This is another churchy blogpost. I haven’t been on here in a while, and a LOT of stuff has gone down since the last time I posted. The biggest things are the sudden, unexpected, heart-wrenching and world-changing loss of my wife to metastatic breast cancer on September 26 and then the Category 4/5 Hurricane Ian that slammed into our town two days later. Most of everything I’ve been doing since that time has been related to the aftermath of one or both of those things. But I’m trying to find a way forward through this mess.

One of the paths that I’m taking through the mess is work. Our church building is still in disarray, so it’s not really convenient to be in the office most of the time. Plus, I have a lot of extra running around to do on account of being a single dad. So I’m really just not in the office much. But I’m still working, just in different ways. Including returning to our weekly Bible/Book Study and, now, launching a twice-monthly cross-generational faith formation “event” following the Faith5 model.

In both the book study and the Faith5 event, the issue of justice came up, albeit in slightly different contexts. We’re studying Michael Hardin’s The Jesus Driven Life, which is all about discovering the non-violent, non-retributive God whom Jesus called Abba. In chapters 5 and 6, we’re talking about … well, we’re talking about a LOT of things, but the issue of justice came up in our discussion as an aspect of “shalom.” Normally we translate that word as “peace,” but that translation fails to capture the holistic character of God’s peace, which is about wholeness and restoration, not just of an individual, but of entire communities and the whole creation.

So, in that discussion, we turned to Matthew 5 and the sermon on the mount, where Jesus radicalizes his own scriptural tradition when he tells his listeners, “You have heard it said by men of old, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’ but I say to you, don’t resist an evildoer. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn and offer him the left.” You know the passage. Walter Wink famously pointed out that, in order for someone to strike me on the right cheek, unless they are using their (forbidden) left hand, the only way to strike that cheek is to do so with a backhand, colloquially named “a bitch slap.” I’m not shying from that term because the rawness of it captures the degradation and humiliation that phrase implies. As Wink points out, it’s violence done by a supposed superior against a supposed inferior. When Jesus says, “offer him the other, as well,” it’s a way to suggest that the slap-ee demands to be met as an equal, not as an inferior. It shames the aggressor and brings the possibility of justice, equality, wholeness.

In the Faith5 context, we were discussing our preaching text from the Narrative Lectionary, which included the famous line from Micah 6: “You know, O Mortal, what the LORD requires of you: Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.”

When I preached on that text, I pointed out the thing that all the prophets made clear: authentic worship, whether here in Jerusalem or there on Mount Gerazim, or in our building, or in the park, or wherever… it all amounts to nothing and is an offense to God if it isn’t accompanied by DOING – not just talking about, but actually DOING justice.

As an aside, but a relevant one, I also talked about how doing justice is a natural outcome of walking with God, because to know God through relationship is precisely what teaches us God’s will and directs our doing of justice. That “love kindness” bit again fails to capture the fullness of the word “chesed,” which is the kind of “steadfast love” (how we normally translated that) of God, which is self-emptying, co-suffering, and radically forgiving. (Shout-out to Brad Jersak and Vladika Lazar Pohalo for those phrases!)

The same person who had asked me in the book study to define what I meant by “justice” asked me again to define it in this Micah context. I began to give an answer, and someone else had something to say, so I stopped myself. I’m now glad I did, because the whole point was this: justice flows naturally, organically, from that co-suffering, radically forgiving, self-emptying love of God, which one can ONLY know by a humble walk with the divine. One of the ways Jesus phrased this in John’s Gospel was by using the vine and branches metaphor. You can’t really separate the branches from the vine. When they are connected – or mutually abiding, if you will – the line between the one and the other is blurred. And there you have it. Walk with Jesus, who EXUDES chesed, who EMBODIES shalom, who calls on us to IMITATE him as he imitates the Father.

We don’t need to DEFINE justice when we are ABIDING in justice. Don’t ask ME to say what justice is or isn’t. Look to Jesus. Because my suspicion is, “you know what is required of you.” Jesus already told you.

Reflections on Worship Changes

Today in church, we made a couple of fairly minor tweaks to the way we do worship, and both of these were planned. We also made a third, much more unplanned change, and I want to reflect on all of this really quickly.

First a preamble: I was speaking with a council member a week or so ago, and our conversation turned, as it often does, to numbers. Both of us are well aware that numbers are, by no means, the best indicator of a congregation’s health. But we also know that numbers aren’t insignificant, if we’re going to continue to follow the model of the church that Lutherans have literally always used on this continent. Congregations are, by design, self-supporting. The offerings of the congregants pay for all of the ministries of the church, including the ministry of the called pastor. So, no, numbers aren’t insignificant.

But this conversation we were having about numbers led me to say, not for the first time and not in the first context, that tweaking things a little bit here or there isn’t going to bring about major change. We can change an entire worship style or worship time or worship location. Chances are, we are only going to continue to reach those we are already reaching. And that’s fine, if maintenance is what we’re after. But if we want change, we can’t just keep doing what we’ve always done with the same people we’ve always done it with. Doing what you’ve always done will continue to yield you what you’ve already gotten .. except with decreasing results.

I say all of that just to say that what we did in worship was really NOT change. It was tweaking. Minimal tweaking at that.

So what did we do? First thing: We moved away from what was rapidly becoming a 29-page bulletin with just about every word, every phrase, every response, every pause spelled out on the page. It was ridiculous. Not only was that an enormous squandering of resources in terms of paper and ink, but also it highlights the criticisms that some more Charismatic Christians level against liturgical churches like ours. When everything is spelled out, there’s little room for deviation and no room for the Spirit to move. Now, of course the Spirit will move where she will, but it’s not our job to make it harder for the Spirit to blow around. I’d like us to get out of the Spirit’s – and our own – way. Just a little. So we moved from the long-form bulletin to a severely foreshortened version, plus the use of the hymnal.

Second thing: We moved away from the Revised Common Lectionary to a Narrative Lectionary. The RCL has some issues. It consists of 4 readings: one from the “Old Testament,” a Psalm, a “New Testament” reading, and a Gospel reading. The OT reading is meant to link in some thematic way to the Gospel reading, but often it doesn’t do that in any clearly discernible way. The New Testament reading is supposed to fit in thematically, as well, but often it’s really just kind of wedged in there with seemingly no rhyme or reason, and then the text is chunked up in ways that absolutely rip the reading out of its context and make it less than worthless.

The Narrative Lectionary seeks to address that and other issues by reducing the number of readings to one. The one reading is longer and more contextualized than the 4 of the RCL, and it’s also meant to function over time, as the name implies, as a narrative. That is, there is a flow from week to week that is often lacking in the RCL. So we made that move today as well, and this was planned.

