From the Bishop

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

In 1900, my grandfather, David Svennungsen, was a member of St. Olaf’s tenth graduating class. I’m not sure what he paid for tuition, but I know something about the funds needed to start the college. Pastor Jacob Muus went to each of his members – mostly farmers – and asked for a $100-500 gift. They raised $22,000 which, with the donated land in Northfield, was enough to break ground.

What is it about Lutherans that we build schools – that we sacrifice and dream and plan so that children and youth receive an education? Perhaps it’s because the Lutheran movement began in a university. Perhaps it’s because Luther was one of the first to advocate that both boys and girls receive an education. A primary reason, in my mind, is the Lutheran understanding of vocation and the common good.

“What is it about Lutherans that we build schools – that we sacrifice and dream and plan so that children and youth receive an education?”

Not unlike Pastor Jacob Muus, Archbishop Musa Filibus is calling his flock to dream and sacrifice to build the first Lutheran University in Nigera. On Sunday, November 21, every Nigerian congregation will be taking a special offering to launch the university. Already, donors have given time, in-kind offerings, almost 500 acres of beautiful land adjacent to the church hospital, attended countless meetings, and prepared 800 pages of required documents for the National University Commission. And they did much of this during the pandemic.

Wisely, the National Commission also requires a start-up fund of 200 million Naira – or 500,000 dollars – to ensure stability for the institution. And, for that, we asked Archbishop Filibus to consider us – Nigeria’s only ELCA companion synod – as part of his flock.

JUST AFTER GRADUATING from two Lutheran educational institutions, Concordia College and Luther Seminary, I read Ron Sider’s book, Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger. In 2010, I read Peter Singer’s The Life You Can Save. I’ve never been quite the same. As a person of means while 14,000 children under age 5 die each day from poverty, I have tried to follow Singer’s modest proposal that 5-10% of our annual household income be given to address global poverty. This year, my husband and I are thrilled that this commitment can be part of the launch of something so remarkable – the first ever Lutheran University in Nigeria.

In today’s dollars, the $22,000 Pastor Muus raised equals about $500,000. That’s what our synod is committed to raising. In today’s dollars, the $500 gifts from farmers equal about $10,000. Perhaps, that’s what many of us can give.

“We asked Archbishop Filibus to consider us – Nigeria’s only ELCA companion synod – as part of his flock.”

Like many other synod congregations, the small Lao Evangelical Congregation in Robbinsdale will take an offering this Sunday. Pastor Thiem Baccam said, “We don’t have lots of resources. But we each have food and shelter, so we will give to this important work.”

Archbishop Filibus once told me that because mustard seeds aren’t native to Nigerian soil, Christians there talk about “having the faith the size of a mango.” Indeed, this audacious endeavor to build a Lutheran University will require faith the size of a mango.

So many of us look back fondly and in awe on the growth of the “mustard seeds” that various of our ELCA colleges – St. Olaf, Luther, Gustavus Adophus, Augsburg, Luther, Concordia, and 20 others – have sprouted into. Now is a time where we can share in the work of Pastor Muus by joining with Archbishop Filibus in dreaming on the education of desirous students. We can see visions of a 100 years from now when Nigerians reminisce about the establishment of their university and the tremendous impact it has had on all aspects of their country.

[To review the Lutheran University Nigeria case statement or to view a video with compelling insights from Archbishop Musa Filibus, Dr. Paul Pribbenow, Rev. Mark Hanson, and Bishop Ann Svennungsen, visit the synod’s LUN web page. You can also make a contribution toward this audacious and ambitious project on that page.]

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

My trips to Nigeria are filled with surprises. I was surprised in 2017 when I stood up to greet the Lutheran Church of Christ in Nigeria’s annual assembly and saw a gathering of more than 70,000 people. I was also surprised to meet members of the church who had graduated from Lutheran colleges in the United States – like Waldorf and Concordia. I was surprised how hot it would be in a (borrowed) mitre and cope at the installation of Archbishop Musa Filibus.

“Please think seriously about becoming a civic leader. The need in our country is urgent.”

