Signs of Spring

February 22nd is a day that has been circled on my calendar for months! For months I have waited patiently to tune the kitchen radio1 to 1460 AM to hear the familiar voices of Kris Atteberry and “the legendary” Danny Gladden talk me through the very first Twins spring training game. Folks, we have arrived at spring!

Not exactly true. At the very least, we have arrived at spring training. And that is a sign that spring will come soon. Soon-ish.

Spring is a most wonderful time of year, yet do not be fooled. Spring is a grueling season that holds back the delights of summer until its demands have been met.

Spring says: Summer will be handed over only after ranchers thaw out from welcoming newborn calves and lambs.

Spring says: Summer will be handed over only after the ground endures the labor of pushing new shoots from the earth.

Spring says: Summer will be handed over only after the celebration of a man who was dead and became alive again.

New life is the essence of spring and it does not come easily. When spring finally surrenders, we bask in the summer sun and forget the hard labor of spring.

As you move through the days which are actually your life unfolding, you are doing the hard work of spring. All year long. Perhaps you forgot how you pushed through what looked like an ending only to meet Christ on the other side. You faced the hardship of spring and welcomed new life.

What signs of spring do you see? What hard work is part of this particular spring season?

Spring is saying to me: Summer will come only after you go through many boxes of tissue as child #2 graduates. Oy vey. It’s like watching a movie that you know will make you cry but you just keep watching because what else will you do? You can’t see the lovely ending without the sorrow in the middle.

Spring does find its way to summer, when all the spring’s hard work creates a new canvas of color and warmth.

For now, it is February 22nd, a sign that spring keeps returning.

  1. Kitchen radio: a device used to listen to Twins games and KDIX. ↩︎

Photo by Savannah Rohleder on Unsplash

“You do not understand,” said all kids ever, even Jesus, to their parents.

The age of 12 is magical. A handful of my favorite novels are written from the perspective of a person around the age of 12, including Because of Winn-Dixie and The Bartender’s Tale.

Age 12 is a tipping point. At 12, we wobble between life as a kid who plays with toys, and life as a teenager making sense of relationships and greater responsibility. Twelve years in, we begin to see a glimpse of a future independent from our family of origin. We may even look at our beloved parents and guardians who have known us from the very beginning and tell them, “You do not understand!”

That’s what Jesus did, anyway. (Luke 2:41-52) He looked at his parents, the people who were not much older than age 12 when they each met an angel to help them understand the son who was coming, and told them, “You do not understand.” (When I imagine Jesus speaking, he usually takes on an aloof, when-will-you-ever-get-it tone. What does Jesus sound like in your head?)

Mary and Joseph did not understand why their 12-year-old son suddenly disappeared from their family procession home from the Passover. They did not understand his ostensible disobedience, which turned out to be complete obedience to God.

On behalf of all parents ever, we do not always understand. Thank you, Mary and Joseph, for joining us in the humbling work of parenting!

Consider the 12-year-olds you know. You may assume to know them well because you have known them their entire lives. You may have had a front row seat as they learned to walk and talk. Perhaps you even had the privilege of encouraging them along the way.

But hold on here. If Mary and Joseph did not fully understand Jesus, that makes me wonder. Do I assume to know the 12-year-olds better than I do? I was 12 once, but it was quite a while ago and the world was different. Not better or worse, but different. I do not actually know what it’s like to be 12-years-old in 2025.

Is there someone in your life, maybe or maybe not a 12-year-old, whom you would like to get to know, even though you think you know them already? Staying interested in the people close to us may bring us closer together.

Here are some starter questions if you’d like to take that person out for ice cream.

  • What is the longest line you have ever waited in?
  • Would you rather go to the moon or to the South Pole?
  • What is one thing few people know about you?
  • What is something people often get wrong about you?
  • What is one new thing you would like to try this year?

You, beloved human, are profoundly interesting! And so are the people around you. We will never fully understand one another. Not Mary, Joseph, or any of us. And yet you are fully known by the Creator, whose son was so divine, and also so incredibly human.

Photo by Michael Skok on Unsplash

A Trail of Two Words

Two words emerged as a refrain last week when I met via Zoom with my spiritual director. The words wove their way through our prayer and conversation, a pair insistent upon staying together and staying in front of us.

My spiritual director introduced the words, or so I thought. “What a brilliant set of words!” I reflected. The perfect pair for prayer.

Later, I realized he had in fact borrowed the words from me! I found them in my previous blogpost and in my journal. “Wow,” I congratulated myself.

Later still, I noticed the two words in the confession our congregation prayed together on Sunday. The pair of words I thought I had come up with were the brilliant creation of a liturgist.

If I were to follow the trail even further, I would find the words elsewhere. I would find them dripping off the pen of a poet, a theologian, and who knows who else. Probably you.

When my spiritual director and I were in prayer and conversation, we moved through the heaviness of the past month: the weight of goodbyes we said to saints who have gone before us, the long and yet lovely stretch of Christmas worship services.

