churches were closing at a rate of 75-100 a week.”

The challenge, of course, is how to be faithful, responsible, compassionate stewards of the church assets that are involved with the closures of so many houses of worship.

The inspiration is that there are several committed, courageous organizations and individuals around the country that are working on ways to assist churches to meet this challenge

ABOUT 130 PARTICIPANTS were grouped into ten cohorts with focus areas that included “Aligning Endowments with Mission,” “Bridging the Racial Wealth Gap,” and “Faith on Main Street.” My cohort was called “Church Assets in Transition: Shifting imagination and practice from property management to community development.”

The opportunity to attend this conference was timely: On a white board in my office is a growing list of congregations that are actively considering a variety of transitional options with their buildings and/or properties.  Some of those facing transitions are urgent, either because of financial challenges in the congregation or facility realities that are staring them in the face (i.e., deferred maintenance, emergency repairs, or other overdue upgrades to the structure or utilities).

Calvary Lutheran Church, Minneapolis, has voted to sell its building to a nonprofit partner which will turn the space into low-income housing. As part of a creative agreement, members will continue to worship in the current sanctuary space as it is developed as communal space for the new housing units.

Other congregations are trying to anticipate future facility needs as they come out of COVID and as they see other institutions and businesses in their community adapting to economic and cultural changes. Still others may have been approached by a developer with an idea to partner with them on a building project, or they have received an offer to buy their property outright.

“How can a congregation engage in a faithful, deliberate process of discernment about the future of its assets?”

Currently there are 15 congregations on my white board list – that’s over 10% of our synod. And these are only the ones I’m aware of; I would expect there are a handful of others that I’ve not heard about.

To be clear, I did not make this list because the synod controls congregational properties. It does not – congregations own and manage their own real estate and financial assets. However, the synod is in a position to provide guidance, resources, and connections that may be helpful to congregations.

How can a congregation engage in a faithful, deliberate process of discernment about the future of its assets? And at what point should that process take place?

IF YOU HAVE EVER asked yourself these questions, or if you’re asking them now based on what you’ve read in this blog so far, please contact me! I would love to learn more about your congregation’s situation and see if we can assist you in any way.

As a primer, I want to share a few resources that may be helpful to review on your own.  The first is from an organization called Rooted Good, which says of itself, “We launched Rooted Good so faith-based organizations can align money and mission, reclaim their relevance in a changing world, and be the Church the world needs today.” It has produced an outstanding guidebook called “How to Develop Well: A Guide to Help Churches Work with a Property Developer.” I have two hardcopies of this guidebook, and hope to get electronic access to it soon. If you are interested in seeing it, I would love to share it with you!

A second guidebook is from a long-standing organization that some of your congregations may have worked with in the past, Partners for Sacred Places. The guide is called “Transitioning Older and Historic Sacred Places:  Community-Minded Approaches for Congregations and Judicatories.” It is available online by clicking on the title above, then registering to receive it electronically.

“The shock was the realization of an impending tsunami of church closures facing American Christianity.”

A third resource that is ripe for “poking around” is the Ormond Center at Duke Divinity School. Its mission is “to foster the imagination, will, and ability of congregations and communities to be agents of thriving. We do this by equipping practitioners with the mindsets, skillsets, toolsets, and soulsets they need to serve their field, place, and neighbors.”

Each of these resources honors the importance of history, tradition, sense of place, and community context. Each discusses how a new mix of ownership structures, property uses, and partnerships might best serve the needs of churches as they move into the future.

Lastly, our synod is blessed with local consultants, architects, and developers who are also responding to the property needs of churches. I can put you in touch with these resources if you would find that helpful.

If nothing else, I hope you will at least begin to reimagine your building not as a burden to be cared for, but an asset that may have new uses for God’s mission in the world.

By Bob Hulteen

With apologies to those who use the Revised Common Lectionary (RCL), I am writing this week’s blog the week after this text (the parable of the “The Good Samaritan”) appears. You can read the text from Luke 10:25-37, the RCL gospel for the fifth Sunday after Pentecost, at the end of the blog, especially for those of you sitting in the back pew.

Why am I a week late and a dollar short in reflecting on this text? I recently read a devotional reflection using this story to talk about reparations. But, in a way that troubled me, that piece assumed that the Samaritan rightly paid for the help needed by the victim or robbery and assault. I understand at first blush that response, but I just think that’s a misreading of the story as Jesus told it.