The more unplanned tweak we made existed as a germ in my head but I wasn’t sure how I was going to pull it off. But it involves the intercessory prayers, aka “The prayers of the people.” Well, “the way we’ve always done it” <ahem!> makes it absolutely the opposite of the prayers of the people. The people aren’t lifting up their concerns. Some writers of the prayers at Augsburg Fortress are writing those prayers. Don’t get me wrong: those are great prayers a lot of the time. But they aren’t necessarily the concerns of THIS people in THIS time and place. I want the people to offer THEIR prayers. And part of this involves us getting over ourselves and our hangups about praying in public. Look, I’m an introvert, and so I get this. But in Christ there is no slave or free, no Jew or Greek, no male and female, and no introvert or extrovert. We are the body of Christ, and if we can’t be comfortable enough to pray in front of one another, then maybe we oughta ask ourselves just what the hell it is we really believe.

So here’s how I did it. First, I invited people to sing at the beginning of the prayers. This is a practice I picked up while serving a lovely community in North Tulsa, although I didn’t ask people to do it EXACTLY the way they do it in Tulsa. In that little church back there, the people come into the aisle and join hands as they pray. I didn’t force anyone to do that. For one thing, we’re too big for that to work. But I wanted to build in some small amount of comfort, even though prayer is absolutely not about comfort.

So we sang the Taize chant, “Oh, Lord, hear my prayer.” We sing that through twice. And then I lead a couple of prayers following the pattern from the hymnal: For the church universal, for the world, for the community, for the sick, for the congregation, and finally, for the departed in the faith. At the congregational level, I gave folks the opportunity to lift their prayers — THEIR prayers, not some pre-written ones by a stranger back in Minnesota. Today nobody took me up on it. I’m not disappointed. This was the first time, and it’s gonna take some time to get used to it. People still got prayed for, and God knew what we needed. No worries. We’ll get used to it.

At the end of the prayers of the people, we sing the Gospel classic “I Just Want to Thank You, Lord.”

How did things go with these little tweaks? Not terrible. I had one person explicitly say, “I am on board with these changes. I think it’s a good thing.” I heard – through the grapevine, of course – a few … maybe “complaint” is a strong word, but something *like complaint. “Why weren’t the words and music printed?” There’s an easy answer for that: we don’t need it. Taize chants are designed to be singable without musical notation. These are paperless songs. I taught folks, with my messed up and very non-professional voice, how to sing the second song. And guess what? They rocked it. Especially for the first time out. It was amazing. I was literally moved to tears. You know whose work that is? The Holy Spirit’s. That’s what it’s like when we get the heck out of the Spirits, and again, our own way.

Having a bulletin at all, or a hymnal, is a PREFERENCE. It is not a necessity. Every Lutheran knows – entirely without looking at a piece of paper – that when the worship leader says, “The Lord be with you,” we respond, “And also with you.” That doesn’t need to be written out. Every Lutheran knows that when a prayer is ending and the worship leader says, “We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior,” we say, “Amen.” No bulletin or hymnal is needed here. And what Lutheran of reading age doesn’t know the entirely of the Lord’s Prayer without reading the words? I mean, seriously. There is very little else in the bulletin or in the hymnal that needs to be spelled out. Maybe the Creed. We probably SHOULD know that by now, but there is the whole issue of the similarities between the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed that trip even me up from time to time. So, I don’t really mind having a resource to look to on that one. But not much else, really.

This is really a question of preference, and preference is a question of comfort. As a worship leader, I’m getting less and less interested in comfort. Anybody’s comfort. Including my own. That’s part of the internal motivation for all of these little tweaks. The world is not comfortable, and worship is something that propels us into the uncomfortable world. The more comfortable we get with being discomforted and uncomfortable, the better we will be as disciples and Gospel-bearers.

Someone said to me today, “Have you looked at us, though? We’re old. We can barely remember our own names!” Now, that was a joke, of course, but I also heard the issue behind it: We don’t want to learn new stuff. We don’t want change. Well, of course not! Nobody wants change! But guess what? Change comes whether we want it or not. We roll with it or we die. That’s it. And I don’t think anybody called me to this church to be a hospice chaplain for the congregation. That means we’re going to have to grow. And if we can’t grow spiritually, what makes us think we will grow in numbers? First comes the one and the other may follow. I don’t make up the rules. That’s just how it goes.

So, again, we made some tweaks. The tweaks might not be enough to save us. They rarely are. My old acquaintance, Jonathan Martin, wrote a book about surviving a shipwreck, and how when the boat comes apart, we find ourselves grasping for any piece of flotsam, just to stay afloat. We cling to anything we can to survive.

But didn’t Jesus say to us, “Whoever seeks to hold on to his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and for the gospel will save it?” (Hint: Yes, he did.) Isn’t baptism 100% about dying to the old and being dragged, gasping into the new? (Hint: Yes, it is.) So, why should we be content with survival when our promise is for thriving? Why should we hope for resuscitation when Jesus wants to raise us from the dead?

Believe me: changing a couple of little things in worship isn’t dying to our old self. It’s a minor tweak, in the grand scheme of things. It’s not a big deal. It’s just a question of preference and comfort and getting used to a different way to do things. So we don’t sing a Lamb of God. Jesus didn’t tell us to sing that. So we don’t have every word and thought and direction written in a bulletin. Jesus never said anything about bulletins or worship, except that true believers would worship, not in this place or the other, but in spirit. Let’s let the Spirit work. Let’s let the Spirit enliven OUR spirits. Let’s not quibble about what Paul might describe as “skubala.” (You can look that one up for yourselves.) And let’s just let these tweaks get into our systems. I think I know what I’m doing here. If I’m wrong, we can change things later. But we need to give it all a chance first.

Okay? Okay.

Praying the Psalm

Today is my birthday. I’m not fishing for birthday greetings. In fact, I only bring it up because it happened to spring to memory today that I used to have a birthday practice of praying a Psalm. On my birthday each year, I would look up and begin to commit to memory the Psalm that corresponded to my year of life. I began this practice when I was 31, and on my birthday, I began my 32nd year of living. Therefore I would pray Psalm 32 each day of that year. Then, when I turned 32, I’d start praying Psalm 33 each day for a year and so on.

That was the ideal, anyway. In practice, things were much spottier. Still I loved this idea. I had come across it, I believe by way of Rabbi Rachel Rosenblatt, who, during her formation years went by the moniker The Velveteen Rabbi. (“One day I will be a REAL Rabbi.”) Maybe it wasn’t her blog. Maybe I picked it up somewhere else, but she’s the one, in my mind, who gets the credit.

