From the Bishop

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

“Stay awake.” At the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus asks the disciples to keep watch with him; to stay awake. In describing the life of discipleship, Jesus says, “Be alert. Many will try to lead you astray. Do not be distracted. Keep awake.”

Today, after the murder of George Floyd, we think nothing could distract us from our call to dismantle the sin of systemic racism.

How could we be distracted — especially after the events of last week?

• On Monday, we observed the 100^th anniversary of the lynching of three young black men in Duluth.
• On Wednesday, we commemorated the Emanuel 9 and the fifth anniversary of the shooting of nine church members by a white supremacist in Charleston.
• On Friday, we observed Juneteenth, the day news of emancipation reached Texas in 1865, a full two-and-a-half years after the Emancipation Proclamation.

After spending a week reflecting on the horror and evil of racism so entwined with our nation’s history, we think we will never forget.

But, how quickly we do. What will our attention span be this time? How long will we stay awake? Engaged? Actively working for change?

MUCH HAS BEEN WRITTEN about our shortened attention span in the digital age. One article caught my eye. Three behaviors are key to the discipline of staying attentive:

1. Set goals
2. Get together with others
3. Get out of your chair

Today might be the perfect day to set our anti-racist action goals for the coming year. What actions will we take? What books will we read? What legislation will we seek? What consumer habits might we change?

Today is also a good day to commit to relationships. Getting together with others is key to finding both support and accountability for paying attention. Finally, getting out of your chair improves blood flow and circulation, making the brain more attentive and engaged.

I like that list. Actually, I’d like to explore even more what it might mean for Christians to get out of their chairs. Could there be an even deeper meaning?

At Gethsemane, Jesus tells the disciples, “Stay awake.” They don’t. It is only Jesus who stays awake, that night and through the next day. Jesus is so awake, so attentive to human need that he enters into great suffering and death to redeem them.

And then, when the powers of evil finally put Jesus to sleep, there’s still One who stays awake. Almighty God, awake and alive in power and love, raises the Beloved. God overcomes that final slumber – out of love for the world.

It’s that resurrection power that Jesus breathes into the disciples. It’s that Spirit – the Spirit of the risen Christ – that fills them at Pentecost.

We aren’t on our own in this anti-racism work. We’re blessed with power beyond our imaginations. Power enough to raise us up and keep us moving.

When Rev. Osagyefo Sekou met with synod staff members last Saturday, they spent much of the time praying. He’s Pentecostal, after all. He’s also wise. God shows up when we pray – to fill us, connect us, empower us, and raise us up to more than we could’ve imagined.

 UPDATE: An earlier version of this blog incorrectly used the date 1965 instead of 1865 as the year Juneteenth was established. 

Three officers looked on. They looked on for eight minutes and 46 seconds. They looked on as their fellow officer killed George Floyd by kneeling on his neck.

How could this happen? How could they simply watch? And, then, in the midst of our questioning, we hear the distant voice of the prophet, Nathan, calling our names, just as he spoke to David, “You are the ones who stood by. You are the ones who looked on, saying nothing, doing nothing.”

“Neutrality isn’t really an option.”

Neutrality isn’t really an option. According to Ibram Kendi, “there is no such thing as a nonracist or race-neutral policy. Every policy in every institution in every community in every nation is producing or sustaining either racial inequity or equity between racial groups” (emphasis mine). We can’t stand on the sidelines; sidelines don’t exist. We can’t just look on. Trying to look away is just another way to support the racial inequities developed in our country over centuries of racist policies and practices.

The calling of God is Micah 6:8, to “do justice,” not just to avoid injustice, but to do the kind of justice that overturns systems promoting inequity and discrimination.

SO WHAT CAN WE do? What can we say? For starters, those of us who are white can listen to our siblings of color; we can study the racist history that shapes us; we can seek a deeper understanding of the racist policies we’re called to dismantle; we can imagine and work toward a future where racial equity is the lens guiding our lives.

We can begin with learning. If you’re reading this on our Facebook page, take a moment to type a comment about a book or article or podcast or documentary or movie that’s been helpful for you. Here’s a racial justice discussion guide for the movie Zootopia – good for both children and adults.

The books I’m currently reading are Louise Erdrich’s The Night Watchman and Ibram Kendi’s How To Be An Antiracist.

“We can imagine and work toward a future where racial equity is the lens guiding our lives.”