I was surprised too by the words of a keynote speaker addressing the crowd of more than 70,000. She spoke about lives of discipleship, about following Jesus, and about discovering your vocation. And, just as I thought she would probably invite people to become pastors, she said, “And, please think seriously about becoming a civic leader. The need in our country is urgent. Listen to see if God is calling you to service in the public square.”

It felt just like she was channeling Martin Luther who said, “if your town needs a mayor, become a mayor.”

TODAY, MY GREATEST surprise (and joy!) is that the Lutheran Church of Christ in Nigeria (LCCN) has discerned a corporate vocation to establish a Lutheran University to prepare young people to do just that – to educate a generation of civic, professional, and society-strengthening leaders.

Already a leader in primary, secondary, and theological education, LCCN has done extraordinary groundwork – even during the COVID-19 pandemic – to make this vision a reality. They have acquired nearly 500 acres of prime real estate adjacent to the LCCN hospital in Demsa; submitted comprehensive plans (Master, Business, Academic, and Legal) to the Nigeria National Universities Commission; and raised more than $73,000 to achieve these milestones.

“The Minneapolis Area Synod Council has authorized a synod-wide campaign to commence immediately. The goal is to raise the needed $500,000 by the end of 2021!”

Only one major hurdle remains: To ensure commitment, preparedness, and fiscal stability, the National Universities Commission requires that $500,000 be reserved in a university account before they will authorize the launch of the Lutheran University in Nigeria.

This is where we come in. Our Synod Council has authorized a synod-wide campaign to commence immediately. The goal is to raise the needed $500,000 by the end of 2021! We will have lots of information and guidance so congregations and individuals can donate. And, you can read all about the need, the vision, and the work already done at the synod website and in our case statement.

Yes, the Lutheran Church or Christ in Nigeria, is launching a wonderful, Spirit-led, even surprising vision to serve the common good. And maybe you, like I, will feel a bit surprised at how much you want to stretch so you can support this work. I hope so!

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Growing up at St. Luke’s Lutheran, my friends and I always knew which adults were “in our corner.” Alice who laughed at our silly antics. Dave who listened to our stories, our hurt feelings, our questions. Even more, I suppose, we knew which adults weren’t so enamored with the way we behaved.

I sometimes wonder if a question churches might use for self-assessment could read: “How many adults in your church would kids say are “in their corner”? Can they name at least one?

“It’s hard not to wonder if children will resist leaving the comfort of pajamas, snacks, and watching worship from their living room couch.”

As we prepare for Rally Sunday, even with all the uncertainties about in-person Sunday School and Youth Group, I believe it’s especially important for the church to be in our children’s corner.

A recent UNICEF report concludes: “If we are to prevent COVID-19 from having a life-altering impact on an entire generation of children and young people, especially the most marginalized, we must ensure that schools are among the first places to reopen and the last to close.”

MY GRANDDAUGHTER SPENT spent much of kindergarten learning online. Now, in first grade, she’s in a new, Spanish immersion classroom learning to read in a language neither of her parents speak. I cannot imagine learning to read in front of a screen with no other Spanish speakers around. I join with UNICEF in asking: How can we ensure that the schools around us are “the first places to reopen and the last to close?”

Last week, I heard Michael Osterholm recommend that school children wear N95 masks and go to classrooms equipped with portable HEPA air filter machines (exchanging the air at least five to six times an hour). I also heard him mention using homemade air purifiers if needed (made with a box fan, HEPA filters, and duct tape).

What if the Minneapolis Area Synod congregations partnered with nearby schools to provide such purifiers (homemade or otherwise)? Maybe this could be a “God’s Work Our Hands” project? Or, what if those with Thrivent insurance make a point to apply for the $250 gifts cards – and use them to host a church party for making DIY air purifiers?

“As we prepare for Rally Sunday, even with all the uncertainties about in-person Sunday School and Youth Group, I believe it’s especially important for the church to be in our children’s corner.”