“In all likelihood, the traveler who was leaving Jerusalem for Jericho would have held some bias against the Samaritans he saw hanging out at the street corner.”

To recap, the Samaritan, unlike the hierarchs who had already walked by, not only stopped to help the victim of robbery and assault, he transported the injured person to an inn and offered to pay for his care. Now, remember, it was the Samaritans who were often seen as the “almost-but-not-quite-like-us” group of the scriptures. They were quite normally treated poorly by the powers and principalities, the systems and structures of their day.

In all likelihood, the traveler who was leaving Jerusalem for Jericho would have held some bias against the Samaritans he saw hanging out at the street corner. There might have already been some immediate, maybe even unconscious, concern for safety for the traveler, and it would have been that he’d be attacked by the Samaritan. And, if not that, he likely would have at least assumed that, if the Samaritans were in trouble, they likely deserved to be. They are not like us.

And, now, Jesus tells us, the traveler was saved and cared for – physically and financially – by someone he might have tried to avoid when in polite company.

SO, MY WONDERING about this story is: How was the traveler changed? Did he wonder why the Samaritan helped him? Did he choose to continue to hold on to his prejudices? Did he start to see that solidarity with the Samaritans might make more sense? Did he tell this story to other residents of Jerusalem or Jericho? Did he go searching for the particular Samaritan in order to repay him for his kindness and generosity?

In real conversations about reparations, sometimes people in our current society can have feelings hurt or fears stoked about losing “what is theirs.” In response, we want others to take care of our fragility. We hope that today’s Samaritans will ensure our safety and well-being.

“Did he respond to the ‘neighborliness’ of the Samaritan by redefining himself as a neighbor to the oppressed?”

Back to Jesus’ parable, the traveler may have been changed by this experience. But, we don’t know yet about his commitment for reparations toward Samaritans, given his probable prejudice. Did his experience give him a new angle of vision, to challenge previously-held conscious or unconscious beliefs? Did he respond to the “neighborliness” of the Samaritan by redefining himself as a neighbor to the oppressed?

From the story Jesus told, we can’t answer those questions. But, we can ask them of ourselves.

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” 

And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 

Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 

“But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ 

“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

By Kayla Zopfi

With less than a month until my Lutheran Volunteer Corps year of service concludes, I cannot seem to go more than 12 hours without being asked the question, “So, what’s next for you?”

As an Enneagram 3, I cringe each time I have to admit that I don’t have anything lined up yet. My response has typically been “Good question! I’m not sure yet. If you have any leads let me know.” This typically gets people to wish me well and then move on to whatever point of order is next in the conversation.

“I want my vocational trajectory to always center around building better communities.”

While I don’t know what my next job title will be, I do know a few things: I want my vocational trajectory to always center around building better communities. I am deeply curious and love learning. And, if I ever am in a position where hiring people is within my jurisdiction, I will not require a master’s degree or five-to-seven years of experience for entry-level jobs.

THOUGH I’VE HAD a complicated relationship with finding ways to pray that feel authentic to me and my theology, working at the synod this year has given me great opportunities to see prayer modeled. Recently, I’ve been trying my hand at writing prayers for myself — for my gratitude, for my anxiety, for my scouring-to-find-a-job-that-feels-perfect.

Many people are in my situation, or in a similar one. So, I share this prayer with you — those who are recently post-grad, those who are in between work, those who are dissatisfied in their current role, those who have unexpectedly stumbled upon an opportunity that lit a spark in your soul.

Let us pray.

God of self worth, sit with us. 
As we meticulously edit our cover letters,
Google new adjectives for our resumes,
And click ‘submit’ on job applications that feel like
Step One of making our dreams a reality.

Amen. 

By Bob Hulteen  

So, I’m probably not the best person to write this blog. After all, in the early 1980s I wrote editorials against having the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday as a federal holiday.  

Wait, you might be thinking: You were against MLK Day? Well, sort of.  

King was definitely a hero-from-afar as I was growing up in Western North Dakota. My parents were engaged in civil rights work, and I was inspired by King’s oratory, sparking my imagination that a more-just world was possible. After a move to Washington, D.C., I had the chance to work with many of King’s lieutenants (Rev. Fred Shuttleworth, Rev. C.T. Vivian, Lawrence Guyot, Diane Nash, Rev. James Lawson, James Forman, James Farmer, James Orange [lots of Jameses], Rev. Vincent Harding, Dorothy Cotton, Rev. Joseph Lowry). I found that same inspiration and spark in the faith, dedication, and ministry of this creative generation of prescient leaders.  