In just two weeks, June 17, we can join others across the ELCA for an online prayer service as church to commemorate the Emanuel 9, the nine people shot and killed on June 17, 2015, during a Bible study at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. We will provide more information or you can visit www.elca.org/emanuelnine.

Though a word of hope may seem distant, I end with another Kendi quote:

There will come a time when racist ideas will no longer obstruct us from seeing the complete and utter abnormality of racial disparities. There will come a time when we will love humanity, when we will gain the courage to fight for an equitable society for our beloved humanity, knowing, intelligently, that when we fight for humanity, we are fighting for ourselves. There will come a time. Maybe, just maybe, that time is now.*

May it be so. And may we – each one of us – be about this holy work.

*Ibram Kendi’s quotes are from his book How to be An Antiracist, and from his introduction to Jason Reynolds remix of his book Stamped from the Beginning.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Two of the hardest jobs I’ve had were working at the Wee Care Day Care Center and waiting tables at the Toole County Fair. I was exhausted after trying for eight hours to anticipate another activity to engage a two-year-old. And, after an evening shift at the food tent, I was so overtired I had endless nightmares about forgetting someone’s food order.

The coronavirus pandemic has put a spotlight on those whose hard work we’ve come to call “essential.” It has also revealed the often inverse relationship between their working conditions and their importance:

• The entire food production system is sustained by countless workers who earn minimum wage and work in difficult conditions (e.g., the pork processing plant in Sioux Falls).
• The nurture and teaching of children depends upon daycare workers whose average pay is $10/hour or about $22,000/year. Not only are these children the scientists and leaders of tomorrow, they are also the dependents of those in healthcare and other essential work.

Follow each day’s post during “Essential Workers Appreciation Week on the Minneapolis Area Synod’s Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/mplssynod/

IN HIS REFLECTIONS ON the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker last Friday, Pope Francis said, “Today … let us pray for all workers, so that no one might be without work and all might be paid a just wage. … The vocation God gives us … [is] to … work. But this can be done only when the conditions are just and human dignity is respected. … Every injustice done to a person who works is a trampling on human dignity, including on the dignity of the one who commits the injustice.”

“Every injustice done to a person who works is a trampling on human dignity.”

We’ve begun to ask questions about how different the world might look after the pandemic. What are we seeing more clearly in this time of crisis? What are we learning? And, what changes will we seek because of what we’ve learned?

Today we see more clearly the working conditions of our “essential workers.” May we also use this time to study the systems that create those conditions and consider how we might work with Pope Francis to ensure that “working conditions are just and human dignity is respected.”

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen 

We know the instructions from the cockpit:

In the unlikely event of a loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop down from the panel above your head. … Secure your own mask before helping others.

For the past few weeks, congregations have been focused on securing their own oxygen masks: learning how to lead online worship, teach Bible studies via Zoom, create cell groups and networks so all are “accounted for,” submit PPP loan applications, and provide phone-based pastoral care. The list is long and the learning curve is steep. 

“Now is a good time to look at the websites of our shared social service ministries.”

At the same time, we know that people all around us are living with significant needs – waiting for a neighbor to reach out – to provide the life-giving oxygen of love and care.

But, how do we show true neighbor-love when a novel virus with significant contagion and mortality rates spans the globe? How do we show compassion when “physical distancing” is the first step in a love that includes “first, do no harm”?

MOST CONGREGATIONS HAVE long been engaged in social service ministries prior to Covid-19. Now is a good time to look at the websites of these shared ministries. What are their current needs? I loved reading emails describing ways people have chosen to use their stimulus checks – supporting Lutheran Social Service, their congregation, the local food ministry. I imagine we’ve all been inspired to love in new and helpful ways.

“People all around us are living with significant needs, waiting for a neighbor to reach out.”

In his letter to the Pastor of Breslau Germany during the plague, Luther articulates a 16^th century version of “secure your own mask before helping others.”

To flee from death and to save one’s life is a natural tendency, implanted by God and not forbidden unless it be against God and neighbor, as St. Paul says in Ephesians. …, ‘No one ever hates their own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it.’ …

Therefore I shall ask God mercifully to protect us. Then I shall fumigate, help purify the air, administer medicine, and take it. I shall avoid places and persons where my presence is not needed in order not to become contaminated and thus perchance infect and pollute others, and so cause their death as a result of my negligence. ….

If my neighbor needs me, however, I shall …  go. …

See, this is such a God-fearing faith because it is neither brash nor foolhardy and does not tempt God.