As I recall, praying the Psalm of one’s life year is a Hassidic practice. Maybe it isn’t something that the entire Hassidic community does. Maybe it’s just something instituted or spoken of by the Baal Shem Tov, Rabbi Yisroel ben Eliezer. In a lot of ways, it doesn’t matter. It’s still a neat idea.

Over the years, I had forgotten about doing this. In the First Half of Life I had a very different approach and outlook on prayer, in general, but in this Second Half, I hold all of that much more loosely. I’ve learned to hold pretty much everything more loosely. And so this practice became much less important, much less urgent.

But something told me this morning as I woke up to look up my Psalm. Today I turn 53, so my Psalm this year is #54, and here it is, according to the Revised Standard Version of the Bible:

Prayer for Vindication

To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments. A Maskil of David, when the Ziphites went and told Saul, “David is in hiding among us.”

54 Save me, O God, by thy name,
and vindicate me by thy might.
Hear my prayer, O God;
    give ear to the words of my mouth.

For insolent men[a] have risen against me,
    ruthless men seek my life;
    they do not set God before them. Selah

Behold, God is my helper;
    the Lord is the upholder[b] of my life.
He will requite my enemies with evil;
    in thy faithfulness put an end to them.

With a freewill offering I will sacrifice to thee;
    I will give thanks to thy name, O Lord, for it is good.
For thou hast delivered me from every trouble,
    and my eye has looked in triumph on my enemies.


  1. Psalm 54:3 Another reading is strangers
  2. Psalm 54:4 Gk Syr Jerome: Heb of or with those who uphold

So, there it is. An imprecatory Psalm. A prayer for vindication before one’s enemies. I dunno. Do I have any enemies? I have a lot of people I disagree with, not to mention a lot of people who disagree with me. But enemies? Not really. There are some folks that have treated me unfairly, and I even hold a fair amount of anger against them still, but I don’t see them as enemies. I’m not a wealthy person by First World standards. In that sense, I don’t even have a lot to complain about, so the concept of enemy is pretty far removed from my life. In other words, this Psalm, on this occasion of my 53rd birthday and the start of my 54th journey around the sun, just doesn’t really speak to me. Not right now anyway.

And so, as with all prayers and approaches to prayer, I will acknowledge this Psalm, but I will hold it loosely. Maybe holding it loosely enough while putting it out there like this will enable *you to grab hold of it, if your life situation feels different from mine. Maybe this is YOUR blessing. May it be so.

Kids in Worship and Hospitality in General

Hi. I’m Rob. I’m a pastor. You guys called me here a little over a year ago. We’ve had some time to get to know one another. I like you all, and I think you like me. At least some of you do. Are we at a point in our relationship that we can talk openly? Let’s give it a shot.

When your call committee was interviewing potential pastors, you put together a profile of your congregation. It’s something every congregation is required to do, just as every pastoral candidate is required to complete a Rostered Leader Profile. It’s part of the speed dating process. The potential pastor looks at the Ministry Site Profile and says, “OK, I think I can work with that,” and the congregation looks at the RLP and says, “Fine. This could turn into something.” The RLP highlights some areas of a minister’s strengths and “growing edges,” and the MSP lists a number of the congregation’s ministry priorities.

I have never, ever, never seen a Ministry Site Profile that doesn’t state, in one way or another, that the congregation hopes to attract young families with children or rebuild a youth and family program that has fallen away in recent years. Never seen it. Children are ALWAYS listed as a priority.

Why? I think the assumption is, that families are looking for a place where they can plant themselves, raise their kids in the faith, and those kids will either stay in the same town where the parents planted roots, or move away from that town but come back some day when they have kids of their own, or at least have a solid faith foundation to carry with them as they move somewhere else as grown-ups. It’s seen as hopeful to have kids in worship. It feels like a sign of security. And it’s completely delusional.  Charming, but delusional.

The reality is that people are more mobile now than ever. Just in my adult lifetime, I’ve lived in 6 states and two countries. Twice. And I’m not in the “young family” demographic anymore, despite having two young’uns at home. The still younger set is even more mobile than my generation.

Before you say it, yes, every congregation has one or two examples of kids who have grown up, gone to college, and then came back. But for every one of those people who came back, how many never did? And those that left, how many have left the denomination for one reason or another? How many have left all things religious for one reason or another?

I don’t say any of this to make people feel bad or feel like failures when it came to raising kids in the faith or protecting the institution they worked so hard to build or maintain. It’s simply the way things are. Did previous generations make mistakes? Oh, you betcha! But that’s not the point at all. The point is just that our old assumptions about church and family are as outdated as kerosene lamps and coal cooking stoves. It might feel nice to wax nostalgic about “the good old days,” but that kind of thinking both fails to recall the struggles that came with the good old days, while also failing to engage with current realities. It’s not helpful.

What does that have to do with kids in the church? Well, everything. People under the old model used to say, without a hint of irony, “the children are the future of the church.” Even if they were right back then, they’re wrong now. The children, if we’re so lucky as to have any, are the PRESENT of the church. They are every bit as important as the 85-year-old member who gives 10% weekly, serves on the Council, works for the Altar Guild, the Finance Committee, and every other thing that congregations typically do. The only difference: they are children.

Because they are children, they act like children. They are silly; they are fidgety; they are moody; they are often socially “inappropriate.” (Well, they’re not, really. If they were adults and acting that way, it WOULD be inappropriate. But as it is, they’re kids and that’s all there is to that.)

One of the great things about kids is that they live in the moment. Yes, they think about the future, but mostly, they’re much more present in the moment than adults. And they’re always learning. I’m not talking about formal learning here. Whether you have a structured Sunday School class or not, kids are learning from the adults. Mostly they’re not learning facts or processes, either. They’re learning from adults how they, the children, are being perceived and received. “Am I welcome here? Am I unwelcome? Can I be a kid, be myself, be silly, fidgety and all the rest, or do I have to be Old? If I don’t behave the way the Olds expect me to behave, am I still accepted, or do I really need to conform until I can get out of here at the first available opportunity and never look back?”

Recently someone said to me, “Yeah, they’re kids. We get that. But isn’t there some middle ground?” I’ve thought about it. At first I thought there must be. But the more I ponder, the more I believe there is NOT a middle ground. Because kids don’t process like adults. They are very self-centered. (Well, maybe they’re not too different from adults, after all!) And they’re trying to fit in. But if they are too structured and too hemmed in, all they’re learning is, “I don’t feel welcome among these people.” That’s reality. I honestly don’t care how it used to be in the old days of “Do what you’re told.” To think that way now is to engage in delusional thinking. It’s not Back When I Was A Kid times anymore.  Back When I Was A Kid, I hated church and I left it as soon as I moved out of my family home at age 17. Now, eventually I did come back, but I’m not most kids.