And what about worship and Sunday School? It’s hard not to wonder if children will resist leaving the comfort of pajamas, snacks, and watching worship from their living room couch. How will they feel about returning to in-person worship and Sunday school? To be sure, their interest will be much higher if they’re greeted by adults who smile and greet them and make them feel at home.

Please know you are in my prayers as you prepare for Rally Sunday amidst this continuing pandemic. I pray for all of us who lead and teach —  that God will give us courage and wisdom to welcome children as Jesus did. And, to find creative ways to show that we’re standing in their corner.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Parker Palmer calls himself a “contemplative by catastrophe,” writing “I’m most likely to go deep only when I slam into a wall or fall off a cliff.” I might speak about myself in a similar way. You might as well.

For me, the practices of prayer and meditation have received uneven attention throughout my life. I’ve worked with spiritual directors, practiced Lectio Divina and daily journaling, participated in weekly prayer groups. In part, that variety reflects a hope that a brand new prayer practice will help me become more disciplined. It hasn’t always worked.

“We feel guilty that we pray only when ‘catastrophe strikes,’ so we wonder why God would listen to us at other times.”

Roberta Bondi, a devoted student of the monastic mothers and fathers, encourages beginners to include three things as they learn to pray: scripture (the psalms especially), conversation with God where “you really speak your mind,” and silence (simply sitting in God’s presence). Start with ten minutes a day – no more. Nothing, she writes, “derails prayer faster than starting with some … noble idea of what it ought to be. … [A] lot of prayer is just a matter of showing up.”

And yet, sometimes even “showing up” is a challenge. We feel guilty that we pray only when “catastrophe strikes,” so we wonder why God would listen to us at other times. We enter prayer feeling a deep sense of duty, seeing prayer as another “should” on our “to do” list. Flourishing relationships are rarely formed by duty alone. Or, we struggle deeply with doubt and despair, and wonder if God will show up when we do.

WHERE DO YOU find yourself in your life of prayer? How has COVID-19 affected you? Do you have spaces for support (or accountability) when it comes to spiritual practices?

Each year the rostered leaders are expected/encouraged to attend a three-day collegial gathering to enhance their spiritual and intellectual lives, called the Bishop’s Theological Conference. The theme of this year’s conference is “Faithful Resilience.” One of our foci will be spiritual resilience – exploring the practices of prayer that strengthen our relationship with God and sustain our resiliency. (Ask your rostered leader about it when they return on September 28!)

“A good friend begins her prayer time by first placing herself in the picture of Jesus talking with the woman at the well.”

With gratitude for a grant awarded by the Lilly Endowment, the Minneapolis Area Synod will be starting with three cohorts of members of synod churches that will delve into “faith practices” and “neighboring practices” that can ground congregations and members in their baptismal vocation. The 15 participating churches in this first two-year cohort will be able to experiment with practices at home and in their neighborhood and learn together from their experiences. Participation in these cohorts is a real opportunity for renewal and imagination, personally and communally. (The second set of cohorts will begin in the summer of 2023; is your congregation interested?)

A good friend begins her prayer time by first placing herself in the picture of Jesus talking with the woman at the well. Perhaps, one might imagine themselves in the picture of the prodigal son returning home. Both are pictures of radical grace. And, maybe that’s the most important thing of all about prayer: No matter how often, how well, or how disciplined we are in prayer, it is the God of grace who meets us there.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Sitting by a Minnesota lake over the Fourth of July, I marveled watching my daughters with their friends. College friends had flown from Philadelphia and Indianapolis with their babies to be with my younger daughter. My older daughter was circled by two families whose friendships were made stronger because of the joy their school-age children found in each other.

Friendship. How does it happen? Why is it important?

We are created for relationships – but find ourselves wary about making friends. Human evolution plays a role in this hesitancy. We have survived by knowing that the risk of mistaking a foe for a friend could cost us our very lives. Mistaking a friend for a foe might cost us a friend. But, we would still be alive.

“Intimacy starts with attention and attunement.”