“I had never heard of Juneteenth until I moved to D.C., a Black majority city.” 

If the commitment of King and this circle of leaders was so deeply impactful on me, why would I oppose a day to honor the man who was the face of the 1960s civil rights movement? Well, I was actually more against using his birthday as the day of commemoration, because I felt like it could be more easily domesticated than recognizing the day of his assassination. (To be fair, this realization was not my own; some civil rights activists, including a couple named above, made this argument to me.) This conviction wasn’t intended to be morbid, but even recognizing the need for reasons for joy, there was concern the wrong lesson would be remembered.  

Unfortunately, to a great degree, I think the holiday has lost its teeth. Instead of using MLK Day as an opportunity to address systemic and structural issues, to take on the principalities and powers, it has become a day to promote volunteerism. That’s not a bad thing, but King’s deep understanding of both America’s possibility and its shortcomings are no longer the focus of the day’s remembrance. 

(Of course, one could have a parallel discussion about how the life and ministry of Jesus has been domesticated as well. The “popularity” of Christmas over Good Friday might be instructive, … even as we declare that it was Jesus’ death and resurrection is the primary gamechanger.)  

SO, THE THIRD WEEK of June has become another opportunity for white America to pause and reflect on a different day of commemoration. Does this mean we will more deeply engage in the work of structural change, anti-racist deconstruction, and opposition to white supremacist activities – those intentional and conscious, as well as those unacknowledged and subtle? 

Juneteenth is a “new” federal holiday, even as we last weekend celebrated its 157th anniversary. I know that I had never heard of Juneteenth until I moved to D.C., a Black majority city. Most of us hadn’t, I suspect, so we are learning new things about the combination of lament and joy through the acknowledgement of real history – history that has been too often erased.  

Thus, what irony it is that, as our awareness of historical events becomes more holistic, the bogeyman of “critical race theory” becomes the fixation of groups with a political agenda to deny some major parts – a through line, actually – of American history. Our own fragility as white folks means we are too often unable to be confronted by our past; we either say, “well, that wasn’t me,” or “it wasn’t that bad; some people even liked it.”  

“If the commitment of King and this circle of leaders was so deeply impactful on me, why would I oppose a day to honor the man who was the face of the 1960s civil rights movement?” 

The anniversary of the martyrdom of the Mother Emanuel Nine now falls on the same weekend as the Juneteenth celebration. As Lutherans, we have become very aware of the story of the Mother Emanuel Nine, nine members of an African Methodist Episcopal Bible study who welcomed a young, white, ELCA-confirmed man into their midst, only to be killed by him. Two of the pastors of this congregation, who were shot to death, were students of an ELCA seminary.  

Before we continue, let’s take just a moment to say their names:  

Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton 
Mrs. Cynthia Graham Hurd 
Mrs Susie J. Jackson
Mrs. Ethel Lee Lance 
Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor 
Rev. Clementa Pinckney 
Tywanza Kibwe Diop Sanders 
Rev. Daniel Lee Simmons, Sr.
Mrs. Myra Singleton Quarles Thompson 

The challenge for us as Lutherans is to tell the reality of this story – that someone could be confirmed in our church and still could shoot siblings of faith to death – and not “whitewash” it. These murders are abhorrent; and, we have a tie to this story. It is in our structures, in our policies, in our beliefs, in ourselves. We can choose to stay silent or to make change, to be comforted or to embrace the discomfort.  

The supporters of eliminating “critical race theory” would say that learning this history might make some of us increasingly uncomfortable, so we shouldn’t do it. They might argue that we don’t need to know about the Mother Emanuel Nine or the young man who killed them. They might contend that we don’t need to know about the intentionality of slaveowners moving to Texas to avoid the imposition of Reconstruction, leading to the June 19, 1865, announcement of emancipation. They might make the case that we don’t need to know that MLK called for acts of civil disobedience more often than warmly calling us to become volunteers.  

Again, I’m not sure I’m the best person to write this blog. But, I am sure that all gospel-believing folks are being asked to reflect on where we are on this path, … and how we will chart a new course while continuing to move forward.  