God, grant us wisdom and courage as we love our neighbor as we love ourselves.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Thirty years ago last month, I was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer. I was scared to death, a mom with three kids, ages 8, 5, and 2. I had no idea what the future would hold.

The day of my mastectomy – 4 o’clock on a cold Friday afternoon – the surgeon stopped by to see me. He said, “My greeting to you, Ann, is the same greeting the early Christians gave to each other when they were hiding in the catacombs underground, afraid for their lives.” “Christos ane’sti,” he said in Greek. “Christ is risen.”

It was an incredible assurance. In the face of surgery – in the face of a future that was terribly uncertain – he assured me that the crucified and risen Christ held me, held my future, and held the future of all those I loved.

TODAY IT SEEMS MUCH of the world is living with fear and uncertainty. Though we aren’t forced to hide in the catacombs, the orders to stay at home feel like forced seclusion, isolated from those we love, afraid of what the future holds.

So, how do we speak God’s word in a time such as this? We say, “Christos ane’sti.”

The good news that Christ is risen is really the whole gospel in a nutshell. Because Christ is risen, we know that Christ died – for us.

In the death of Christ, God entered the very depths to do battle with our enemies – with sin, death and the power of the devil. In the resurrection, we receive the fruits of forgiveness and new life.

“We say “Christos ane’sti,” and in that proclamation we receive a glimpse of the future.”

We say “Christos ane’sti,” and in that proclamation we receive a glimpse of the future. Because death no longer has power over Jesus, we know that death will not have the last word. No matter what fear and uncertainty you face in this world, it is resurrection that will greet you at the end.

Not long ago, during another time of anxiety and fear called World War II, Helmut Thielicke preached about the resurrection’s power to change our lives today. Because we are joined to the risen Christ, we know who holds our final hour. And, if “the last hour belongs to us, we do not need to fear the next minute.”

“Christos ane’sti.” Christ is risen indeed.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

In all my readings about being a “non-anxious leader” (ala Peter Steinke and Ed Friedman), I don’t recall any reference to anxiety as “unanticipated grief.” But that’s one description used by David Kessler, co-author with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross of On Grief and Grieving. “Unhealthy anticipatory grief is really anxiety,” he notes in a recent interview in Harvard Business Review.

And, grief in its many forms is what we’re experiencing in the face of COVID-19:

We feel the world has changed, and it has. We … realize things will be different. … The loss of normalcy; the fear of economic toll; the loss of connection. This is hitting us and we’re grieving. We’re also feeling anticipatory grief. Anticipatory grief is that feeling we get about what the future holds when we’re uncertain. … Unhealthy anticipatory grief is really anxiety. … Our mind begins to show us images. … We see the worst scenarios.

“I encourage us all to ask if pastors and deacons have someone to talk with about their own anxiety and grief.”

I’ve returned to Psalms for my devotional readings during this season, finding permission there to cry out my deepest losses and greatest fears before God.

Walter Brueggemann writes that the “Psalter is a collection … of the eloquent, passionate songs and prayers of people who are the desperate edge of their lives” (Praying the Psalms: Engaging Scripture and the Life of the Spirit). No censure is needed.

WHAT ARE YOUR DEEPEST losses and great fears amid this pandemic?

• Do you have a loved one who’s died from Covid-19, someone who’s currently ill, or someone who’s highly vulnerable if they do become sick?
• Do you have a loved one who risks exposure every day in a hospital; goes to busy, people-filled factories because they’re in an “essential industry”; or makes decisions as a civic leader effecting countless lives?
• Are you exhausted from trying to learn and do your job from home? (I am especially mindful of all who work full-time jobs while also caring for children who are home from school. Please say a special prayer for them today).

As our pastors and deacons and church staff work to minister to members and neighborhoods carrying their particular anxiety and grief, I encourage us all to care for those church leaders – and to ask if they also have someone (a mentor, wise friend, spiritual director, therapist, clergy coach) to talk with about their own anxiety and grief.

“Grief in its many forms is what we’re experiencing in the face of COVID-19.”

The work of articulating our concerns – in prayer and in conversation with others – is vital to our serenity and hopefulness in this time.

Again, in Brueggemann’s words:

“The work of prayer is to bring … two realities together – the boldness of the Psalms and the extremity of our experience. … [It is to use] language to give the extremities their full due and to force new awareness and new configurations by the boldness of our speech. All this is to submit to the Holy One in order that we may be addressed by a Word that outdistances all our speech.”