Look, all I’m saying here is this: We can’t expect kids to act like grown ups. We can’t expect them to treat all of our religious pageantry with the same reverence that was forced into us and that made us superstitious and terrified of an angry God. It’s not healthy, and it’s not the character of God to scowl at children who actually WANT to be involved in worship. They won’t always want that. If we can make it pleasant for them while it’s still something they want to do, it’s going to have a far better, less traumatic effect on them as they grow up and move away than forcing them into a rigid behavioral box that makes US more comfortable. One of the things that all of us churchy people need to learn is that it’s really not about us. It’s not about what makes us comfortable. Think about Jesus and his teaching, and let’s allow HIM to be our guide in this.

If you see a kid in worship doing something you don’t like, first check your trigger. Then, when you’ve calmed down, maybe say to the kid in a kind and encouraging way, “Hey, I’d like to help you understand what you’re doing a little better. Here’s how *I* do this and here’s why.” That’s going to carry a lot more weight than a complaint to the council or to the pastor. Be proactive. Encourage one another. Build one another up.

By the way, just so we’re clear: It is not the pastor’s job to raise your children or grandchildren in the faith. That’s the parents’ or grandparents’ or other caretakers’ job. MY job is to help you do your job. To encourage you as you encourage one another. So please regard this whole “letter” in the encouraging sense that I intend it. If you feel challenged, that’s OK. If you disagree, that’s OK, too. We don’t have to agree on everything, because our unity isn’t in our agreement on every jot and tittle, but rather it’s in Christ, who is our Lord and teacher.

I’d love to have more conversation about this with folks in a one-to-one or small group setting, but I’m going to leave it up to you to set that up. One of the things I’ve become convinced of over the years: People will either care enough to make a conversation happen, or they’ll be content to gripe behind a person’s back. One of those ways is befitting a follower of Jesus. The other … not so much.

Anyway, I hope to chat with folks about this or any other concerns/questions in the very near future. Don’t be a stranger!

“I Guess God Doesn’t Want Me to be Married.”

Two weeks ago, I headed back to my hometown in Michigan because my step-father, Bill, had had an “incident” on May 1, which prompted my mom to call 911 for him. At the time, we thought it was a heart attack, possibly a stroke, perhaps a reaction between his many and various prescriptions and the alcohol in his beloved beer. It was none of those things, and precisely what caused the initial event may remain forever a mystery, though we all have a hypothesis. But the point is, it was becoming clear that he wouldn’t be getting better after this episode.

That was a reality that my mom struggled to cope with. Mom has Alzheimer’s, and while her long-term memory is as sharp as a tack, she can’t remember things that happened yesterday or this morning or 30 minutes ago, sometimes things that happened seconds ago. But she remembers pretty much EVERYTHING from her past. That memory includes the deaths of her first two husbands.

When my mom was 18, she married Richard. Dick. Both a name and a fitting pejorative. Dick was a “mama’s boy,” whose mama was extremely meticulous. Like, literal “white glove on the door tops to search for dust” meticulous, and she had raised her son likewise, so when Mom married Dick, his standards were high. Each morning she was to fix his breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal with a perfectly square pat of butter placed directly in the center of the bowl. If the butter shape or placement didn’t meet his standards, he would throw the bowl to the floor and mom had to clean it up. This explains a lot about her later housekeeping habits, which were essentially non-existent and which I also seem to have inherited.

The 18 year old turned 19 and had the first of my siblings, Desi. Two years later, along came Sharee. Not long after that, Dick and my mom separated and were living in two different houses. On top of – perhaps related to – his meticulous standards, Dick struggled with alcohol and mental unhealth, specifically, undifferentiated Schizophrenia. This was a bad combination, and Dick died by suicide when Mom was about 30.

At 32, Mom remarried. John was my dad. He had been in the 101st Airborne, became a cop when he got out, started the police Union in our town. But dad also struggled with alcohol and mental health issues, including PTSD from his upbringing. Grandma Martin, I’m told, used to discipline both of her kids by flushing their heads in the toilet. Grandma was literally a grade-school bully. She was also a bit of a terrorist in ways that I won’t get into now, but the short version is that she had both my cousin Marty and me terrified to go into public restrooms since about the age of 5. Well, Dad’s mental unhealth caught up with him, and he, too, died by suicide.

Fast forward to 1978. Mom met Bill through mutual acquaintances, and they hit it off from the beginning. They got married in July of 1979, and we all became a blended family. Not quite like the Brady Bunch. You can start imagining there, but you’ll have to go darker. Like, add in some Addams Family and maybe a touch of Manson Family … no, I exaggerate. We were weird, but it all worked. It was really a good match.

The other day, as I was sitting with Mom in her living room, where she had the TV turned up to 11 (mostly to keep her from being able to think), she said, “I wonder why God is doing this to Bill. He never hurt anybody.” I said, “Why do you think God is doing this?” She said, “It just seems unfair. It’s so horrible! I guess God doesn’t want me to be married.”

“Ma! You and Bill were married for over 40 years! If God didn’t want you to be married, don’t you think he would have done something about it before now??” But her thinking is beyond logic now. Mom also has never been much of a theologian. She converted to Catholicism in 1976 so that she’d qualify for a St. Vincent de Paul Society scholarship that would allow me to attend the Catholic School that became my “pedagogue” for 12 years. One of the “benefits” of being a Catholic is, you don’t HAVE to be a theologian. There are guys who are willing to do all your God-thinking for you, if that’s your desire. Even though Mom taught CCD for a couple of years, she never really thought deeply about God. Her theology was and is the acquired kind, not the deduced or wrestled with kind. Which is fine as far as that goes. But when you run up against having survived 3 husbands in a life-time, maybe it would have been better for her to have developed a healthier view of faith and our relationship with the Divine.

I may be coming across as unfair to our Catholic siblings. Surely there are more than a few non-Catholics who inherited a bad theology along the way and never really had the tools to question it. I’m not saying people are dumb. By no means. Mom is really quite intelligent, for example. But she has never been equipped for faith when it meets a big challenge like the ones she has faced in life.

Here’s what I’m really getting at: Faith isn’t what most of us were taught that it is. We tend to think of it as a set of precepts that we need to believe in – i.e. give intellectual assent to – in order to “be saved” – another phrase that we aren’t really taught to deal with the meaning of. Faith isn’t about “belief” at all, really. It’s about TRUST. And trust comes from relationship, and this is something that’s built over time. We don’t just automatically trust anyone or anything. Someone needs to prove trustWORTHY over time before we can fully put our trust in that one. But when we do, our trust doesn’t waiver due to bad circumstances. It may be tasted, and it may be strained, but it doesn’t break.

