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By Meghan Olsen Biebighauser

This week my spouse and I discovered that the app that our family uses for tracking our kids’ money was being discontinued in the U.S. It’s a real loss because this app allowed us to a.) automatically dole out weekly allowance without having to remember or have cash in the house, b.) help them set savings goals, and c.) earmark a portion of their allowance to donate to a cause of their choosing. The app has been a extremely helpful to us as we absolutely fail at having weekly cash available. (Now we only panic every time someone loses a tooth.)

Honestly, there aren’t many resources out there for talking as a family about money, and what is out there tends to seriously downplay the societal structures and systems that often have more to do with where we find ourselves financially than any personal decisions could. I want my kids to understand (and I have to remind myself as well) that, while financial education is important, we can’t educate ourselves out of structural oppression.

“While financial education is important, we can’t educate ourselves out of structural oppression.”

In fact, in my experience working with low-income families and individuals, a group that I often hear just “needs better financial education,” I’ve learned that the opposite is often true. These folks should be teaching financial education. Families without sufficient capital often know exactly where every dollar is and where it needs to be to keep their heads above water.

What our nation does need, though, are policies that give us a shot at stability. We can make collective choices that ensure wages and benefits that are livable, protection from predatory lenders of all types, and more.

For as much as Jesus talks about money (and it’s a lot…like, the most), we’re not that great at talking about it at church. Maybe we’ll talk about the budget or the capital campaign, but I hear repeatedly that many people feel like church is a place where they hide their personal financial struggles – either due to shame or feared isolation, like they’re likely the only one experiencing it.

I’M ONE OF THE founders of Exodus Lending, a nonprofit dedicated to breaking the cycle of predatory payday loan debt. In forming the organization, we were committed to create a culture where people could have candid conversations about money and how it has impacted their lives, as well as be supported without judgment.

During my time as a board member – along with people involved in corporate banking, nonprofit executives, faith leaders, students, and individuals who were previously program participants of Exodus Lending – we would open each meeting by sharing “money moment” stories. Someone would pose a question such as one of these:

• “Did you get an allowance as a child, and do you remember how much you received?”
• “What was your first job and do you remember how much you got paid?”
• “When did you become aware of your family’s household income and how did your parents talk with you about it?”

Obviously, any of these would lead to plenty of conversation. It was both fun to learn these things about one another, and inevitably led us to a deepened understanding of the roles that factors like race and class played in not only our experience as children but where we find ourselves now.

I HAVE NEVER TAKEN out a payday loan myself, but it wasn’t because of any particularly good decisions that I’ve made. And, I can trace back generations to see where racist policies benefitted my family, resulting in the stability that I enjoy today. It’s a reframing that I need to remember every day.

Even so, I need to shout out Lutheran Social Service of Minnesota (LSS). Its Debt Management Plan has created a manageable plan for my spouse and me to pay down credit card debt that was getting the better of us, and its counselors are currently helping me take the steps to qualify for Public Service Loan Forgiveness. (If you’re a church worker, get in touch with LSS to explore this opportunity!)

“Families without sufficient capital often know exactly where every dollar is.”

With financial talk in the air, this might just be a moment when we can get more practiced at having these conversations at church. Perhaps the next council or stewardship meeting could start with a “money moment” question. Or, maybe small group members could be encouraged to be vulnerable with each other about finances.

The summer lectionary in 2022 offers some great opportunities to talk about the structures that keep some people struggling financially while benefiting others. (If you are a preacher, get ready to talk about the shekel and the ephah on July 17!)

Bob Hulteen

I first heard the maxim that significant deaths happen in threes just a few years ago. The last few months have “made it real” for me, with three people who had significant impact on my life – two as mentors – passing away.

With two terms as president of Concordia’s pre-sem club under my belt, I was making plans to be seminary bound in 1979 when friends and I planned a “teach in” around registration for the military draft. As part of that event, we invited the ALC’s leading authority of the topic, Chuck Lutz, to speak to the campus community about the church’s position on the religious exemption to military service.

After Chuck presented, sensing perhaps some ambiguity in me about becoming a pastor, he invited me to lunch in the school’s cafeteria. We ate lunch and chatted. We kept chatting all afternoon. And, then we chatted further through supper, still at the same table in the cafeteria. Chuck made a compelling case that the church needed very active and involved lay leaders as much as it needed clergy. He “agitated” me to think about that as a calling.

“Chuck Lutz made a compelling case that the church needed very active and involved lay leaders as much as it needed clergy.”