By Maya Bryant

My family likes to say that tragedy strikes in threes: If one thing goes wrong, two others (big or small) are bound to follow. And when they happen to you, they’re Tests. There’s something you need to learn to grow, and hardship might be the only way to do that.

The three Tests this month are wearing me down. On the weekend of June 3, on my way to see my boyfriend in Madison, Wisconsin, my car decided it no longer wanted to accelerate 45 minutes away from his apartment. I was revving the engine and crying panicked tears as I slowly followed behind an RV the rest of the way.

My dad is a mechanic and very tech savvy, so I called him and did everything he said to try to fix it on my own, but to no avail, of course. I took it in to a local mechanic, and they said that I might need a new transmission, which averages about $5,000, something a 24-year-old working at a religious institution definitely cannot afford. I literally rolled in on June 3 and could not leave until June 8.

“The place you are in needs you today.” 

On the afternoon of June 5, my mother called me and told me that she plans to call someone about my cat. I’ve had my cat, Joey, since I was nine years old. Recently, he’s lost weight because of digestive issues. But, apparently during the days that I had been gone, he got progressively worse. He stopped eating the day I left. When I got home, I could feel his bones under his fur. He wasn’t like that just five days before.

My mother was torn; she was raised on a farm, and animals on a farm either die on their own or run away. This is the first time my family has had to decide whether to actively euthanize a pet.

JUNE 13 MARKS THE two-year anniversary of my grandmother Marlys’ death. She was the family matriarch, a force to be reckoned with, and an extremely devout Lutheran. She brought joy and snacks for everyone everywhere she went. We couldn’t host her funeral in the church she’d been a member of for decades because of the pandemic; we couldn’t invite any friends or long-distance family to attend for fear of COVID spread.

We were stuck. And now I was stuck. Stuck on how to proceed, how to move. I felt immobilized, unable to do anything because I feared that something else would fall apart, or that maybe I would.

I sat down at my desk at the synod office last Thursday morning – after an almost six-hour journey home from Madison – and sighed, ready to leave after just arriving. I glanced over to the right side of my desk. I keep a little box of quotes by inspirational leaders there. And sitting on top was a quote from writer Katherine Logan. It said: “The place you are in needs you today.”

“Grandma Marlys brought joy and snacks for everyone everywhere she went.”

I hadn’t placed it on the top of the pile, and I didn’t know who did. I stared at it for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure how to take that. Does it mean my emotional state? Does it mean my physical presence? Does it mean my experiences?

I’m still thinking about it. But I’m going to give myself the grace to be my fullest self within my capabilities as I learn from these three Tests. I’m going to let myself feel all the feelings and frustrations. I’m going to let myself be where I’m at because maybe that’s the place I’m in. And I’m needed there.

By Emilie Bouvier

“Ambient heaviness.”

“So disheartened.”

“Feeling amped up.”

These were some of the comments I heard from colleagues today as we spent time checking in with each other after the long weekend. There seems to be so much swirling right now: the immense tragedy of mass shootings in Buffalo, Orange County, and Uvalde; the conflict and pain in the Sierra Pacific Synod, ELCA; the anniversary of the murder of George Perry Floyd; the remembrance and loss felt in honoring veterans; the flashpoints of local and national politics that intensify divisive rhetoric. Collectively, we are reeling.

I personally don’t spend a lot of time on social media, but from the glimpses I’ve caught and what I’ve gathered from others, I know it’s been getting pretty ugly pretty quickly on all these topics and more.

“With everything that’s stirring right now, it’s clear that we’re all grieving.”

Don’t get me wrong, there is so much to be rightly angry about and so much to lament, that is most certain. But how it all comes out reminds me a lot of what it’s like to be at a family funeral.

I’m sure you all have been there. Just mentioning “family funeral” in conversation with a few folks evoked many horror stories, mostly involving shouting matches, tearful meltdowns, and fights over heirlooms.

IN MY OWN FAMILY after two big losses in quick succession a few years ago, I remember just how tumultuous the family dynamics were getting leading up to the funeral. Things were not going well but, in a moment of stepping back from my own inner tumult, I suddenly had a moment of clarity. I had this very real conversation with myself that I very much needed to make it through the 24 hours that followed.