Today, we may not fear such consequences. However, making friends is not always named in our list of life goals or New Year’s Resolutions. And yet, psychologists, neuroscientists, (and faith leaders) agree that “intimacy with other people … is one of the most profound ways to be happier, healthier, and calmer.” (NY Times, November 20, 2019: Emma Pattee, “How to Have Closer Friendships (and Why You Need Them”).

As vaccinations make gatherings possible, now is a good time to “work on our friendships.” The Times suggests five steps:

1. Create a foundation of security. (Hint: answer that text.) Before we attempt closeness, we need to feel secure.
2. Pay close attention. Intimacy starts with attention and attunement.
3. Let yourself be known. The next time you’re with a friend, start diverting the conversation into exposing more vulnerability.
4. Ask for help. Lean on your friends.
5. Accept that closeness isn’t one-size-fits-all. Some of us need dozens of connections; some of us need only two or three.

WHEN RECALLING BIBLICAL friendships, we think of David and Jonathan, Mary and Elizabeth, Naomi and Ruth. New Testament scholar, Dr. Gail O’Day, challenges us to look to Jesus as Friend – especially as he is revealed in John’s Gospel. In Jesus’ farewell (John 15), he calls the disciples his friends. In the cultural world of the first century, friendship included two key characteristics: a willingness to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (Aristotle) and the courage to speak the truth as opposed to “being a flatterer” (Plutarch). Flattery is primarily used for selfish reasons; speaking the truth in love is a mark of authentic friendship.

“Why is friendship important?”

In Jesus, “these two friendship traits are connected. Jesus is willing to speak and act boldly throughout his life because he is willing to lay down his life. … Friendship in John is the enactment of the love of God that is incarnate in Jesus and that Jesus boldly makes available to the world” (from “Jesus as Friend in the Gospel of John”, by Gail R. O’Day, in Interpretation, April 2004, pl. 157; emphasis in quotation is mine).

I marvel at the friendships my daughters have built. And, I have hope that the generations coming after us may teach us anew the God-given gift of friendship.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

May 2 was the sixth anniversary of the death of our son John Amos. He was 30 years old and died after a long and courageous fight against cancer.

Of course, my mind is filled with memories of John. But, these past weeks, I’ve been thinking especially about his teachers. John had Down Syndrome – the process of learning was different for him. And I was continually amazed by how John’s teachers could break learning down into tiny increments; small steps for learning a larger task.

What are the nine steps needed to learn how to safely cross a street? In what order do you teach them? The teachers’ patience, creativity, and incremental affirmations were something to behold.

TODAY WE FACE challenges that require such skill and perseverance. What are the nine steps needed to dismantle white supremacy? To transform our criminal justice system?

Yes, a momentous step was taken just two weeks ago, when a jury found former officer Derek Chauvin guilty of third-degree murder in the killing of George Floyd.

“To each is given unique dance steps by the Spirit’s power to move the process forward toward justice for all.”

Episcopal Church Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, an African-American ecumenical leader, said after that step, “As overjoyed as I was when Barak Obama was elected president, I was less surprised then than I am today [the day of the verdict]. There was a part of me that just couldn’t give into the hope until the jury rendered its verdict. And yet, 12 jurors believed in justice enough … to do what we never thought would happen.”

It was a big deal. But so is the long walk and the many steps ahead of us.

Emilie Towns, dean of Vanderbilt Divinity School, said, “This is only one trial. We still have a whole lot of work to do in order to develop a criminal justice system that we all can believe in and that we can actually literally live in.”

THERE ARE LOTS AND lots of steps before us. For our son, John, the steps were broken down in a linear way. First one step, then the next.

In the work of societal and systemic change, steps are broken down in a communal way – shared across a whole community committed to justice – each person taking distinctive steps on the long, hard road of societal change.

Martin Luther’s work on Christian vocation is a wonderful tool here. Each of us committed to love and justice needs to find the steps we are individually called to take in this communal work. I can’t do everything. Neither can you. We need to discern our gifts, our passions, and our distinctive callings.

“Very few [church attenders] discover their Christian vocation for doing justice and seeking shalom in their neighborhoods because they worship together with other disciples of Jesus.”