My talk with Chuck is one of the most important discussions of my life. Although I still planned to go to sem (Wartburg being my choice), I no longer felt

responsibility to become a Minister of Word and Sacrament. And, before I could attend, I ended up in Washington, D.C., in the Lutheran Volunteer Corps, deeply engaged in the life of the Sojourners Community and St. Peter’s Lutheran Church. I was “living my best life” as a lay person engaged in the ministry of the church. Thank you, Chuck.

I was lucky enough later to serve on the Board for Church and Society (which the then-Rev., pre-Bishop Ann Svennungsen chaired) with Chuck after returning to Minnesota in the early 90s. Our meetings were packed with discussions of the public ministry of the church – the church’s engagement with civil society. Back then synod assemblies were still covered by local media, and resolutions still had some impact. So, committee members would debate the best means for addressing social issues.

Because our 2022 Minneapolis Area Synod Assembly was this Saturday, I didn’t have the chance to attend Chuck’s memorial service at his beloved congregation, Lutheran Church of Christ the Redeemer in Minneapolis. At almost the same time that Chuck’s memorial service opened, voting members at the assembly were debating issues like instituting a carbon tax, supporting people with addictions, and banning nuclear weapons. This was so fitting as Chuck would have probably chosen the assembly over his own memorial.

BISHOP LOWELL ERDAHL was probably my Sojourners colleagues’ favorite Lutheran during the time I lived in D.C. His courageous leadership within the church on issues of war and peace, sexuality, abortion, the death penalty, and more brought hope that ecclesial structures could be tied to movements that sought to bring a Beatitude vision into this world. He was known for his consistency on issues of life.

“Bishop Lowell Erdahl had an amazing balance of pastoral and prophetic that is so thoroughly needed today.”

He also was generous with his time. Moving back to Minneapolis as a layperson, Bishop Lowell was so thoughtful in offering space and time to learn more about how to offer a ministry of presence within the public square. He not only would want to talk about outcomes, but also the process for getting there. I saw in him that amazing balance of pastoral and prophetic that is so thoroughly needed today.

I especially am grateful for a long conversation about a sticky situation that involved a personal friend of his and some insensitive actions around issues of race. Without throwing his friend under the bus, Bishop Lowell, then retired, was insistent that it was important to do the right thing, not the easy one. He offered to be a backstop if the situation blew up. He walked his talk.

THE THIRD PERSON I will mention wasn’t a mentor, and I actually am telling the story of only one interaction with him. Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-Utah) was central to the conservative revolution of the 80s. A devote Mormon who wrote hymnody on the side, Sen. Hatch was an unexpected influence.

Steve Peck, a member of the Sojourners worshipping community, coached basketball deep in the heart of suburban Virginia. As a way of supporting Steve, some members of Sojourners would regularly make the long trek from inner-city D.C. to Vienna to watch his team play.

At that time Sojourners was leading efforts against a U.S. foreign policy that sought to destabilize  freedom movements in places like Central America, South Africa, the Philippines, and South Korea. My response to our federal incursions was, when at athletic events, to sneak out of the gym to get popcorn during the playing of the National Anthem.

One night at a Vienna basketball game, I didn’t get out fast enough and the anthem was playing. I decided to sit through the anthem. About 15 seconds after its conclusion, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I peered up to see the face of Sen. Hatch, whose soon Jess was one of the star players on the Vienna team. He said something like, “I noticed that you didn’t stand for the anthem. I was wondering if you’d let me know why.”

Gulp.

I preceded to explain my decision, … as calmly as I could. He asked more questions. He offered alternative ways to think about the situation. We disagreed on almost every topic, but he treated me – a “pretty confident” 25-year-old at the time – with the utmost respect, even when vehemently opposing my position. We talked for the entire first half, and parted – not in agreement, but both realizing the humanity of the other.

“Sen. Orrin Hatch and I parted – not in agreement, but both realizing the humanity of the other.”

It was harder for me to speak poorly of Sen. Hatch after that. He said things on the floor of the Senate that drove me crazy. And, I know that I had privilege that might not have been afforded others – maybe especially those from Central America, South Africa, the Philippines, and South Korea. But, I had to appreciate that he truly believed his position, and that he was willing to be curious when many others would have used the opportunity to deride my position. For that I was grateful.

Each of these men changed the way I view public space. I am eternally grateful for my connections to each of them.