“Oh, I see it now. Everyone is grieving. They’re sad, angry, and processing in their own ways. Ah yes, that’s the thing, they each have different expectations and need different things. One person wants all those gathered to be joyful in remembering, but another wants to be alone and sit with their own sadness. Another wants attention and affirmation of what they’re doing to help, and yet another prefers to give care, but isn’t listening to others’ actual needs. Oh, and the last one is about to implode because they want to keep the peace, but all the needs are conflicting and tempers abound.”

“Don’t get me wrong, there is so much to be rightly angry about and so much to lament.”

With everything that’s stirring right now, it’s clear that we’re all grieving. And many of us are grieving lots of different things at the same time and in differing ways.

How do we be gentle with each other while we are finding our best selves? How do we make space for our grief while remembering everyone’s humanity? When is leaning into righteous anger the appropriate response? When is it time to walk away or take a break from the turbulence of so many grief responses? How do we direct our frustration and anger into meaningful action from a deep well of faith and from our best self? What brings us back to presence when we become reactive out of our own hurt, frustration, or weariness? Where does God show up for you in all this? Where does God show up for us in community when we’re collectively a mess?

I don’t know the answers to all this, but I hope this invitation to ask the questions serves you. Sometimes it’s enough just to pause and feel your own breathing, to notice the tumble of emotions in your belly, and to hold yourself and those around you in a little more grace as we make space for it all.

By Pastor John Hulden

One million dead from COVID in the U.S. I know, that’s not a great way to start a blog. But, it is really big news that, well, is not really new; it’s a tragedy. That’s 1,000,000 people – an ever-growing number that is an unfathomable catastrophe. Now, let’s talk birds.

This pandemic is for bird watching

Perhaps you have heard that bird watching is way, way, up during the last two years. Isolating at home, working from home, only able to meet outside — whether you look out your windows or step outside, there are birds. Many folks took up the official hobby of “birding.” Using apps like eBird and Merlin, the enthusiasm of these “birders” has led to a surge of bird data these past two years; more birds are being watched and tallied.

From the porch of the farmhouse

“Just like it was for our kids when they were little, the farm is a pretty cool place for our two young Minneapolis-living grandsons to visit.”

I am not a “birder.” Brenda and Nick are the resident “birders” on your synod staff. But I live on my wife’s childhood farm with her parents (my favorite parents-in-law). Just like it was for our kids when they were little, the farm is a pretty cool place for our two young Minneapolis-living grandsons to visit.

Our two young Minneapolis-living grandsons

Now that we got past April (that felt like November), I can sit on the front porch with a lovely view when I work from home. While plowing through my emails, I can hear birds. I can see birds. There are so many birds. I don’t need to be “birder” to recognize the many different birds on our 47-acre farm: songbirds of every color, sandhill cranes, bald eagles, vultures, turkeys, Canadian geese, barn swallows, hummingbirds, woodpeckers, various kinds of ducks on our two ponds.

One day there was a racket coming from a stand of trees. I caught on video a green heron taking down a chipmunk from the top limb of 75-foot tree. It didn’t go well for the chipmunk.

Living on a farm we see firsthand the cycle of life. Which leads me to …

There is a pandemic for birds, too

My wife is the farmer. She cares for five dozen laying hens and almost 100 baby chicks that are “meat birds.” She had arranged with our neighbors to butcher those fast-growing chicks in early June.

First one laying hen, and then a few more of our laying hens, died. After calling the Minnesota Avian Flu hotline, scientists came out to the farm to test the birds. We soon found out we are the 77^th Minnesota farm to get hit with the Avian Flu. Soon after that, USDA hazmat-fitted workers from Willmar came to our farm and killed all 165 chickens and we buried them out in the field — along with the eggs we were getting ready to sell.

It was a very sad day. Now our farm needs to stay poultry free for 150 days.

Chicks that would have become chickens

“After calling the Minnesota Avian Flu hotline, scientists came out to the farm to test the birds.”

How did this happen? I guess all it takes is infected droppings from a migratory bird landing in our chicken yard. Boom. Infected farm #77. As if one pandemic wasn’t enough.

We’ll be alright. Now there will be more time for work in the vegetable and flower gardens.

Any day is a good day to make a “grateful-for” list. Ours is long: care and concern from neighbors and friends, good science and scientists, government help from the USDA, Easter Season worship services and sermons, even deeper appreciation of creation, and the creation chapters in Job (39:26-30), and the Psalms (50:7-12), and, well, Jesus:

“Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Parent feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?” Matthew 6:25-27

By Pastor Norma Malfatti

Last week my brother came to visit; it was so good to be together. This is the first time he’s come to Minneapolis that we could explore the area and we went on some fabulous adventures. However, the real reason he came to visit was to help me continue to go through our mother’s things.