When we think about our faith/trust in God, we come to that through a relationship with God in Jesus that proves God to be trustworthy over time, in our lives, in human history. But the question becomes, what can we trust ABOUT God? If we think we can trust God to pop out of the box at the end of the play and to save the day (a “deus ex machina”), then we’ve placed our trust in a God that doesn’t exist.

So what CAN we trust God to do or to be? Remember when we said a few weeks ago that God protects us from nothing, but sustains us in everything? THAT is how God is trustworthy. God can be trusted to be self-giving, because God shows Godself to be self-giving on the cross and in every circumstance. God can be trusted to be radically forgiving, because this has been God’s character forever, and we’ve seen it both in the scriptures and in our lives. And God can be trusted to be co-suffering, as we have seen on the cross and again in our lives as we face every kind of struggle. God doesn’t rescue us from our problems or save us from hardships, but God loves us so much that he accompanies us and struggles alongside of us in everything. That includes the loss of 3 husbands and two children.

I know Mom is kind of beyond comprehending that now, though I wish she had been given the tools to explore all of this in her own lifetime and test how it’s true. God didn’t take Dick away from Mom, but God did help her and my two sisters survive … for a time. And when they died, God was still beside Mom, weeping with her. God didn’t cause my dad to kill himself, but when Dad pulled that trigger, God was present with him in his final moments, suffering his pain along with him. And God was present again with Mom and me, quietly bearing our burden, too. Just as God was with Bill in those excruciating final weeks as his body craved the food that he couldn’t eat and as he felt the pain of his metabolic systems shutting down much slower than any of us would have hoped for him, for mercy’s sake. But God was there, co-suffering in it all. And God is here now in our loss and in our mourning. Weeping alongside of us again. Loving us still.

This isn’t something I “believe” with my mind, but rather it’s something I “know” in my innermost being. I trust that it’s true, because I’ve been here before. God is worthy of that trust. It’s literally the only thing I can “give” back to God. And even that is a gift.

Maybe it shoulda been a Facebook post

This is just a quick chuckle from the Dementia outpost. My niece Lindsey recently bought a house. I’ve seen the pictures. It’s a really nice house! New carpet and everything. She brought my mom over to spend the night after my step father landed in the hospital, cuz Mom gets a little nervous about staying alone at night. Plus, given her mental state, she doesn’t need to be alone in any place longer than absolutely necessary. But to take her overnight somewhere, she has to bring her dog, Buddy, the 100 lb Boxer.

Well, because the Old Folks are either to deaf or too enfeebled to let Buddy out every time he needs to pee, he has resorted back to some puppy habits, including doing various numbers (number 1 and number 2, in case I need to spell that out. I’m talking about pee and poo, you see.) indoors, including on the carpets.

Clearly Lindsey is not happy about this, but you can’t correct Buddy in front of my mom, because that’s animal abuse or something. And Mom had the audacity to say, “He’s just helping you decorate. To give the house some “character” so that you don’t get too snooty.”

My brother and I were laughing about this today and how ridiculous the whole thing sounds, but the silver lining in the whole deal is that we now have a new euphemism for “number 2”: it’s “character.” This led us to start howling about having to take a character and about finding character stains on our kids’ undies.

If you don’t laugh at this stuff, you will cry.

Aging: A story and a request

As some of you know, my mother lives with dementia. And when I say “my mother lives with dementia,” I mean, “My entire family and social networks live with my mother’s dementia.” This stuff affects everything.

My mom’s story is by no means unique. In fact, the more people I meet of a certain age (mine), the more I am astounded to learn just how widespread this disease is. For Mom, it started in earnest right around the time that Covid shut the world down.

Prior to the pandemic, my mom … I’m just gonna call her Geri, for your sake. Sometimes I’ll call her Mom. Anyway, prior to the pandemic, Geri was what you might call an “active Senior.” She retired from the insurance biz years ago, but wasn’t really satisfied just sitting around, so she got a job at the same place I worked: Henry Ford Museum. For Social Security reasons, she couldn’t work every day, so 2-3 days a week she had that job, which put her face-to-face with the visiting public. Then in the evenings, she and Bill (that’s my step-dad, whom I’ve know since I was 9. Great guy.) would go together to the local American Legion post. That’s where most of their friends were. Some nights they’d go to the Democratic Club in the next town over, but regardless of the venue, the two of them hung out together with people, and Geri kept social through her work.

And then came Covid. Suddenly, there was no more museum, no more Legion. Geri and Bill devolved into sitting around watching the TV too loudly. I mean, years of working in a factory had done a number on Bill’s hearing, but he had also developed a degenerative disease that prevented him from feeling with his fingers well enough to put in his not-inexpensive hearing aids. So they watched stupid television and began wasting away. Not only were they physically deteriorating, but also their minds started doing strange things.

Long story short, Mom has dementia. Pretty bad. She’s always been the kind of person to tell the same story several times back to back, just because she was uncomfortable with silence, but now things started getting bad. Like, “asking the same question about what the kids want for Christmas 5 times in as many minutes” bad. And that turned into “being confused about what day it was” bad. And that further deteriorated into “not having taken a shower in over a week” kind of bad.

Things have actually gotten much worse since this whole thing started. The “funny” thing that happened today is, as I was having a long conversation with Mom on the phone – by the way, she is convinced these last two days that I am either in town with her and so she’s asking me why I’m staying at a hotel instead of at her place, or that I’m driving home, wherever she thinks home is for me now. She seems to forget most days that I don’t live in Oklahoma anymore – we were talking about skilled nursing facilities, convalescent homes, that kind of things, and she reminds me that she worked at one of those for many years since before I was born. And she goes, “And some of those old people in those places are MEAN!”

This is “funny” in an ironic sort of way, because Geri has become at times in the course of this disease one of the meanest, cruelest, most heartless people I’ve ever met. She flings F-bombs that would make Richard Pryor blush. She calls all of us who are left every name in the book except “child of God.” She even told my niece, her grand daughter, whom she essentially raised because my sister was so messed up on Depression and every kind of narcotic imaginable, that she wished that it was her, my niece, who had died back in 2008 instead of my sister. Mean. Viscious. A real Bitch.

This is not my mom. This is NOT who Geri is. But it’s who she becomes, thanks to this disease. My mom? She’s a fighter. A warrior. A survivor. She survived her first husband Dick and my dad John, both of whom were schizophrenic alcoholics, both of whom died by suicide. And now it looks like she’ll probably survive Bill, whom she had to call 911 for this past Monday, because it appeared he was having a heart attack. (It wasn’t a heart attack. Might have been a stroke. May have been a massive seizure. We’re still waiting on test results.) Things don’t look good for him, I’m sorry to say. On the other hand, this is the same man who, when Dr. Jack Kevorkian was in the news a lot in the 1980s, wanted to have the Suicide Doc on his speed dial because he never wanted “to get that way.” It’s also the same man who spends every day talking about how much he hates living in the body he inhabits, because he’s in constant pain and has been for a number of years.