AS A POST-SCRIPT: As I finished writing this blog, I realized that all three people I write about are old white men. I was fortunate to have so many mentors, especially while living in D.C., who weren’t in that category, who had been leaders in the Civil Rights and other movements and institutions. But, almost all of those individuals died years ago, even though they were born around the same time as these three about whom I now write. I became more deeply aware of the inequity in the cost that racist structures play on the health and well-being of gifted leaders taken from us too soon.

By Nicholas Tangen

This summer, the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices learning community is embarking on a summer of neighborhood listening. Each of the 13 participating congregations is planning its own listening work in its context; the Faith Practices & Neighboring Practices team will provide accompaniment, coaching, and resources along the way. This is an exciting time for our project, and the eagerness from our congregations to get out there and hear more about how God is at work in their community is incredibly energizing.

“More and more in American culture, the idea of truly connecting with our neighbors can be anxiety producing.”

In February, as we began laying out the plans for this summer listening, I challenged our learners to schedule a one-to-one with one of their own next-door neighbors. This project of neighborhood listening will require courage and openness. And more and more in American culture, the idea of truly connecting with our neighbors can be anxiety producing.

So, I thought this one-to-one assignment would provide an opportunity to stretch our imaginations and practice some bravery. Knowing that this would be a challenge for some of our learners, I also committed to doing this myself.

NOW, YOU MIGHT THINK that I have enough experience in community engagement that this wouldn’t be all that stressful for me. But you’d be wrong.

Much of my community engagement work has been in contexts that are not my own. This invitation was challenging me to connect with folks who have been only hundreds of feet away from my wife and I for nearly a decade. I was a little scared.

But I promised I would follow through, and I trusted that the learning community would hold me accountable – so I scribbled a quick note on a piece of notebook paper:

Hey there, this is your neighbor across the street. With all that’s unfolded in the last couple of years in our city, my wife and I are aware of how disconnected we feel from our neighbors. We’d love to treat you to a beer or a coffee and get to know you a little better. If you’re game, shoot me a text. Your neighbors, Nick and Kristin.

I dropped the note and our contact info in our neighbor’s mailbox across the street, and then we waited.

The next morning, I received a text:

Hey Nick, this is your neighbors. Your note LITERALLY made our day! We would love to connect.

I suddenly felt so much of that fear and guilt fall away, and noticed it being replaced by excitement, curiosity, and joy. When my wife and I talked later that night we were so struck by what a simple invitation could do. Can the kind of neighborhood connections we want to build really start with scribbled notes on a torn off piece of notebook paper?

We had beers with our neighbors that Friday. We set aside an hour after dinner and ended staying well into the night. We talked about family, and work, and what we’ve seen in the neighborhood. We talked about the Second Precinct and the militarized energy they’ve held since George Floyd’s murder. We grumbled about the “joys” of living in houses over a century old. And we made a commitment to checking in more regularly. It was lovely.

I WAS SO EXCITED to tell our learning community about my experience connecting with these neighbors. It had confirmed something for me that I have been trying to instill from the beginning – our first steps towards authentic relationship can be small, simple, and straightforward.

That’s not to say that all our problems are going to be solved by having beers with our neighbors. But what it does mean is that the kind of community change so many of us want to see is only possible when it emerges from connected communities. And connected communities do the little things well – extending invitations, spending genuine informal time together, and getting curious about one another.

“What might be possible if each of our congregations and the folks in the pews committed to practicing little things well?”

What might be possible if each of our congregations and the folks in the pews committed to practicing those little things well? What if we devoted our attention to building connected communities, rather than trying to be the leaders, the providers, or the saviors? What might happen in our neighborhoods? What might happen in our churches?

Only God knows, but we can follow that curiosity right into our neighbor’s living room and dream about it together.

So, drop a note in your neighbor’s mailbox. I dare you.

By Pastor Craig Pederson

The miracle of Easter was celebrated again this weekend: “Christ is Risen!” (You know the response, right?) And, for the first time in two years, there was the option – largely unfettered by COVID – to worship in person with others who were seeking the joy of the open tomb.

“Easter is a reset of our anchors.”

As I worshiped with my family and enjoyed the spiritual blessings of that service – the music, the flowers, the message, the beautiful (unmasked!) smiling faces of young and old – I also wondered about the challenges that our fellow worshipers were bringing with them to meet the Risen Christ on that Easter morning. For many during this Easter Season, one of the most impactful struggles is conceptual, yet very real: Inflation.

Is this an exciting Easter topic? Not so much.

WHAT IS INFLATION? It is an increase in the prices of goods and services over time that causes an economic imbalance, leading to a decrease in the value of money. Said more simply, during inflation, your money buys less stuff.

