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By Pastor Craig Pederson

In this Advent season of waiting, preparing, and making paths straight, I’ve been thinking about the kind of paths that will be needed for our churches to experience the Christ child this year. With the persistent and varied challenges we’ve faced in recent years, we’ve got some “road work” to do in preparing these paths. We continue to adapt to Covid realities, to come to grips still with historical racial inequities following George Floyd’s murder, and to navigate unusually turbulent economic conditions. (I wanted to write “post-Covid” realities, but having just tested positive myself last week, I’m reminded that it’s still very real and present!)

The Advent journey of making paths straight and getting ready for Jesus used to feel less complicated. The birth of the Savior of the world has always been a cosmic event, of course. But oddly, it felt like there used to be less at stake.

“We would light the Advent wreath candles and dutifully hold off singing our favorite Christmas carols so that the Advent portion of the hymnal could get some exercise.”

We would light the Advent wreath candles and dutifully hold off singing our favorite Christmas carols so that the Advent portion of the hymnal could get some exercise. We would proclaim our stress about busy malls and big box stores, and we would carefully orchestrate holiday parties and family meals to maximize fun and minimize potential discomforts. And, we would remind each other to remember the true “reason for the season” – which, like any good children’s message, has only one real answer: Jesus!

OVER THE DECADES, it has been the province of Mainline Protestants and Catholics to curate this Advent journey. Occasionally the broader culture would come along for the ride. Evangelicals and Pentecostals didn’t resonate so much with it, however, so they went right to the manger.

The term “Mainline Protestant” suggests that some kind of path – a “main line” – has already been prepared, at least for someone. The term likely originated in the early 1900s in the Philadelphia suburbs that were served by the “Pennsylvania Railroad Main Line.” These suburbs were home to primarily white, wealthy, privileged churches. Residents could hop on the Main Line and join a Protestant church (Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Methodists, Lutherans, etc.) that best served their social, economic, and community interests.

The term was popularized in the 1920s when these large Protestant denominations affiliated with the newly formed National Council of Churches as they were theologically wrestling with fundamentalists. For the past hundred years, it has been used as a catch-all phrase to describe the growth in numbers and political influence – and then the decline – of these large national denominations.

“Brueggemann advocates for us to pay greater attention to paths, because a path requires ‘slow, inefficient neighborliness.’”

Mainline churches have long been characterized by social justice values and a progressive theology that strives to be inclusive. But they have struggled to put those values and theology into practice in ways that have transformed the conditions of inequity and oppression, and their evangelism efforts have often fallen short.

In a recent article, Lutheran pastor and consultant Dave Daubert suggests it is precisely this mainline orientation that has impeded our spiritual vitality and evangelism. He says,

“I routinely am part of a conversations about how to share the good news of God in Christ with others and how to invite people into a life of faith. … I often hear the same thing from mainline folks everywhere. We like to serve. We like to pay attention to the world around us. But we don’t like to talk about our faith. Almost always the reason is the same: Whatever brand of church we are part of doesn’t do that. It’s [not] in our DNA.”

In another recent article, Walter Brueggemann reflects on the different types of journeys we experience based on the type of route we take:

“So consider ‘paths.’ They are formed by habit and reiterated walking. Even cows soon trace out a path as they head ‘home’ at milking time after a long day. Such paths take the landscape as it is, and traverse it in unhurried ways. By contrast a ‘road,’ or better ‘a highway,’ brings the necessary bulldozers and earthmovers to alter the landscape to make travel swifter and more convenient.”

Brueggemann says that paths emerge inefficiently, while roads (and rail lines, I would add) are designed with efficiency and speed that serve the economic interests of those in power. He writes, “… it is even better if the road system can be designed to destroy ‘undesirable’ neighborhoods of the poor or ‘people of color’ who are at best an inconvenience for the regime of efficiency and speed, and do not in any case usefully participate in the wondrous market of commodity goods.”

Brueggemann advocates for us to pay greater attention to paths, because a path requires “slow, inefficient neighborliness that allows time for serious face-to-face interaction, and that takes seriously the wellbeing of neighbors whose names we might actually come to know.”

A LOT IS AT stake this Advent season. Even as we tend to the spiritual, mental, and physical health of our churches, we are also growing in our awakening to the needs and gifts of our neighbors outside of our mainline experience.

“The Advent journey of making paths straight and getting ready for Jesus used to feel less complicated.”