But the point was, Geri’s a survivor. That’s not a compliment. It just means that she will do whatever she has to do, say whatever she has to say in order to maintain what it is that she thinks she needs. Healthy or not. More often than not these days, it’s anything but healthy.

Last time I went up to see Mom was in November of 2021. I had been up in the spring as well, because we thought she might be dying. She had dropped down to 80 lbs. and looked downright skeletal, but a few weeks in rehab got her back up to a reasonable weight. The only problem was the dementia. I may have made things worse by taking her to Frankenmuth, MI for lunch. That’s one of the places she always loved going when I was a kid, and I think she was happy to go again with me, except that we got separated in a gift shop and she got terribly confused. The whole thing had wiped her out, and she slept most of the car ride home.

Anyway, in November of 21 I had gone back up because her dementia had gotten quite bad and even she had noticed. I was planning on getting her to sign Power of Attorney papers. As much as she loves my niece, Mom knew that Lindsey would never be able to make difficult life/death situations on her behalf, so she had wanted me to take charge of that. Well, Covid was still raging, so I couldn’t get the paperwork together and get her to a Notary to make everything official. We had tried doing some teleconference things, but all I had was my cell phone and I wasn’t able to upload things properly. Needless to say, it all fell through. And then we got in a fight.

We got in a fight over her dog, Buddy. Mom had told me numerous times over this trip and the previous one that she wishes she and Bill could move into an apartment like the one we lived in when I was a kid. If it was a place with nursing care, that would be fine. She’d just have to be able to bring Buddy. Did I mention that Buddy is a 100+ lb Boxer? They haven’t invented the assisted living unit in the world that would accept a Buddy. When we suggested that my niece could keep Buddy and bring him by every day or two for extended visits, Bitch Geri came out. It was like Jeckyll & Hyde, if Hyde were a foul-mouthed old lady.

That fight pretty much ended things for me. I drove home without really even saying goodbye. It was a bad trip. And we were estranged for a long time because of it. But I had washed my hands of the situation, primarily because I wasn’t living there near her. Lindsey and my step-brother were. They were the two who went by multiple times a day to make sure people had eaten and had taken their meds. They did grocery shopping and errand running and bill paying. I was just in town for a week to try and make magic happen, because I was Geri’s baby and thought we had a special bond. Well, we did. But this wasn’t Geri. She had gone away, leaving her body behind to be inhabited by a demon from the deepest pit of hell. I had failed. The trip was a catastrophe.

More recently, we’ve been talking on the phone more. Some days the tone is quite pleasant. “What do the kids want for” whatever the next holiday was coming up? Not that she would remember to get it, but it gave us a chance to talk about the kids and what they’re into. Other days it was more about “you kids don’t care what WE want! You want to do what YOU want! We’re just an INCONVENIENCE for you! You want to take my dog away. Well, fuck all of you! You can all just fuck right off!” Of course, if you reminded her about this, she would suddenly become genteel. “WHAT?? I would NEVER use that kind of language!” OK, Ma. I think you taught Lenny Bruce how to swear, but of course you would never use language like that.

Well, things are even worse now because of the situation with Bill. He’s supposed to get out of the hospital tomorrow, but he simply can’t go back home. Depending on which of the dozen or so conversations you have with Geri on a given day this week, she will either deny that until the cows come home or she’ll admit that he’s bad off and she can’t possibly take care of him. But she won’t go to a nursing home. She’ll be damned before that happens. And she won’t even go to scheduled doctor appointments now, because deep down she knows she can’t hang any more, and she knows that any doc visit might result in her declaration of incompetency.

She’s not wrong about that. That’s what needs to happen. Since she won’t willingly go to a care facility, we’re going to have to force her to go. That means getting legal guardianship. It also means getting conservatorship. Neither of those things is easy and both of them take time and presence. Those are two resources I don’t have at my disposal. It may require getting an attorney involved. I understand that, if I get an attorney, she is also entitled to one, and one will be appointed if she can’t afford it on her own (she can’t). Part of the process involves the appointment of a Guardian Ad Litum, who will be the Court’s independent eyes and ears, who will very clearly see, if they spend any time at all with Mom, that she needs care that nobody at home can provide. But her attorney will fight guardianship if it means she has to give up her dog and go into a home. So that will be expensive and bitter, even if completely uncalled for.

Even if Mom doesn’t contest guardianship, I’ll still have to get paperwork filed. I’m entitled to do that on my own. But I can’t do any advance work for it because I don’t have that Power of Attorney, and absent the PoA, HiPAA declares that I can’t get access to any of her doctors’ diagnoses. It’s a catch 22.

Look. There’s lots more legalese involved here that I don’t feel like rehearsing again, because it makes me want to vomit. The long and short of it is, if we’re lucky enough, we’re all going to get old. And we’re all going to die. If we’re SUPER lucky, we will die suddenly. Quietly, perhaps. But if not, we will get really sick first. We may even lose our minds, rapidly or slowly. And we won’t be competent to make good decisions for ourselves, but depending on the work we do when we’re still of sound mind and body, we might save our loved ones a lot of stomach aches, expensive legal fees, and years of psychotherapy.

So, I’ve given you the story. It’s not a pretty one, but it’s not uncommon. In fact, it seems to be getting more common by the day. So with the ugly story out of the way, here comes the request: Get a will. Assign your Power of Attorney. Put together an Advance Directive to take the fighting and the guess work out of life decisions that your loved ones will have to make on your behalf when you’re beyond having a reasonable say. Do it. Please.

And if you’re a church person, talk to your pastor/priest/witch doctor about your funeral arrangements. Is it a maudlin thing to do? No, I don’t think so. Pastors, priests, and witch doctors are intimately acquainted with death. YOU may feel a little weird about it, but I can assure you that your spiritual guide will not. They will more likely feel relieved to get the inevitable out in the open, and in the long run, it will make your transition that much less traumatic for the ones who will care for you when the time comes. It is SO helpful for a grieving adult child to know that Mom loved John 11 and wants “A Mighty Fortress” played at her funeral, and that Grandpa wants a polka version of “My Way” at his wake with the lyrics to a love song by Johnny Cash translated into Hindi as the 2nd reading at his Celebration of Life. Have these conversations with the people who need to know. Get it down on paper in a place where somebody knows to look for it. Please. For the love of all that is good and holy, don’t put this off.