Prayer may be like this for you, too. Moving along in prayer, you find a side road and without even noticing, you follow the side road away from the main road of your prayers. Suddenly you are sunk in a ditch of worry and regrets.

That’s when my spiritual director said two words that I will keep close by in the year ahead. A pair that is perfect for prayer:

Begin again.

The two words are nothing new. The words are so old, in fact, they are ancient. 

Begin again.

The trail of these two words reminds me that the wisdom you need most may not be in front of you but behind you. God may have abundantly scattered quiet wisdom in a long-ago moment of hardship, or in a past season of celebration. The forgotten seeds grow in the Spirit’s time, a sign of new life.

Begin again.

You cannot see far into the year ahead, yet you can hold onto wisdom God has already given you in years behind.

Photo by Judy Beth Morris on Unsplash

Mostly New

Unlike a brand-new device, a refurbished device is mostly new – a mixture of new and original parts. The last iPhone I bought was refurbished because I can be cheap. Although the phone is not exceptionally fast or fancy, the mostly new arrangement works well for me. I can accept its limitations, appreciate its past experience, and appreciate the advantages of having a phone.

At the end of December, I get swept up in the sparkly, self-improvement promises of the new year. As though this time around, it will be easier to shape up that diet, save more money, and strike a better work-life balance.

But remember, you are not a brand-new device. You, beloved one of God, are refurbished!

You begin a new year not entirely new, but as your original self. You enter 2025 with limitations, past experience, and brand-new wisdom acquired by the ups and downs of the previous year.

You begin a new year with old wisdom, some very good habits, some room for growth, and the gentle grace of God. For me, the wisdom that widens each year is gentleness. A new year can parade into your life with unrealistic expectations. Be gentle on yourself. You will get some things right in the year ahead and fall flat on your face a few times.

Grace abounds.

Breathe in Christ’s peace then breathe it out.

The love of God through the Christ child makes you new, or new enough, to begin again.

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The God Who Trades

...to comfort all who mourn...to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning... (from Isaiah 61:2-3)

God is no good at trading. In this last section of Isaiah, God trades the hardship of the Israelites for renewed hope. “Let me carry your mourning,” God offers, “while you hold the gladness.”

What an uneven trade, Lord! Everyone knows mourning is heavier than gladness. And sins weigh more than forgiveness, another one of God’s uneven trades.

God is unfathomably generous. God’s ways do not align with our human, even-trading, fairness-focused, transactional look at life. We do not give this in order for God to do that. This is not a balanced relationship.

Which is nice.

When the dark winter days come with heavy human sadness, it is good to know that Christ will carry his share of the pain and yours. “Sit down, take a load off,” you hear Jesus whisper. “I will take care of things and when you are ready, you can follow me through the darkness. You are looking a bit broken today. I will gather the pieces and trade you for the peace only I can give you.”

Thank you, Lord, for uneven trades, a mark of your light-bearing grace.

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The Way

As a seminary student, I remember discussing with classmates how long a pastor should serve a congregation. The lore was that a pastor’s call should conclude around seven years, seven being a number that reflects completion in the Bible.

Growing up, one of my pastors practiced the seven-year model. My Methodist colleagues are often transferred at the seven-year mark. If God created everything and even rested within seven days, seven years as a pastor in the same congregation should do it. Marcus and I entered this life of pastor/teacher expecting to move if not every seven years than at least every so often.

And yet, here I am in the same congregation for 17 years, long past not only one seven-year mark but two. Perhaps this is on my mind because it was 18 years ago, around this time of year, when Marcus and I travelled from our home in the Twin Cities to Dickinson to interview. I interviewed at a congregation that astoundingly had called only two senior pastors within a stretch of 50 years. They had completely rebelled against the unwritten seven-year rule! Who were these people?!?

Any long-term pastor can tell you the gift of a long-term call is that relationships grow deeper, which can serve to further a congregation’s mission to follow Christ. You become more aware of someone’s quiet gifts and someone else’s profound wisdom. You learn who has a genuine desire to learn or to serve in Jesus’ name. You have the privilege of entering into multiple generations of a family’s life and proclaim God’s hope through Christ.

On the flipside, the goodbyes get harder as the relationships grow deeper. You must witness more people join the communion of saints, people you have grown to love as you serve alongside them. It becomes like watching the introduction to a television show. The intro moves you through the years to give you a flashback of all that has happened in the lives of the characters. This way, by the time the episode begins, the characters are more familiar.

Being a pastor for a long time is like that. God brings new staff members to a congregation, yet you are the one who has lived through much of the introduction.

  • You can see the group of people who once gathered for coffee before worship on Sunday mornings. Now, they are no longer living, or no longer able to come to the church building to worship. Their absence is felt each week.
  • You can see that group of people who served in leadership roles. Their wisdom continues to be beneficial, but you have to know who they are.
  • You can hear the sounds of worship that both changed and stayed the same from one generation to the next. You endured some of the trials and tribulations through the changes and the sameness; you felt the impact on the community of faith; you have lost enough sleep over the years to know what is at stake.