While I don’t know much about the technicalities of how inflation impacts larger economic trends, I do know that recently I’m paying more for the things I need and want: gas at the pump for our vehicles (three of them in our perhaps too-mobile household), natural gas for our house, electricity, food (at the grocery store and the cafe), the interest rate on a loan to make home repairs and improvements.

“For many during this Easter Season, one of the most impactful struggles is conceptual, yet very real: Inflation.”

Inflation in our U.S. economy is at a 40-year high. What does that mean? Basically, the gap between the wages and salaries of workers and the cost of buying goods and services has not been this large since the early 1980s. In this environment, choices on how to spend money become more real. And, of course, those who were already struggling financially have an even harder time trying to meet their basic needs.

THIS INFLATION CAN affect churches, too. When people have to make choices about how to spend money, church offerings can suffer. We certainly believe in a God of abundance. But as faithful as a person might be, when having to choose between purchasing food or gas or medicine and contributing to God’s work in the church, it is understandable that offerings may decrease – or sometimes not happen at all.

Earlier I wrote that inflation is both conceptual and real. One of the concepts economists use to examine inflation is the “anchoring effect.” The anchoring effect describes the common human tendency to rely too heavily on the first piece of information offered (the “anchor”) when making decisions.

For example, if a person hears that inflation is historically bad and signs of improvement are scarce, they will likely make spending choices that reinforce the effects of inflation. There is a sense of pressure to only spend money on basic goods and services that are already expensive. Even when new information is presented, the anchoring effect tends to keep people in their original frames of mind. This plays out on an individual level for consumers, and on a macro level for policy makers.

“What have we first learned and heard that that we still cling to, even when new ideas and information may lead us in a new direction?”

This makes me think about the anchoring effects in our churches. What have we first learned and heard – sometimes recently, sometimes long ago – that that we still cling to, even when new ideas and information may lead us in a new direction?

Easter is a reset of our anchors. Disciples who first thought that the Resurrection was as idle tale were changed. New life coming out of death became real. As present-day followers of Jesus, we now have in the promise and hope that we, too, might live a new life. Our discipleship can change and grow to share the love of Christ with our neighbors in new ways.

Inflation is real, in our churches and homes, in our businesses and our schools. But the grace of Jesus Christ is also real – moving our anchors and making possible things we might never have imagined before.

Christ is risen! May this miracle be your anchor and your guide this Easter season.

By Pastor John Hulden 

My big brother David (a pastor in Iowa) and I always greet each other this week using the catch phrase of Batman’s sidekick – Robin, the Boy Wonder. As a kid, I so loved watching the half-hour Batman TV series with Adam West as the title character and Burt Ward as Robin. 

Good versus evil was so well defined. The unchanging ritual of the Joker or Riddler or Penguin capturing Batman and Robin at the end of the half-hour show on the Wednesday episode, and then, miraculously (again!) escaping and “winning” on the Thursday evening show. (If only I could walk up the sides of buildings and have every tool imaginable on my belt.) 

Ah, I can long for simpler times. 

“If only I could walk up the sides of buildings.” 

With wars and unrest around the world, COVID, a mental health crisis, the deep political divide, racial disparities in education, the deeper divide between the rich and poor, … I can sometimes hear in my own mind, “Holy #@*^&, Batman!” 

MY CHURCHY FRIENDS, blessings to you this week as you plan and carry-out Holy Week worship services and all that comes with them. I am cheering you on. 

Beyond encouragement to pause and appreciate the Jesus story this week, I don’t have any wise or even pithy advice. But I will point you to Anne Lamott’s Facebook post as she approached her 68th birthday on Palm Sunday. Here are some lines I appreciated:  

God, what a world. What a heartbreaking, terrifying freak show. It is completely ruining my birthday plans. … Turning 68 means you’ve seen what you’ve seen — Ukraine, Sandy Hook, the permafrost. … Marjorie Taylor Greene. By 68, you have seen dear friends literally ravaged by cancer, lost children, unspeakable losses. The midterms are coming up. My mind is slipping. My dog died. Really, to use the theological terms, it is just too frigging much.

… So, what does that leave? Glad you asked: The answer is simple. A few very best friends with whom you can share your truth. … You call someone and tell them that you hate everyone and all of life, and they will be glad you called. They felt that way three days [ago] and you helped them pull out of it by making them laugh or a cup of tea. You took them for a walk, or to Target. 

Also, besides our friends, getting outside and looking up and around changes us. … The world is warming up. 

