Bishop’s Blogs

This blog post is an excerpt from the “charge to action” shared by Bishop Ann Svennungsen at the “Service of Prayer and Lament Honoring the Life of Philando Castile” held on July 9, 2016, at the Chapel of the Incarnation at Luther Seminary in St. Paul. Philando Castile was killed during a traffic stop at a corner barely a mile from the seminary. This worship service and procession was sponsored by Augsburg College, Lutheran Social Service of Minnesota, Luther Seminary, the Saint Paul Area Synod, and the Minneapolis Area Synod. More than 200 of the 400-plus worshipers participated in the procession.

And so we prepare now to walk – together – marching to the place where Philando Castile was killed.

We walk as part of a long line of the faithful crying out for justice. We walk with the Israelites – led by God’s pillar of fire – marching in an Exodus from oppression to freedom. We walk with the children of Soweto and the women of London. We march with our brothers and sisters in Selma, Birmingham, and Washington, D.C.

We march because our society is all too willing to close its eyes to injustice and oppression.

So, we march to make the invisible visible. Some may think that white privilege isn’t real, that systemic racism doesn’t infect our whole society. But we know that privilege and racism are real. And we are here, ready to walk, to visibly affirm that these real issues must be addressed.

But, we also walk as a visible sign of repentance. As the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. put it, “We … repent in this generation not merely for the hateful actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people.” We march because we will be silent no longer.

We walk in repentance, in humility. We set out – weeping with those who grieve and calling the powerful to account.

At the 2016 Minneapolis Area Synod Assembly, voting members decided to ask every congregation to write a racial justice mission statement, to talk openly about racism, to acknowledge that we in the church can be catalysts for change.

Maybe, as we walk today, we can think about our own individual mission statements for racial justice. What will I do? How will I hold myself accountable? We are fighting structural evil. We need structures of accountability; we need one another to call us to courageous engagement.

So we join hands today to walk – a sign of our repentance, our solidarity, and our commitment. We walk today to accompany all who grieve so deeply and to advocate for real change: for employment and a living wage, for educational success for all children, for affordable housing, for equitable and transparent criminal justice systems.

We walk because we are called to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.

We walk, even while knowing this is just one step in our long march toward justice.

So let us walk – joined together – following Jesus who journeyed even through death to resurrection.

Although I have a Norwegian surname, I come from a long line of both German and Scandinavian Lutherans. I am grateful for the faith my ancestors brought when they immigrated to the United States.

Now I live in Minnesota, a land that is a bastion of Lutheran strength. But things are changing. Yes, some churches are growing, but more congregations are shrinking. Sanctuaries once filled with a thousand worshipers are now happy with 100.

People wonder if they will have the resources to keep the doors open. When I asked one church what they thought God was calling them to do and be in the next five years, an older woman said, “I just hope our church is around long enough to have my funeral.”

This is not a new reality for many in other countries, especially Europe. But, in Minneapolis, many are nostalgic for the good old days and wonder why we can’t just bring them back – those days when the cultural supports for the church were strong.

And yet, in a profound way, this is an opportune moment for American Lutheranism – a time to reflect on our true identity, our true mission. Without cultural supports or cultural expectations, we can look more carefully at what God is calling us to be and do. We can ask: What might it mean that people believe in Jesus and belong to faith communities not because it’s supported by culture, but in spite of culture’s indifference or even discouragement? What new thing is God doing in our time?

This is God’s church and God is alive, calling us in new ways, to new ministry and service. So, what is our identity and mission in this new time? Are we called to save an institution? A denomination? A specific congregation?

Or, are we called to share the good news of Jesus Christ? To form life-giving communities of faith? To join with God in seeking justice and shalom throughout the world?

We can’t just ask what we can do better to attract people (not that that is wrong), but we must ask how we meet people where they are. Not how are we going to get folks to come to us, but how do we go where people are, entering the neighborhoods and communities we share.

These are exciting times, if we can but see it.

I rejoice to see a new apostolic age. The Spirit of Christ is awakening the church for the sake of the Gospel.

“Many Samaritans believed in Jesus because of her testimony.”

After hearing about living water, the Samaritan woman left her water jar by the well (no time to lug that heavy thing!) and ran to the city.

Her witness to the people might be the best example I’ve seen of Evangelism — Lutheran style. She tells her story, “this man knows everything I’ve ever done” — which probably includes some things she’d rather keep to herself. Still, he doesn’t shun her — but engages a deep theological conversation.

She tells her story. She invites them to come and see. And she ends with a question: “He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”

Speak (one of the hardest things for shy people), to people you know, share your story, extend an invitation, be humble.

The Samaritan woman spoke to her community, shared her story, invited folks to come and see, and witnessed to her faith in the form of a question: Perhaps this man is God’s Messiah, do you think?

Sometimes, I think we’ve so equated evangelism with conversion — with the need for a miraculous and immediate response from the listener — that we say more than we should, and speak it with more confidence than we have.

The world is a different place from the 1950s and 60s when I was a child. People aren’t just naturally showing up for church. We wonder if our children will still have faith. Still, even those deep concerns don’t banish our fears. We are still afraid to witness.

Oh, some of that fear comes from misunderstanding. We think that to witness means to ask someone, “Are you saved?” Or, “Will you read these four spiritual laws and pray with me for your salvation?”

To witness is not to convert. To witness is to share a story and invite to community. We Lutherans are pretty clear that conversion is much less about a one-on-one conversation — and much more about a community gathered around Word and Sacrament. We’re also pretty clear that conversion is a continual, life-long journey — beginning with eternal life in baptism — and receiving again and again forgiveness and new life in Christ.

So, let us Lutherans take our cue from the Samaritan woman. She teaches us to “speak, to people you know, share your story, extend an invitation, be humble.”