Thank you.

Galatians Bible Study

I just wanted to drop a little note here in recognition of the winding up of our weeks-long study of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians. For those of you who missed it, and for those who might be interested in joining a future study, either in person or online, here’s a brief recap of what we did in this study.

We’ve been walking through St. Paul’s letter to the Galatians, pretty much line-by-line, but we haven’t been following the standard “Lutheran” reading. The Lutheran reading has quite a bit to do with the individual and his/her “faith,” his/her “justification by faith” versus “justification by works” or that phrase, “works righteousness” of which we Protestants are so fond. We’re not calling that outlook wrong, because it’s not about “right” and “wrong.” However, we are willing to say that it’s anachronistic. Luther’s discovery of a gracious and merciful God in the letters to the Galatians and to the Romans, in particular, were a huge leap forward in light of Luther’s own experiences with late-Medieval Roman Catholicism. But Luther’s concerns were not Paul’s First Century concerns, and they were not the cause for him writing these letters to the churches he had planted in Galatia or the ones he was planning to visit in Rome.

So, rather than approaching Galatians through that standard, Protestant, Lutheran lens, our approach in this class has been informed by more recent scholarship, including the movement that came out of the 1970s and is known as “The New Perspective on Paul” (NPP), headed by EP Sanders and others. While we didn’t use Sanders in our study, we did rely heavily on J. Louis Martyn’s seminal work on Galatians in the Anchor Yale Bible.

We also dug in quite a bit to a movement that some are already calling “The Post-New Perspectives on Paul” movement, led by scholars like Dr. Douglas Campbell from Duke University. We also drew a bit from Martin Hengel & Anna Maria Schwenger’s research in Paul Between Damascus and Antioch and Sarah Ruden’s Paul Among the People.

Thanks to this kind of scholarship and the discoveries that it stands upon, we have learned more about Second Temple Judaism (the Judaisms of both Jesus and Paul) in the last 80 years or so than Christians have known in the previous 1900+ years. This helps us when we look at Paul’s writing to see that he is not struggling as Luther did with late Medieval concerns, but rather with God’s invasive (apocalyptic) mission into the world, wherein God in Christ breaks down barriers that humans have always constructed between themselves. And as a result of that in-breaking, we can view God working to bring humanity together as a species.

This is the Bible’s project from beginning to end, though there are a number of roadblocks and redirections along the way. But the library we call the Bible addresses humanity as a species, in contrast to the Lutheran, individualized interpretations and the modern North American Protestant/Evangelical/Charismatic hyper-individualistic focus on the texts’ meaning.

Teacher Michael Hardin reminds us that we humans are living copy machines who mimic one another’s desires, and that we do so mostly non-consciously. Along with Hardin, we brought in hints and glimmers of the Anthropological insights of the late French sociologist Rene Girard and his Mimetic Realism. Even though Paul never studied Anthropology, it is clear that he understands the human condition, and so he speaks in both Galatians and Romans about our human inability to discern our intentionality. Paul writes in terms of an “evil impulse” (the concept of the yetzer ha-ra) and about the “structures of the universe” (ta stoicheia tou kosmou) that keep us in bondage, and from which Christ comes to liberate us.

Paul’s context for writing the letter comes from his having broken off with the Jerusalem church headed by James the brother of Jesus and Peter/Cephas the Apostle, who had previously given Paul the “all clear” to preach his understanding of the gospel to Gentiles, but who had also – at the same meeting – sneaked in “false brothers” “to spy on our freedom in Christ.” It is these False Brothers who are coming into Paul’s church plants, spreading slanderous lies about Paul, and convincing his church members that Paul was wrong to teach that God’s grace erases all differences, including the cultural identification markers of Judaism, namely male circumcision, keeping a kosher table, and keeping holy the Sabbath day.

These three things belong to a holiness code (“works of the Law,” interpretations of Torah used to identify who is holy and who is profane), which Paul claims is mixing the yoke of bondage to religious observance back into the gospel of freedom that Christ won on the cross. The argument isn’t about whether the content of the holiness code is either right or wrong, but about how holiness codes themselves and things like them serve as barriers that people use to re-erect boundaries that Christ has torn down. The task and the end product of all such religion, for Paul, is humans deciding for themselves who is “in” and who is “out” of God’s preferred group. This is the distinction between religion and revelation.

So, that was the crux of the course. We weren’t overly academic in our approach, even though it kind of sounds from this description like we were. But in any case, I think our study really opened up this letter from Paul for folks in exciting ways, and may actually have helped “redeem” Paul from some misunderstandings that have accumulated over the years, cutting his writing off from revealing anything that sounds like Good News. And our Bible Studies are all about Good News! So if that sounds appealing, please consider joining us one of these days.

We’re wrapping up Galatians today, and I’m not sure where we’re heading next. Because the summer is almost upon us, we’re beginning to see our seasonal folks departing for more reasonable climes, and lots of our year-round folks will be traveling in the next months. Because of this, we’ll probably stick to smaller, one-off or two-and-done sessions, which will continue to meet in person, but also via Zoom. If you have a particular interest area you would like us to study together, feel free to drop a comment here. And as always, you’re welcome to join us! Bring a friend, if you want. The table’s plenty big.

Nothing Major

Not that I have nothing to say, but I’m not yet ready to say it. Just popping in to make note that I’ve finally cleared up the domain name issue with this blog. Imago-Dei-Tulsa may still get you here, but now you can shoot straight over to AccidentalLutheran.com for all the poop that’s fit to scoop.

Checking In

As I type this entry, we are drawing to the close of our first quarter of ’22, and it seems like a good time to check in.

Last time we met here, we mentioned a number of things that were in the works for the first quarter, and I think it’s fair to say, we accomplished a lot! Our lovely, lively little congregation has been meeting successfully at 4 p.m. on Saturdays, as we are used to; but we’ve also made the transition to 11 a.m. Sunday worship, as well. It’s not without its hiccups: Sometimes the community that meets before ours goes a little overtime, which causes us to need to scramble in order to start on time. But that’s not a big deal. The bigger issue is losing a couple of folks who relied on that 9 a.m. Sunday service. Some of them were able to switch over to Saturday evening, which also gave us the benefit of a more fleshed-out time together. It’s just always nicer to have more folks than fewer, because the energy level shoots way up. Anyway, that’s going along swimmingly, or at least much, much better than it could have been.