Well, how does us appreciating spring help the people of Ukraine? If we believe in chaos theory, and the butterfly effect, that the flapping of a Monarch’s wings near my home can lead to a weather change in Tokyo, then maybe noticing beauty — flapping our wings with amazement — changes things in ways we cannot begin to imagine. It means goodness is quantum. Even to help the small world helps. Even prayer, which seems to do nothing. Everything is connected. 

… So, Sunday I will celebrate the absolutely astonishing miracle that I, specifically, was even born. As Fredrick Buechner wrote, “The grace of God means something like, ‘Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you.’”   [Facebook post, April 5, 2022, at 12:32 p.m.] 

So how do I plan to navigate this week? I will be Batman-like, of course, with an amazing smart phone and a Leatherman tool attached to my belt. Oh, and I will also spend time with my reliable family, good friends, helpful co-workers, spring walks outside, and Holy Week worship that leads us to the promise of this coming miraculous (again!) Sunday.  

By Emilie Bouvier  

“Eight… Nine… Ten.”  

I finish the count with a strain and glance up, squinting at fluorescent lights. Another set down. I put down the dumbbells and move over to the kettlebell for deadlifts, next in the circuit.  

Two years ago, I would have never imagined that I’d relish this – the sweat and exertion of a grueling strength-building workout. 

But the thing is, as I get into alignment on the mat with a heavy weight in front of me, everything else fades away. All I have capacity to concentrate on is that 96Lb of cast iron and my effort to pick it up. 

“One… Two… Three…” 

We’ve been talking a lot these days about resiliency. And as unexpected as it’s been, this challenging workout class came to be a saving grace for me during a season that would have otherwise broken me, I’m sure. It’s become a balm amid a particularly hard day or hard week.  

“Two years ago, I would have never imagined that I’d relish this.”

I know I’m a little bit biased because it’s my brother who runs the class, but the added sibling time is just a bonus. Now, not only do I have a whole new appreciation for what my brother’s work is like as a personal trainer, but I also have a whole new understanding of what it looks like to tend to my body in building resiliency.  

I’ve become much more attuned to how much we hold onto our experiences physically, and just how physical our need is for health, connection, and healing.  

PART OF THIS JOURNEY TOWARD EXERCISE AS A RESILIENCY PRACTICE was fueled by a dear friend recommending the book “Breaking the Burnout Cycle,” by Emily and Amelia Sagoski. She didn’t offer this as an optional suggestion; she literally left it at my house and demanded I read it! Of course, in true irony I only found time to get through the first chapter. Yet, even that short excerpt was a helpful guide for using exercise as way to visualize and physically let go of the tension I’m so used to holding onto. 

As I’ve been reading another book that’s sat on my shelf all too long, “My Grandmother’s Hands” by Resmaa Manakem, I’ve also come to see my physical workouts as a way to better connect with and settle my body. Alongside the other embodied practices in the book, I’ve found strength-building has helped me metabolize my emotions and work to reroute the perpetuated harms of racialized trauma responses held in my body. 

I know exercise isn’t everyone’s best strategy for resiliency; it’s a good and helpful pathway, but the pathways are many. 

For me, all I know is that at the end of the day if I can show up and slam a medicine ball on the ground that I’ll be ok. And most
days, that’s enough. At the end of the workout, when I’m lying on the astroturf in a sweaty gym basement, I put my shaky, noodle-feeling arms on my stomach and feel myself breathing. In that moment of rest, I feel deeply and physically connected to my own humanity, my vulnerability, my strength. By that point I’ve physically worked out all the frustration, mental lists, and hurts of the day, and in my exhaustion, I feel on a gut-level that I’m ok. And that I’m claimed and loved by God.  

This is a similar muscle memory, I think, to that of ministry. A lot of church work is taking on the repeat rhythms, putting forward your best effort, and pushing when you’re spent and it’s all you can do to go through motions one more time.  But then doing the thing, letting go, and remembering that you are loved.  

“At the end of the day if I can show up and slam a medicine ball on the ground, I’ll be ok.” 

Whatever your resiliency practice is right now, I hope it connects you back to your sacred humanity and moments of rest in God’s grace. After all, this challenging yet beautiful season of Lent is marked by God’s walking with us through the physicality, stress, and messiness of being human. 