For my part, I acknowledge that I am drawing upon the work of two older white male religious leaders with strong critiques of mainline churches for this blog. Part of my Advent “road work” is to reflect on my own mainline experience, and to seek out broader voices to absorb their wisdom, insights, and experiences.

Blessings on the Advent paths you prepare for yourself, your church, and your community. Jesus is coming soon!

By Jack Hurbanis

In June of this year, I had the opportunity to attend a weeklong training hosted by leaders on synod staff and from Street Voices for Change entitled “The World Is About to Change.” The entire week was focused on building skills to more faithfully engage in issue-based community organizing and, while I learned a lot from that week, one phrase has stuck with me on a near daily basis: Being right is not enough.

I am someone who cares a lot about being right. Fun fact: Before arriving to the synod staff, I worked as digital producer for WUWM 89.7 – Milwaukee’s NPR affiliate – where a large part of my job was to write stories that were 100% correct. I achieved that goal about 95% of the time. So, hearing that simply being right isn’t enough to make positive change in my community stung a little.

“The ELCA has recently released a draft of a new social message on the climate crisis.”

I wish it were true that being right was enough; we all do. It would make everything so much easier. There would be a right and wrong side to every issue and, whenever someone arrives at the most correct solution, we’d all agree to follow it.

From the ELCA’s draft social statement

THERE IS NO BETTER issue that illustrates the frustration that being right is not enough than climate change. It has an objective reason for happening, scientists agree that it is the biggest threat to our planet we currently face, and there are countless pages of peer reviewed studies laying out just how we can fix this problem. Yet we struggle to implement some of the most basic solutions.

Because being right is not enough. Our communities must be organized and demanding these solutions to make real change. The great news is that organized communities can be enough.

“The great news is that organized communities can be enough.”

I am writing about this because the ELCA has recently released a draft of a new social message on the climate crisis. As I read through it, I constantly thought to myself “being right is not enough, it must be joined alongside community action.”

I am happy to report I see many great commitments and calls to action inside the draft which pair scientifically driven solutions with opportunities to act (which can be read here). Our EcoFaith Leadership Team wrote a letter outlining feedback (also below) on this draft which includes both what we see as working well and what we’d like to see changed.

While you don’t have to sit down and write your own letter, I would encourage you to read through the draft and fill out this survey that churchwide has put together to give your feedback on how you want our Church to be addressing the climate crisis.

In addition, I’d love to hear your ideas and what you’re already doing – so don’t hesitate to reach out. Because organized communities are enough to make change.

Oops! The link in the 11/29/22 e-news might have taken you here. If you’re looking for Jack’s blog, go here.
But if you haven’t read John’s post from last week yet, you should!

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By Pastor John Hulden

Teenagers are amazing. In my 35+ years of trying to be a pastor, it is a good day when I get to hang out with teenagers.

Yep, sign me up for those long bus ride trips with teenagers. They are much better group travelers than full-grown I-know-what-I-want adults. One thing I’ve figured out, teenagers are much better dealing with authority than old people.

“Teenagers are much better group travelers than full-grown I-know-what-I-want adults.”

Perhaps it’s because teenagers, unlike most old people, are used to doing stuff they don’t want to do all day long. As an old guy, I try to work my life so that I don’t have to do activities I don’t want to do all day long. Teenagers often don’t have that luxury.

I try to listen when there is expert advice in connecting with teenagers. Here’s why: My hunch is that, if something works for teenagers, it also will work for their elders.

ONE OF THE PODCASTS on my phone is “3^rd Tuesday Conversation” from the ELCA Youth Ministry Network folks. The three hosts are really cool people from our very own Minneapolis Area Synod!* The guest on their September podcast (E48, 9/20/22, 34 minutes) was Kara Powell, executive director of Fuller Youth Institute, talking about her new book: “3 Big Questions That Change Every Teenager.”

Kara talked about how teenagers want deeper conversation. (Don’t old people, too?) Teenagers want to talk about what is important to them, what is troubling them, what is inspiring them. (Is that the same for you?)

“On the podcast, Kara Powell talked about how teenagers want deeper conversation.”

Research with 2,200 diverse teenagers showed them asking three big questions:

• Who am I?
• Where do I fit?
• What difference can I make?

(Don’t we all have ongoing questions about our identity, belonging, and purpose?)

HOW DO WE HAVE conversations that get to these bigger questions – with teenagers or anyone else?

I suppose the simple answer is just listen. But listening doesn’t always come naturally.