We have also managed to pull together a Worship Planning Team, which is something we said we wanted to do. Not only have we pulled together the Team, but also said Team has really been working overtime to curate a Lenten worship series that was created by the good folks over at Worship Design Studios. Every congregation that takes on a WDS series has to do a lot of work to make the series their own, and our freshly-minted team has done a great job so far! We kicked off with a beautiful Ash Wednesday service, and we managed a really gratifying and meaningful Lent 1, as well. Did everything go smoothly? Oh, no, it did not! But in spite of the flaws, the trials, and the errors, I think it has been more than sufficient, and I applaud all the folks on the team. Great job!

The Worship Planning Team is still working out the final details for the rest of Lent into Holy Week, so please keep your eyes peeled for more details as they become available. And I’ll want to come back to Holy Week in a minute, but first, we had an unexpected and much-welcomed delight just before Ash Wednesday.

First of all, we had this Sacred Harp singing school planned, and it went great! There weren’t a LOT of people there, but all of the parts were covered, our instructor was wonderful (as always — Keith and I go way back now, and it was so good to see him!), and everyone thought it was a really worthwhile time. Massive success. I think that some of our guests that day, the folks from First Congregational Church, are planning on starting up a monthly sing, all because we took the initiative to kick things off! Yaaaaay!

But right on the heels of the Sacred Harp event, our own Church Musician, Kathleen, managed to pull together the talents of a BUNCH of local musicians and singers, to create an event called “Sharing Our Songs to God.” I don’t know the backgrounds of every person gathered that evening, but we had a few of our own people sharing songs, and there were people from St. Andrew’s Catholic Church across the street, and I think some others from outside these two congregational circles. And it was Ah-maze-ing! Kudos to Kathleen for using her friendship ties to pull off an astoundingly great evening of sacred music, just for the sake of doing things together for the glory of God. Outstanding.

And I wanted to mention that event first before coming back to Holy Week, because there’s actually a tie-in.

Christ Lutheran and St. Andrew’s have a pretty long and storied history together. In recent years, thanks to the scourge of Covid, the relationship has cooled a bit, just by virtue of isolation. We would love to rekindle our flame. One of the ways we might accomplish that is by doing some worshipping together. And here’s the Holy Week tie-in.

Christ Lutheran hasn’t done an Easter Vigil service in a few years. St. Andrew’s does one every year. Our Worship Planning Team is recommending that we Lutherans swim over the Tiber for the sake of Christian unity this year on the Vigil of Easter.

What IS an Easter Vigil, anyway? Well, it’s a LOT of things, but among the many facets of an Easter Vigil is the gathering of the church in the dark hours of Holy Saturday to sit in the void between the death of Christ on the cross and his Resurrection on the third day. Into that void, we share the stories of salvation history. There are properly 12 biblical stories that belong to the Vigil, though a lot of parishes only focus on a few of them. But they run from Genesis in the Old Covenant to the empty tomb and the resurrection from the New Covenant. We also get to bring back the Alleluias that we had put away on Ash Wednesday, there’s the lighting of the New Fire, the dipping of the Paschal candle into the baptismal waters, the praise of God for all creation and his renewing of the same, and there’s the first Eucharist since Holy Thursday.

Eucharist. With Lutherans? In a Catholic church? Well, no. Although the Roman Catholic Church and the Lutheran World Federation have done decades worth of work on finding common ground between our rich traditions, one sticking point remains the celebration of the Eucharist. In the ELCA, we gladly welcome all to the table. For many and various reasons, Lutherans are not in communion with Rome, and we are not meant to take the Sacrament in the Catholic Church.

I’ve been thinking a LOT about this lately, and I still think we ought to join St. Andrew’s for the Vigil, even if we aren’t technically “welcome” at the table. Part of the reason I think it’s a good idea is this: There is a theological term called “kenosis.” Primarily it’s about God’s self-emptying and self-giving, not only on the cross, but also in intentionally setting aside divinity in order to become flesh and dwell among us. It’s about understanding that God has the right to divinity, but for our sake, put it aside. Since we are called to imitate God in Christ, I think it would be an excellent opportunity to practice “kenosis” by setting aside our right to sit at the table, in order that we might be in fellowship with our Christian siblings “on the other side of the street.” It’s not like we’re forever giving up the Eucharist, but rather humbling ourselves for one night. Granted, it’s an important night, but it really is just one night. I hope you’ll strongly consider joining me at St. Andrew’s for the Easter Vigil.

An added benefit, I think, from celebrating this Vigil together, is that it’s going to give us an opportunity to talk with folks over at St. Andrew’s about some of the things that the RCC and the LWF have been discussing “at high levels” for all of these decades, but doing so in the immediate neighborhood. All great Reformations begin at a local level, and with God’s leadership and encouragement, you just never know where things might end up. The one theological thing I’m completely sure of, is that God is surprising. I hope we can be open to being surprised.

The last thing I’ll mention in this entry is this: Your Council will be gathering on March 12 for an off-site retreat. We have two purposes in mind. The first is to orient new Council members. The second is to discuss all of the information that leadership has been collecting in recent years concerning what your hopes and dreams for the future of Christ Lutheran Church, to begin a discernment process about how those things fit with God’s purpose for our congregation, and to try to coalesce all of that into a vision that we can bring back to you, the members and friends of CLC, and in that way have a plan for the next couple of years. I’m sure I’ll have more to say about this very soon, so keep your antennae tuned to this page and other church channels for updates and thoughts and all that good stuff.

In the midst of all of this, we pour out our prayers for the people of Ukraine and for the brave Russian citizens who are bold enough to stand up against their government’s aggression against a sovereign people who happen to live on politically desirable real estate. We continue to pray also for the countries who have compassionately chosen to host refugees from this now-war-torn region. We dream, along with Isaiah, that empires might give up their ambitions to power, that the people might forge their swords into plowshares, their spears into pruning hooks, and might learn war – finally – no more.

EDIT: Here’s an additional item to celebrate: Synod Deacon Pam Fairfax reports that the Feed My Starving Children program, which she organizes every year through Christ Lutheran and ecumenical partners (including Trinity Lutheran – an LC-MS congregation, and St. Katherine Drexel Catholic Church) received approximately $5000 in donations from us, which amounts to 20,000 meals! That’s roughly 600 pounds of food that went toward feeding our local community! We had 42 members + family and friends participate in the campaign, and all of this is completely worth celebrating! Thanks to Deacon Pam for reminding me, and thanks to all who participated!

There are other very successful events that also took place during our first quarter. I would encourage people to look at the Cross Notes, our monthly newsletter, to hear from our Parish Nurse, our Prayer Ministry team, our various Circles of the Women of the ELCA, and our Deacons. All of these ministries have their chairs, who are asked to submit articles to the monthly publication. If you have your own article for submission, please send it to info@christlutherancapecoral.org before the last working day of each month for inclusion in the following month’s mailing.