[Again, I’m biased, but if you’re looking for a personal trainer, I can’t recommend my brother Alex highly enough! absolutestrengthmn.com] 

By Rev. Norma Malfatti 

One of the joys I have in my call as our synod’s Director for Evangelical Mission is spending time with our new start and strategic ministry communities and their leaders. These communities also happen to include our synod’s ethnic specific, culturally specific and multi-cultural congregations. Last week in a renewed practice from pre-pandemic times, pastors of these communities gathered in person for mutual support and relationship building. 

As part of the conversation, we talked about how the synod can be a stronger supporter of their communities. Pr. Melissa Gonzalez, the mission developer of Tapestry, a bilingual community that worships at Oak Grove, Richfield, shared some profound thoughts about partnership with these ministries using the story of Jesus visiting the home of Mary and Martha in Luke 10. 

Often when congregations or individuals reach out to develop relationships with new start and strategic ministries, they approach the relationship like Martha approached hospitality, tending to tasks: cleaning, cooking, or serving in some other physically active way. This kind of help is important; showing up with hands and hearts ready to serve is a faithful approach to building relationships.  

However, as Jesus told Martha, it is not the only approach and may not even be the needed one. Like Mary, sometimes we just need to sit down and listen, have a conversation with the people and communities we wish to build relationships with. 

“They’re looking for some more Marys to be in their midst.” 

Last summer, members of the synod’s Racial Equity Lens Task Force and Mission Table sat down and listened to members and leaders from our 13 new start and strategic ministries. They listened to hopes and dreams, frustrations and losses, as we seek to not only build better relationships in our synod but also to learn how systemic racism and othering impacts these ethnic specific, culturally specific and multicultural communities of faith. This was holy and hard work, not only for the interview teams but also for our communities as they relived and shared their experiences.   

One of the early learnings from the interviews was that our ethnic and culturally specific ministries feel disconnected and isolated from others in the synod. I was reminded of this as Pr. Melissa shared that Tapestry, and our developing and strategic ministries more broadly, were looking for some more Marys to be in their midst. To simply show up, to worship and share in fellowship with them.   

FOR THOSE OF US WHO ARE WHITE, it can be intimidating entering a space that is not centered on dominant culture, including language and worship practices. I will admit that when I attend worship at our congregations that do not worship in English, most of the time I have no idea what is being said, though there is usually someone nearby who interprets for me. And when there isn’t, I meditate on the Scripture that was read or silently pray for the community I’m with, for deeper understanding of, and relationship with, one another. I’ve learned that I do not need to know every word that is said to have meaningful experiences with my siblings in Christ; I just need to be present and listen. 

When Jesus responded to Martha’s plea to make her sister get up and work, he told her that she was, “worried and distracted by many things.” Jesus’s words are not unlike those of Pr. Jane Buckley-Farlee, pastor of Trinity Lutheran Congregation in the Cedar-Riverside neighborhood, who says that when we show up in places that are new to us, especially when visiting people of a different language or culture, we are going to feel out of our element and may even feel incompetent. And that’s okay.  

“It can be intimidating entering a space that is not centered on dominant culture.”

Our worries over having the right words, knowing exactly what’s going to happen or even if we’ll be able to communicate with everyone can distract us from what’s most important – showing up with an open heart and open ears, much the same way Mary did when she sat down with Jesus. Mary was sitting in a space typically reserved for men and I bet it wasn’t just Martha that wanted her to be in the kitchen preparing the food. Mary showed courage, along with her desire to learn, by sitting with Jesus and the other men that were in her home. 

Perhaps the invitation to be like Mary is one you or your congregation have already been pondering. I encourage you to respond with yes! If you’re looking for a place to start, feel free to reach out, I’d be happy to share with you about our ministries. In the meantime, you can learn more about them on the synod website on the developing congregations and culturally and ethnic specific ministries pages. Like Mary and Martha, I can promise that your lives will be richer for spending time together with them and Jesus. 

By Jack Hurbanis 

 As we enter the season of Lent, Lutherans all over ask ourselves the same question: “Should I give something up for Lent, and if yes, what do I eliminate from my life for these next 40 days?”  

Growing up, this practice of “giving up” seemed much more like a punishment to me – when sweets were sent away and screens turned off, I would beg my dad to allow me to give up doing my homework instead. Unfortunately, my pleas went unheard. As I got older, I moved away from the practice of giving something up for Lent and the season became mostly associated with heading to church on Wednesdays for soup dinner.  

This focus on loss and sacrifice is something I am used to. I’m someone with, what my friends like to call, “pessimistic tendencies.” When making decisions, I often think first about what will be lost and what I’m missing out on. On road trips to visit family in Chicago, we would stop at the Flying-J rest stop to refill the car and buy a snack. My family often reminds me that as a kid, I would become paralyzed in the candy aisle as I could only think about all the treats I would be missing out on when I finally made my decision.  