Faith-based community organizing also provides important wisdom. Drew Hart, our 2021 Synod Assembly keynote speaker, in his book Who Will be a Witness, writes that, though Christians work with justice organizations, “very few … discover their Christian vocation for doing justice and seeking shalom in their neighborhoods because they worship together with other disciples of Jesus” (emphasis mine). Hart believes faith-based community organizing can provide steps for Christian communities seeking to work for justice. This is the hope of the Minneapolis Area Synod organizing department.

I am reminded of Paul’s word to the Corinthians. “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” To each is given unique dance steps by the Spirit’s power to move the process forward toward justice for all.

What are the steps to which God is calling you? Today might be a good time to reflect on that question. Oh, it might not always be easy. I think of our son struggling to read the paper each morning, especially the forecast. Still, he loved to tell us if it was going to be cloudy or sunny.

A momentous step toward justice has recently been taken in our city. God bless and keep us as we continue this Spirit-led work – living out our callings to step forth – in the movement toward justice for all.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Christ is Risen!

Wherever you gathered last Sunday – masked and socially distanced in the sanctuary, on folding chairs in the church parking lot, at home on zoom – I pray the Easter Gospel came through loud and clear: Jesus Christ, crucified and risen for the sake the of the world.

This is the central affirmation of the Christian faith, the hope on which we stand.

Luther’s theology grounds us deeply in this resurrection hope. But, sometimes I wonder if Martin Luther’s central question – “How can I please a righteous and wrathful God?” – is still the question we bring to Easter morning.

“Our fear may not be of a wrathful God. Our fear may be that we are simply not worthy, lovable, good.”

In his remarkable Fosdick Lecture at Augsburg University, David Lose explores this wonderment with incredible clarity and depth.

Though we may not be as worried about pleasing an angry God, Lose argues, “we’ve never been under more pressure to prove our worth.” The combination of “inadequacy marketing” (consistent messaging that says we are not acceptable unless we purchase something to make us so) and the omnipresence of social media (that can bring the need for affirmation to minute-by-minute fervor) are tools of a world asking us to “prove our worth.”

WHAT SURPRISED ME was the third in his list of such pressures: the politics of division. In Lose’s words: “There is an incredibly toxic force … that has come up in a new way … that seeks to pit us against anyone who looks differently, believes differently, thinks differently, and votes differently. … [It] invites us to craft an identity that is not helpful, but always in opposition. It’s more important to know who you’re not and who you’re against, than who you’re for.”

Given such forces, Lose argues that “the pressure to justify ourselves whether by possessions or beauty or wealth or power has never been greater … to our detriment and to that of others.” Lose punctuates this thought with a marvelous quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer: “Self-justification and judging go together, as justification by grace and serving others go together.” (emphases mine)

“Though we may not be as worried about pleasing an angry God, Lose argues, ‘we’ve never been under more pressure to prove our worth.’”

So, what is the question we bring to Easter? Am I good enough? Worthy enough? What is the question you bring?

It may not sound exactly like Luther’s. Our fear may not be of a wrathful God. Our fear may be that we are simply not worthy, lovable, good. And, the Easter Gospel speaks exactly to that. Grace, Justification, the Good News are, in Lose’s words, “God’s declaration that we are loved and accepted and declared worthy and holy.”

Baptized into this identity, joined to Christ’s death and resurrection, we are declared “good,” and freed to love and serve our neighbor.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Exodus 2:11: One day, after Moses had grown up, he went out to his people and saw their forced labour. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsfolk. 

Growing up in a small Montana town, I could not imagine how the trial of a single police officer would provoke the attention and action of thousands across the globe. I grew up, a white child, thinking the system of policing was just, good, and served everyone equally.

Like the prophet Moses, I now see things I once ignored.

“I grew up, a white child, thinking the system of policing was just, good, and served everyone equally.”

“The policing system in our country was profoundly shaped by the racism used to justify slavery and genocide.” 

Reading The New Jim Crow or Just Mercy, watching the documentary 13th, or seeing the movie, The Hate You Give have been experiences akin to that of Moses seeing the forced labor and beatings of his people.