I’ve heard Felicia Boone, the synod’s wise and esteemed synod vice president, remind me and others more than once to “W.A.I.T.” To remember to ask yourself: “Why Am I Talking?” I suppose it is as simple as “Why do you think God gave us two ears and only one mouth?” Yep, but this learning doesn’t come easy for me. It takes moments to learn, a lifetime to master.

Perhaps you’ve heard about our synod’s effort in Faith Practices and Neighboring Practices. The gift of a Lilly Endowment grant has given us time and resources to help more than a dozen congregations to practice deep listening, … to God, … to neighbor, … with no agenda. It’s so simple and so challenging.

“Why do you think God gave us two ears and only one mouth?”

It’s easy to understand that difficult things take practice. Malcolm Gladwell, author and podcaster, has become famous by pointing out the rule: It takes 10,000 hours of intensive practice to achieve mastery of complex skills and materials. In the early 1960s, the Beatles played for days on end at the strip club Indra in Hamburg, Germany. Hour after hour, day after day, they played a few of their own songs, but also did covers of a vast array of musical styles and songs. Lo and behold, the Beatles got pretty good at what they do.

I’m often surprised how simple things need practice, too: saying thank you; using your turn signal; slicing a bagel without going to the ER; listening.

In a few days the biggest annual holiday where no gift giving is required will be here! Join with me in being curious about the folks sitting at the Thanksgiving table. What is important to them? How do they connect to their community and the world? What do they know well enough to teach others? What would they like to learn? Ask questions. WAIT. And enjoy the practice of listening this holiday season.

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*3^rd Tuesday Conversation hosts:

• Dannica Olsen is the Director of Youth Ministry at Westwood Lutheran Church in St. Louis Park.
• Adam Butler is lead pastor at Trinity Lutheran Church in Long Lake.
• Elizabeth Pedersen is a Deacon and directs the high school ministry at Lord of Life Lutheran Church in Maple Grove.

By Bob Hulteen

Region 3 of the ELCA (the nine synods of Minnesota, North Dakota, and South Dakota – or what Pastor John Hulden calls “the ‘otas”) pulls together the bishops’ staffs once a year for a three-day retreat to share information and talk about policies and programs that could be improved throughout the region. It’s a time to meet colleagues in ministry and talk shop, an opportunity that synod staff people don’t often have.

This week is the Region 3 gathering for 2023. It’s the first in-person meeting of the staffs since 2019. As you can imagine, there has been some turnover since then, including the election of four new bishops in the region. And, this year we are meeting at a new site – Luther Crest Bible Camp in Alexandria, Minnesota.

The view from previous years’ Region 3 Retreats at Joy Ranch in South Dakota.

I appreciate it when we gather. It’s good to have colleagues.

But, I am most thankful for the opportunity to hang with folks from our more rural synods. Having been born in a very small town in what is now the Northwestern Minnesota Synod, and having grown up in what is now the Western North Dakota Synod, I spend most of my time these days with people right here in the Minneapolis Area Synod. And, while there certainly is some diversity of thought within our little synod, I am challenged by the wide range of opinions in our synods where bishops sometimes drive four or five hours to install a new pastor.

IT’S NOT NOSTALGIA that draws me to hang out with my colleagues from these synods. At least, that’s not the only pull. These days I am aware of the great divide between urban and rural areas that separates and isolates us from each other.

When I ended up in inner-city Washington, D.C., in the early ‘80s through the Lutheran Volunteer Corps (in what is now the Metro DC Synod), I was confronted by urban poverty. And yet, the types of disinvestment from rural communities, where main streets were being decimated by an influx of box stores, was very familiar. The same impulses were driving an economic change in the most urban and most rural parts of our country, I realized.

As we have just completed an election cycle (and probably within days will enter the next one), we are aware of political motivation for creating division and isolation. Ads demonize and “otherize” folks who live in other parts of the state. And, there is so much money in campaigns that micro-advertising means the message is directed to people susceptible to have their fears or biases confirmed.

Time for worship together

Twitter storms that try to shame people for where and how they choose to live are common place. And, with a high degree of anonymity, we are able to stereotype and dismiss people who are essentially our neighbor … who are often facing similar economic struggles of economic disinvestment.

When I can spend time with my synodical colleagues, I have the chance to be reminded of the similarity of basic values, and I can begin to imagine discussions where we discuss a way to a shared future, where “we all do better when we all do better,” as my political hero used to say.