BUT THIS LENTEN SEASON I HAVE RETURNED to the practice of “giving up” and I have realized that reduction isn’t always about what you’re losing. As part of my role at the synod as the Congregational Organizer for Environmental Justice, I am leading a group through a journey of giving up plastic for Lent. To clarify, we aren’t eliminating all plastic from our lives (as that is basically impossible in our current culture) but each choosing one single-use plastic item that we regularly use and replacing or eliminating it from our consumption. My decision was to eliminate plastic-packaged produce from my grocery shopping.  

In putting together this series, I found excitement in “giving up.” In this new lens of not only thinking about losing the things I love, like chocolate covered peanuts or watching television, I have found that there is a lot to gain when it comes to “giving up.” I have gained a sense of purpose as I live out my call to care for creation, a new challenge as I work to keep my commitment, and the opportunity to slow down and examine my own purchasing habits.  

“And I have realized that reduction isn’t always about what you’re losing.” 

So, for those of us who have taken on a Lenten challenge or who find ourselves thinking about what stands to be lost, I know it can be difficult, but it never hurts to remind yourself of what there is to gain. 

To help you remember some of the wonderful things that nature holds for all of us, I’ll share this prayer that we closed our first Lenten Plastic Session with: 

 We thank you, God of the sun and the moon;  

of the mountains, deserts and plains;  

God of mighty oceans, of rivers, lakes and streams;  

God of all creatures that live in the seas and fly in the air; 

God of every living thing that grows and moves on this sacred Earth;  

Help us to love and respect all of creation, to repair what we have damaged, to care for what you have made good and holy. Give us wisdom and the passion to change our minds and hearts and ways. Let us be mustard seeds in our world, bringing about ecological conversion which grows and spreads to every corner of the earth for our sake now and for every generation which is to come.  

We ask this through Christ, our Lord. Amen.  

(God’s Good Earth, pg. 295) 

If you are interested in learning more about giving up plastic, check out these resources: 

• Easy Guide To Giving Up Plastic  
• Hennepin County Plastic-Free Challenge 
• ELCA Young Adults #NoPlasticsForLent 

By Brenda Blackhawk 

It was about three Lents ago now, that my congregation last had a Lenten soup supper. I used to love coming to Salem, sharing a hot meal with my church family, and then singing along to Holden Evening Prayer. The Blackhawk family used to volunteer to make the soups for one week; my mom, my sisters and I each prepared a totally different flavor and style.   

I love food. That’s probably not a surprising statement for anyone who knows me, but what’s not to love? It nourishes, sure. But it is also a creative expression, a satisfying endeavor, a means of bringing people together, a way to show someone you love them, and so much more. 

“To me, food is about making memories with loved ones.”

I come from a family of cooks, coming down from the maternal side. My grandmother cooked in Northside restaurants and bars for most of her life; everyone down Broadway knew Betty Stoltenburg. My mother owned and operated Lou Ann’s Restaurant (in the Thrivent Financial building) from 2001 – 2012. And I had a spatula in my hand on a cooks’ line by the ripe old age of 14.   

In 2008, Grandma Betty, Auntie Shelley, and Mom struggle to make the Coconut Indulgences

We’re a family that doesn’t gather without a meal. We always show up with something delicious to contribute and are quick to share our favorite recipes. We all have different tastes and styles and skill levels, but we bond over the creating and the eating.   

We are cooks, NOT bakers. There’s a difference (other kitchen creators will understand). We don’t even like to bake. Yet, every year the women in my family gather a few weeks before Christmas to bake a ton of holiday treats. My mom and my aunt, Shelley, started the tradition some 16 years ago, when my grandmother was still alive.  

Not even one of us is a very good baker, nor do we really like the process of baking. But we love to do a project together. We love taking a whole day, analyzing the recipes, assigning tasks, laughing and talking, and reaping the rewards of a hard day’s work. Plus, we all have a bit of a sweet tooth.  

TO ME, FOOD IS ABOUT MAKING MEMORIES with loved ones. You know that feeling you get when you eat a meal that’s tied to a special moment in your life? I call it a “food memory.” All my favorite foods are the ones with a food memory. I can tell you a story for almost every recipe in my little recipe box. 

Holy Communion is a perfect example of a food memory. We share food and drink in community with one another, recalling a sacred moment long ago, and it is a practice that brings us comfort.  