The policing system in our country was profoundly shaped by the racism used to justify slavery and genocide.     

If police officers aren’t held responsible for actions supported by systemic racism, there is little reason to hope that our call to dismantle systemic racism will be effective.

I HAVE LIVED FOR 65 years without needing to tell my children or grandchildren to fear the police. That has not been the experience of parents who are Black and Brown. I am humbled and grateful that BIPOC siblings have been open to sharing these heartbreaking stories with me. During the days and weeks of this trial, may we all take time to listen to parallel experiences. (You might start with the books and media listed above.)

And, while listening, ask: Is there any chance that – in our lifetimes – there could come a day when such conversations will not be necessary?  

“I have lived for 65 years without needing to tell my children or grandchildren to fear the police.”

That will only occur if police officers are held responsible for their actions supported by systemic racism.

During the days ahead, we pray, we listen to our BIPOC siblings, and we – like Moses – seek God’s guidance for how we are called to work towards God’s vision of justice and shalom.

*For a deeper understanding of the ELCA’s position on the importance of the criminal justice system and the need for reform, see The Church and Criminal Justice: Hearing the Cries.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

What is the first thing you will do once the pandemic subsides? Will you take a family reunion? Are you longing for in-person worship? Do you want to take a trip to someplace fun and unusual?

There’s so much I yearn to do once restrictions are lifted and we can return to “normal.” And yet, in this surreal space of restrictions and waiting, I challenge us to think whether “returning to normal” is what we truly want – or what our global home can bear.

“We have been charged to be caretakers of creation.”

In his opinion piece in the January 25 edition of The New York Times, Roy Scranton, Notre Dame professor and director of its Environmental Humanities Initiative, describes this challenge more succinctly and powerfully than I. He writes:

It’s easy to forget that 2020 gave us not just the pandemic, but also the West Coast’s worst fire season, as well as the most active Atlantic hurricane season, … huge wildfires in both the Amazon and the Arctic, … the collapse of the last fully intact ice shelf in the Canadian Arctic, and increasing odds that the global climate system has passed the point where feedback dynamics take over and the window of possibility for preventing catastrophe closes. …

More alarming, recent observed increases in atmospheric methane, a greenhouse gas more than 80 times stronger than carbon dioxide over the short term, are so large that if they continue they could effectively overwhelm the pledged emissions reductions in the Paris Agreement, even if those reductions were actually happening. Which they’re not.

According to the climatologist Michael Mann, “The more observations we get, the more sophisticated our models become, the more we’re learning that things can happen faster, and with a greater magnitude, than we predicted just years ago.”

Going back to normal now means returning to a course that will destabilize the conditions for all human life, everywhere on earth. Normal means more fires, more category 5 hurricanes, more flooding, more drought, millions upon millions more migrants fleeing famine and civil war, more crop failures, more storms, more extinctions, more record-breaking heat. Normal means the increasing likelihood of civil unrest and state collapse, of widespread agricultural failure and collapsing fisheries, of millions of people dying from thirst and hunger, of new diseases, old diseases spreading to new places and the havoc of war. Normal could well mean the end of global civilization as we know it.

Spurred on to read more perspectives on the looming crisis, I have already reserved my copy of How to Avoid a Climate Disaster by Bill Gates – a more optimistic spirit than Roy Scranton – and pray I will find more heartening news about the way forward.

AND YET, I DON’T imagine even Bill Gates can promise that returning to “normal” can prevent the crisis before us. Again, in the words of Professor Scranton:

In March last year, watching an unknown plague stalk the land, I felt fear, but I also felt hope: the hope that this virus, as horrible as it might be, could also give us the chance to really understand and internalize the fragility and transience of our collective existence. I hoped we might recognize not only that fossil-fuel-driven consumer capitalism was likely to destroy everything we loved, but that we might actually be able to do something about it.

What can we do?