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

How long, O God, how long? When can I leave my house? When will there be enough COVID tests; enough n95 masks? When will this pandemic be over? How long, Oh God?

And, how can we make faithful decisions with so many unknowns? How can we find peace and serenity in such uncertainty?

Two days before the first Covid-19 case in Minnesota, our grandson Noah John Koslig was born. I’ve thought a lot about his namesake the past two weeks.

It’s hard to imagine all the questions Noah had. God calls him to prepare for a massive flood; to make an ark big enough to hold his family and two of every living creature.

“It’s hard to imagine all the questions Noah had.”

So Noah builds an ark, even while the sun shines brightly. Noah fills the ark with living creatures, and the sun’s still shining. And then, as God promised, the rains come – forty days’ worth. But, there’s a catch. Even after the rains stop, it takes 150 days for the waters to recede and the ark to touch land. How did Noah cope with such uncertainty?

NOAH WASN’T THE ONLY one called to follow God in a time of uncertainty. Scripture is filled with such stories of faith. The Israelites wandering in the wilderness without an end in sight. The Magi following a distant star to Bethlehem. The early church, with countless starts and stumbles, following the Spirit to the ends of the earth.

So what can we learn from our forebears in faith? Don’t expect to have the whole picture before you take a step. Don’t expect that one decision will be sufficient. Don’t expect to always make the right decision.

A word of caution. There are key decisions we must make in the face of pandemic. Even if it sometimes feels like building an ark while the sun shines, it’s essential that we do what the CDC and MN Department of Health say to do. Keep at least 6 feet away from others. Stay home if you’re sick. Wash your hands.

On the other hand, decisions about grocery delivery vs. grocery pick up; going to the dentistnow or alter; or cancelling your cabin reservation for August; these are not critical decisions. When you feel overwhelmed by the minor choices, choose instead to breathe.

“Don’t expect to have the whole picture before you take a step.”

Our kids and grandkids could sing us a more contemporary hymn about decisions in a time of sifting sand. From Frozen 2, in the face of great uncertainty and loss, Anna wonders what to do:

The life I knew is over, … I can’t find my direction.
Take a step, step again. It is all that I can to do. The next right thing.
I won’t look too far ahead. It’s too much for me to take.

We are in this together. (Thank God!) We’re probably in this for longer than we’d anticipated. And, our loving God is also with us — as close as the next breath.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Church nerds often find many things to disagree about. But, I think most church health experts would agree on some basic truisms about “vital congregations.” Most would probably name the following:

1. Be clear about your mission. Why are you here? Why, specifically, is your congregation (not just any congregation) here?
2. Engage your neighborhood with respect, curiosity, and faith that God is already at work there.
3. Raise up leaders – identify, nurture, and support current and future servant leaders.
4. Plan and lead worship that invites participation and proclaims the gospel in Word and Sacrament.
5. Provide for life-long faith formation.

LAST WEEK I HEARD something I never thought to include in the list. I add it now:

6. Don’t apologize for how big you used to be.

Dr. Anthony Bateza, assistant professor of religion at St. Olaf College in Northfield, gave us a wonderful analogy last week during his lecture “Loving Your Political Neighbor: Lessons from Luther for Today,” as part of the series “The Challenge of Leadership: Ministering in an Election Year.”

Imagine yourself being invited to a party in someone’s home. You are met at the door and welcomed to join the festivities. Before long, your host takes you aside and says, ‘You know, I’m really sorry there aren’t more people here. Two years ago, we had three times as many. Last year, twice as many. Now look. Each year, the crowds get smaller and smaller. I’m really sorry.’

How would you feel? I might think, “Well, I’m not sure I want to be at this party. Perhaps, I just grab my coat and leave.”

No matter what our worship attendance, the gift we have to give others is not “crowd size.” The gift is the Gospel of Jesus Christ – revealed in Word and Sacrament and through Beloved Community.

“No matter what our worship attendance, the gift we have to give others is not ‘crowd size.’”

Each week when we worship, we’re really hosting a party. It’s a gathering where God’s Spirit promises to be at work creating new life and hope.

When the weekly party begins, it’s time to focus on the community who’s shown up. And it’s time to trust that, with the very Spirit of God among us, there’s just the community needed to have a wonderful party.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

Throughout my life I’ve worked hard to avoid claiming that any particular political party is the closest reflection of God’s will. I believe that Christian people can live out their values in whatever party they choose; that the two-party system has given this country an important history of checks and balances.