“Food memories are holy.” 

Food memories are holy. And they can become more potent when life changes things up on you. On February 17, 2022, my Aunt Shelley passed away after a six-year battle with cancer. We were so blessed to have those six years of meals and food memories. We even managed to have one last family cookie-baking day this last Christmas, creating one more shared food memory. 

The 2021 bakers. Our last time baking with Auntie Shelley.

The very best thing about food memories is their ability to mentally transport us back to those sacred moments in our lives. They connect us to our loved ones of the past as well as the future generations. An added bonus is that they are never stagnant; there’s always someone playing with the recipes and creating new moments, improving the food memories for years to come. 

I’m sad that we’ve lost Lenten soup supper to the pandemic, at least for the time being. And I hope and pray that all our other church communities can get back to sharing in their food memories soon. In the meantime, do me a favor and take some time this week to create (or buy) and enjoy a food that brings you comfort. Happy eating!

By Rev. Craig Pederson 

“I called to the Lord in my distress; the Lord answered by setting me free . . . It is better to rely on the Lord than to put any trust in flesh. It is better to rely on the Lord than to put any trust in rulers.” Psalm 118:5, 8-9 

These words of the psalmist are often proclaimed by a pastor at the graveside, where family and friends prepare to commit their loved one to the earth. In those vulnerable moments, the pastor is entrusted to be the messenger of God’s comfort and hope in the face of grief.  

But what happens when those who speak of the trustworthiness of God have their own credibility questioned? Are pastors to be trusted?   

Two recent studies address this very topic. The Pew Research Center surveyed the opinions of Americans about their confidence in a variety of professions and institutions. In the Pew report, religious leaders came in sixth out of the nine professions surveyed. Only 55% of respondents said they have at least “a fair amount” or “a great deal” of confidence that religious leaders “would act in the best interests of the public.” Professions that engendered greater confidence were medical scientists (78%), other scientists (77%), the military (74%), police officers (69%), and public school principals (64%). Those who were lesser included journalists (40%), business leaders (40%), and elected officials (24%).   

Another study, from Barna Research, reported a similar level of perception about the credibility of religious leaders. In response to the question, “Would you consider a pastor to be a trustworthy source of wisdom?” 57% of respondents said “yes, definitely” or “yes, somewhat.”   

“The pastor is entrusted to be the messenger of God’s comfort and hope in the face of grief.”

In that same study, pastors were asked their perceptions of their own profession. In response to the question, “Would you say the community/neighborhood where your church is located considers you to be a trustworthy source of wisdom?” only 21% responded “yes, very much so” (another 62% said “yes, somewhat”). 

Regarding their own congregations, the question, “Would you say your congregants consider you to be a trustworthy source of wisdom?” about two-thirds (67%) of pastors said “yes, very much so” while the remainder said, “yes, somewhat.”  

I READ ABOUT THESES STUDIES with a bit of defensiveness because their findings do not match my observations and experience. Over the seven years I have had the privilege to serve in my position, I have witnessed rostered leaders in our synod show courageous, stabilizing, and innovative leadership in their congregations and the broader community in some incredible ways. And beyond the challenges of leading their churches in a rapidly changing culture, over the past two years these leaders were handed the additional complexities of a global pandemic, racial justice awakening, and economic upheavals.   

But then I realize that my close-up “insider” view of pastoral ministry is not reflective of the broader population. They see pastors making controversial statements on social issues or in the political arena, or getting involved in financial scandals or sexual misconduct, and may generalize those actions to the profession as a whole.   

“Pastors who faithfully live out their calls earn the trust of the congregation and the community.”

And I must also acknowledge that in our fallen humanity, there are pastors who do not always live up to the calling and expectations of their office. Some of the hardest work we do in the synod office involves situations where trust has been broken through boundary violations or other inappropriate actions by rostered leaders. Thankfully, this is not the norm – far from it.  

Dr. Glenn Pakiam, the researcher and author of the Barna study, suggests, “the crisis of credibility is a symptom. The misuse of authority is the root cause. . . Credibility is the result of the good and right stewardship of power. When you understand the purpose of your power and the limits of your authority and act accordingly with humility, you earn trust and gain credibility.” 

Pakiam’s assessment of pastoral trustworthiness is sobering, but I believe it is also encouraging. Pastors who faithfully live out their calls earn the trust of the congregation and the community. They are stewards of God’s promises, bringing comfort and hope in times of distress, and proclaiming a vision of God’s justice and peace for all the world. Pastors, we see you – and we are grateful for you!