• First, we must find ourselves centered in the reality that our cloud of witnesses have often faced overwhelming events. Surround yourself in the awareness that you can’t do it alone, even though you do have a part to play.
• Find others in your congregation or as part of the synod’s EcoFaith team to think strategically about how to address the problem in those places where you are able.
• Consider other voices – marginalized voices – as you become engaged. It is just such listening that informs my thinking about addressing the Line 3 construction.
• Become better equipped to discuss the challenge before us. Perhaps you can find people who will read both the books by Bill Gates and Roy Scranton with you.
• Find tangible ways that make some difference (even though it is not enough in-and-of-itself). While spending untold hours in our home, we discovered that air-drying our clothes can reduce the average household’s carbon footprint by 2,400 pounds a year. (Sometimes, during my Zoom calls, you can see those clothes hanging on the line my husband Bill created.) You will feel more empowered to take on bigger issues when you have “skin in the game.”

“Consider other voices – marginalized voices – as you become engaged.”

We have been charged to be caretakers of creation. Today, we are becoming more aware that we are part of creation, and that our caretaking must sometimes mean undoing harm we have caused. We can become overwhelmed to the point of inaction by this realization. But, together as a community of faith, we can follow a shared calling to be healers of the breach. Together, we can dream that, though our collective existence may be fragile, the future is yet unwritten and we are co-creators by our thought, words, and deeds.

May we all be filled with the hope that the One who creates also re-creates in the moments when that is most necessary, … and the re-creation includes us.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Epiphany 2021 is forever marked as the day our Capitol was breached by an angry and violent mob; the day our country was betrayed by threats to human life and the institutions of democracy.

No one could close their eyes to the horror. And, from Majority Leader Mitch McConnell to Speaker Nancy Pelosi, leaders across the political spectrum spoke to condemn what they saw.

But not just our national leaders were riveted by the day’s events. The whole global family watched. Indeed, Archbishop Musa Filibus from our companion synod in Nigeria called me within the first hour of the riot, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Epiphany 2021. Actually, the word epiphany means revelation or manifestation. We will likely never forget what was revealed to us last Wednesday.

OH, MOSTLY WE ASSUME that epiphanies are good: the magi recognizing Jesus as the Messiah, the disciples recognizing the risen Christ on the road to Emmaus.

But, scripture also describes epiphanies that are not so positive – moments when God opens our eyes to personal sin or corporate evil. And God’s judgment often follows such epiphanies. Before the fall of Israel, the word of God was heard: “I know how many are your transgressions, and how great are your sins— you who afflict the righteous, who take a bribe, and push aside the needy in the gate.” (Amos 5:12)

“No one could close their eyes to the horror.”

God knows. God sees. A veil has been lifted. (Make that many veils.) On Epiphany 2021, we saw clearly that:

• Angry rhetoric from leaders can lead to violence, injury, and death
• Christian symbols can be used to support idolatrous Christian nationalism
• Racial bias in law enforcement is real – evidenced by how Black Lives Matter protesters were treated much more aggressively than those in Wednesday’s mob
• Only since 1965 have we been multi-racial democracy; our work in dismantling white supremacy is far from over

Perhaps, the most redemptive epiphany I saw was when adversaries across partisan lines stood together in shared horror and denunciation. Could it be that something was finally broken open on Wednesday? Something revealed to compel us all – on every side of the aisle – to take seriously the current reality we face? Is there a chance we can now turn that shared horror and condemnation into a shared commitment to do something?

“Truth-telling is not the final act.”

Whether it be repentance or reformation, the work begins with honesty. Prophets like Amos spoke hard truths. “Here is sin. Here is brokenness.”

It begins with honesty. But it doesn’t end there.

Truth-telling is not the final act. In the words of Walter Brueggemann:
The church has two principal tasks in our time, I propose:
   – to practice grief in the face of denial by truth-telling;
   – to practice hope in the face of despair by promise-telling.

As people of the cross and resurrection, we have hope in the power of God to bring life even in the midst of death. We have hope in “the God who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist” (Romans 4:17) and “is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20). Our hope is based in God’s resolve to gather all heaven and earth together in one community of justice, peace, and love.

We resist denial; we refuse despair. And together – for it’s only together – we live out the “hope that is in us,” following Jesus in a life of discipleship.