It’s been 15 months since she died and there is still much to tend to when it comes to her stuff and our father’s stuff too. He died 15 years ago and yet my mother hadn’t been ready to go through some of the boxes of his precious things and practice some Marie Kondo magic.  Regardless, I am now the caretaker of a lot of stuff and the people at my local Goodwill are getting to know me well.

If you’ve ever gone through things from your childhood, you know that it can bring up a variety of feelings as you sort through the treasures of the past. Seeing a picture that captures the time my older sister and I decided to make our brother wear all of our many tutus at the same time had me yearning for simpler (to me) times, when our biggest worry was whether or not we’d get a time out for our antics. After capturing a photo on my phone and texting it to my sister, I put it in its proper box and moved onto the next picture.

“The world is different than it was before the pandemic and the world watched George Floyd’s murder on electronic devices.”

Svetlana Boym, a cultural theorist and former professor at Harvard University, calls this reflective nostalgia, longing for the past while acknowledging that the past cannot be recreated and may not even be as idyllic as we remember. Restorative nostalgia, on the other hand, seeks to recreate the past, in the present. Boym writes, “Restorative nostalgia does not think of itself as nostalgia, but rather as truth and tradition.” It’s what my siblings and I do when we get dinner from the same chain restaurant in three different states on our parents’ birthdays because it was their favorite haunt.

I ALSO THOUGHT ABOUT the church as I sorted through boxes and boxes of knickknacks, baking supplies, pictures, and more. Even though there’s an Omicron variant running through the Twin Cities and elsewhere in the country, we seem to have entered a new phase of the pandemic where we are trying to create some normalcy. I wonder if these two types of nostalgia can help us figure out what that normalcy will look like.

Restorative nostalgia would have us attempt to recreate the past; to seek to revive all the committees, ministries, and other contextually important structures and events that were a part of our congregations in 2019. Reflective nostalgia would have us examine our pre-pandemic ways of being (ministries, teams, liturgies, etc.) and wonder whether they serve us and the community now, no matter how faithful and effective they were three years ago.

“I thought about the church as I sorted through boxes and boxes of knickknacks, baking supplies, pictures, and more.”

The answer might be yes, but it could just as easily be no. The world is different than it was before the pandemic and the world watched George Floyd’s murder on electronic devices. No matter how hard we try, we will never be able to recreate life as we knew it in those before times because we know what’s happened since then. Our ignorance cannot be recaptured.

I’m not saying that any of these conversations are easy and won’t be fraught with grief and a struggle for some to figure out their place and role. But, I do think Christians are called to have such discussions if we are going to figure out who God is calling any individual congregation, the synod, and the entire ELCA into the changed world we’re venturing into.

If you’re wondering how you might approach these kinds of conversations in your own congregation, I think Dr. Thema Bryant, a professor of psychology at Pepperdine University has wisdom to offer. At the Festival of Homiletics this week, she talked about post-traumatic growth and used Jesus’ crucifixion as the case study.

First, after the trauma he spent some time in rest — what she called “tomb time.” Take time just to be still after the trauma and heal. Perhpas there are ministries or programs that just need to take a pause as leaders figure out what’s next. There is no harm in taking a break, and the time will help peoples’ anxiety lower, which can help them engage in reflective nostalgia making space for vision and change.

“Our ignorance cannot be recaptured.”

Be honest without being judgmental. You were living into the ministry you thought was most faithful at the time. Whether your answer was “great” or “could have been better,” will your ministry help you live out your purpose today?When you’re ready to start the conversaiont about what’s next, you may want to talk first about how you’ve changed as individuals and as a congregation. You may want to give testimony to how you survived the last few years. Naming how you’ve changed will help you dig deeper into the question of “why.”

Why does your congregation/team exist? Has the answer to that question changed in the last three years? Do you think it should? How well were you living up to that “why” before the pandemic? Be honest without being judgmental; you were living into the ministry you thought was most faithful at the time. Whether your answer was “great” or “could have been better,” will your ministry help you live out your purpose today?

No matter how these conversations go (or have already gone), hear God’s words to Joshua as God’s words to you this day: “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. … I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:5b, 9 NRSV)