My childhood family was a wonderful combination of Republicans and Democrats. Our conversations were lively; but shaped by respect and curiosity.

“My family’s conversations were lively; but shaped by respect and curiosity.”

I remember a talk Dad and I shared. We couldn’t agree on the best policy on a particular problem facing our country. We ended up just naming the values we did agree on – honesty, hard work, fairness, generosity, among others. And, we humbly recognized that there may not be just one strategy – one political party – that could achieve our values most effectively.

SHAPED BY MY FAMILY’S story, I was deeply saddened this week. There’s no question that President Donald Trump, Rep. Nancy Pelosi, and Sen. Mitt Romney disagree politically. Our country is made better by honest political disagreement and discernment.

But, this week, something else happened; something beyond political disagreement. In December, Pelosi told a reporter that she prays for the president “all the time.” On Wednesday, Romney said his vote for impeachment came “from the conviction that my oath before God demanded it of me.”

Then, on Thursday, President Trump said: “I don’t like people who use their faith as justification for doing what they know is wrong nor do I like people who say, ‘I pray for you,’ when they know that’s not so.”

The back and forth between these leaders feels like a slippery slope, more dangerous than a case of partisan bickering.

“The back and forth between these leaders over prayer and conscience feels like a slippery slope; more dangerous than a case of partisan bickering.”

As people of faith, we believe that no one can know the private prayers of another. No one has the power to denounce the conscience of another. We can critique actions; we can disagree with positions. But, we do not have power to know that which is only known by God. Not even a president has such power. For a political leader to claim authority to judge another’s faith or conscience is troubling indeed.

Maybe I’m making more of this than I should. If you’re reading this post and would like to make that case, I’d love to hear from you (for a conversation shaped by respect and curiosity).

In the meantime, we can all pray – for our country, its leaders, and all who strive for the common good.

By Bishop Ann Svennungsen

I was privileged to meet Drew Hart, religion professor at Messiah College, when I sat next to him at dinner last Tuesday before his lecture at Luther Seminary. Impressed with his grace and approachability, I wasn’t exactly expecting the challenge his lecture would bring.

Oh, his words came with that same grace and humility; no fire and brimstone.

Still, I was challenged to think in a way I’d never done before. And I was grateful for this experience on the cusp of celebrations of Martin Luther King, Jr., a prophet who challenged a whole nation/world to think in a new way.

Both King and Hart call the Christian church to address racism in response to God’s call to love the neighbor. We work to dismantle racism because of the tragic evil and suffering racism has caused neighbors today and throughout history.

BUT HART DOESN’T stop there. The Christian church needs to address racism because God calls us to have no other gods. It’s not just the command to love our neighbor that calls us to dismantle racism, it’s also the command to love God above all else.

And, at least since the doctrine of discovery was signed by Pope Alexander VI in 1493, Christianity has been intertwined with racist anthropologies. More specifically, Christian theology has been entangled with a worldview that puts white people at the top of a false, humanly constructed racial hierarchy.

“How has our understanding of God been shaped by a history steeped in white supremacy?”

The Papal Bull stated that any land not inhabited by Christians was available to be “discovered,” claimed, and exploited by Christian rulers and “that barbarous nations be overthrown and brought to the faith itself.”

Similar church documents justified slavery. Martin Marty recalls a fellow historian noting that the white southern Protestant clergy prior to the Civil War “came across as moral, devout, pastoral, learned, caring, informed, and generous preachers. And also to a person they defended human slavery, claiming that it was a response to divine mandates and divine will, biblically authorized.”

EPISCOPAL BISHOP AND South African activist Desmond Tutu called apartheid a heresy. Because all people are created in God’s image, all have intrinsic value. However, in apartheid, “[r]ace is the principle which determines your value,” Tutu said. The policy of apartheid is “totally un-Christian, evil, and a heresy.”

How has our understanding of God been shaped by such history? What is our responsibility to look deeply and honestly at Christian churches in this country and dismantle all that has worked to collapse Christian faith with white supremacy?

“It’s not just the command to love our neighbor that calls us to dismantle racism, it’s also the command to love God above all else.”

Yes, love of neighbor calls us to dismantle racism. And, so does love of God. May we have the courage to question when our other gods – like white supremacy – obstruct our understanding of the God revealed in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.