Recently Lisa Pruitt, Martin Luther King Jr. Professor of Law at the University of California Davis, was recently the featured speaker at the Westminster Town Hall Forum from Westminster Presbyterian Church in Minneapolis. She challenged the in-person and on-air listeners, especially those in urban areas, to rethink the ways they talk about rural residents. She wondered whether constructive conversations about a “fair share” of political power for rural people would mean urban-dwellers would treat rural folks with less contempt and anger. “The contempt and the anger are not serving city folks well, and they certainly are not rural folks well. So maybe it’s time to take a different tack,” she added. Quoting a New York Times article by Roger Cohen, she posited that New York and California don’t have a stranglehold on the truth any

more than Kansas and Missouri do.

Social time

We can ask the question: Do Minneapolis and Saint Paul have a stronger connection to truth than Waseca or Wadena? Or, in reverse, do Bemidji or Baudette better represent Minnesota values than the Twin Cities?

And, I wonder, no matter the answer to those questions, can the church, specifically the ELCA, do anything to reweave the web of society in Minnesota. Could our synod and one of the more rural synods engage in discussion that repairs distrust and counters division? Could they know we are Christians by our love?

Do we even want to take the risk for the sake of the gospel?

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UPDATE: Drat, I caught a terrible cold and wasn’t able to go to Alexandria to be with my colleagues. (And, just to be explicit, I have been getting a negative COVID test every day since the day before election judging last week. It’s just a cold. But, no one wants to be around someone coughing and sneezing.)

By Jack Hurbanis

Being present in rooms with the people who have power and make decisions in our communities is one of the foundational pieces of community organizing. Whether those are elected officials, business and nonprofit executives, or religious leaders, showing up is key to ensure their decision-making power is used in the interest of the community they represent.

As an organizer, I constantly think about what meetings I want people to be aware of and where there might be a lack of public space – meaning that I may need to help to create that space.

Jack Hurbanis testifying on behalf of the synod’s EcoFaith Network at the October Public Utility Commission meeting

Our Minneapolis Area Synod EcoFaith Network’s work around energy utilities has led us to advocate on behalf of inclusive financing programs. (If you hadn’t heard about this work before, check out this one-minute explainer video.) Such policies make it easier for all people to reduce the amount of energy they use and pay for. And working for this policy solution has been all about showing up in public spaces – many where people perk their ears up when they hear there are people from the local Lutheran church wanting to talk about why their faith has called them to care about energy policy.

“The PUC commissioners decided to reject the program and take no action on helping Minnesotans reduce their energy use and help move us forward into a more sustainable future.”

On October 13, a dozen EcoFaith leaders joined other concerned community members at a Minnesota Public Utilities Commission (PUC) hearing. At this public meeting, the PUC would decide whether or not CenterPoint Energy would adopt an inclusive financing program for its Minnesota customers. This was the culmination of a nearly year-long process of gathering community and expert opinion on the idea of inclusive financing, spurred on because a number of communities in Minneapolis demanded such a program.

Ecofaith Network members were a part of the more than 70 individuals who submitted written testimony to the PUC, telling their personal stories and explaining their support of the program. The Ecofaith Network also supported local energy organizations in submitting more than 30 pages of technical and expert commentary on the program.

THE HEARING LASTED just over two hours, most of which consisted of PUC commissioners asking questions of different groups and deliberating; but it did allow for public statements from those who had participated in the written commentary process. I, along with Tim Schaefer from Comunidades Organizando el Poder y la Acción Latina (COPAL), spoke on behalf of a coalition of 19 energy justice, faith-based, local self-determination, and clean energy organizations.

The PUC commissioners decided to reject the program and take no action on helping Minnesotans reduce their energy use and help move us forward into a more sustainable future.

While the decision was incredibly disappointing, I don’t share this experience here to make you feel despair. Instead, I share this to shine a light on why it is so important that faith communities – like the ones we are a part of – be in rooms like the October 13 PUC hearing, even when we disagree about the decisions being made.

“We are present in board rooms to show the power of community, to demand a future where everyone of our neighbors is cared for, and to let our decisionmakers know that we aren’t going away until that future exists.”

Because we are there to show the power of community, to demand a future where everyone of our neighbors is cared for, and to let our decisionmakers know that we aren’t going away until that future exists. This rejection only strengthened our Ecofaith leaders’ commitment to increasing access to energy efficiency.

If you are looking for help in knowing where you might make the most impact in being present, don’t hesitate to reach out! You can find me at j.hurbanis@mpls-synod.org, even if your passions don’t lie in attending Minnesota Public Utilities Commission meetings with our Ecofaith Network, I bet I can help connect you with someone who can help you get you involved in any issue area.

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?