How long should a pastor serve a congregation? Like perhaps any question in the universe that relates to relationships, the answer is less important than the question.

The question is not how long, but how now?

This question is not reserved for pastors. How does a pastor, a deacon, a lay person, a young person, an old person, a new person, a seasoned person, serve a congregation now? What difference does it make that God gathered these people at this time for this community of faith, which ever community it might be?

The answer is less important the question, the question is less a question than a prayer.

Lord, you are the way, the truth, and the life. Guide our feet, you who are the way. Instill in us wisdom, you who are the truth. Renew us by your grace, you who are life. Amen.

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Introducing…

Meet my newest book!

Unlike normal people, I have spent most of the year in Advent. My days off have been filled with Advent wonder and writing. I am grateful to finally share this with you!

Let me introduce you to the book.

Soon it will be Advent, a word that means arrive. Advent will lead to Christmas, when you may gather with familiar people for the holiday. I wrote this book of daily Advent reflections because family gatherings tend to be tricky. Some of you even dread holidays with family. This does not make you a terrible person, it simply makes you human.

Christmas is an advent of the familiar, that is, an arrival right back with the familiar people with whom you started. Christ will come soon, and your family might be coming to your house soon! Wait, don’t panic.

I hear a chorus of the same holiday angst. angst. You are not alone if thinking ahead to Christmas dinner and the familiar faces raises your heart rate.

A main idea in this book is the hard truth that you cannot change the familiar people with whom you gather. You can, however, wait. Before you react, perhaps you change your response to the dread, angst, or irritations you feel when you gather with them. This book is meant to equip you to be your own, honest self with your family, and to rely on the gentle love of Jesus, the one who is to come.

The book relies on a way to understand relationships called systems theory. In a nutshell, systems theory gives you a broader look at relationships and your own part in them. I hope this book makes you a factory of curiosity and wonder about your own self, which may lead to lighter, healthier relationships in your family. Each chapter ends with a reflection question and brief prayer.

The book is kind of available on Amazon. I say kind of because Amazon is stating the book’s status as “temporarily out of stock.” Amazon prints self-published books on demand, so that makes no sense. Maybe by the time you read this, Amazon will have changed the status. If not, you can go ahead and add the book to your cart, order it, and Amazon will email you when it is available again. Within the next week, you will find an e-book on Amazon.

If you subscribe to my blog, earlier this week you received a sneak peek of chapter two! Subscribers will also receive an email when the e-book is free for a day on Amazon.

Advent begins four weeks before Christmas. If you enjoy a daily devotion, you can begin reading on December 1st and continue through Christmas Eve. The book includes 24 daily reflections to slow you down as you wait for the one who is to come, who is mercy in a manger for you.

There is Crying in the Bible

There is no crying in baseball…although I would not mind if Yankee fans shed a few tears tonight. Otherwise, there is no crying in baseball, but there is indeed crying in the Bible.

Jesus cried in John 11 at the death of Lazarus. In the Greek, the word for weeping describes tears falling down Jesus’ face. He cried (a different Greek word) out to the Father to awaken Lazarus from the dead, and God the Father did. Other times, Jesus cried out to God for justice, or comfort. Some of his cries shed tears while other cries were heard and heeded by God the Father.

Jesus cried. It is what humans do. Overcome by joy or sorrow, our faces leak, as Bob Maloogalooga, one of my favorite movie characters observed. When the psalmist wrote that you are intricately made, perhaps he also had in mind the well of your emotions. Crying, Jesus taught us, is a human response to life.

Back in 1 Kings, there is crying. The prophet Elijah was sent to a widow. He asked her to help him and later he helped her. She had a young son who was ill to the point that “there was no breath left in him.” (1 Kings 17:17).

She blamed Elijah. “What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!”

Elijah asked for the boy, laid him down and cried out to the Lord. “O Lord my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?”

This reminds me of a prayer Will Willimon cried out to God. Just before entering a hospital room where a young boy was gravely ill, where despair held everyone captive, and hope was absent. He cried out to God, “Don’t you make me go in there and lie for you!”

Cries speak the depth of who we are. They pull from the corners of our most honest self, the corners we mostly leave untouched.

Cries connect you with the God who hears them, as both Elijah and Jesus show you. There is crying in the Bible. There is crying in life.

There is no cry that goes unheard by God, who became a human who cries, who tenderly gathers up your cries and holds them for you.

Even the potential cries of Yankee fans, God will hear them. At least I think so. Some things I do not know.

What prayer might you cry out to God?

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Hey, Don’t You Live Up There?

One Wednesday night at St. John is an adventure story. Within three hours, there is an intensity to the volume of delightful, multi-generational conversation, mishaps, tears and giggles. I love how this gathering reflects life as it truly is: imperfect.

Luther described a theology of the cross as God meeting us not in the positive, perfect moments, but in the thick of life. Call a thing what it is, Luther instructed. And so, we call our lives what they are: hurried and haggard at times, each day our best effort and nothing more. Christ did not die for our sins because we have our lives together, but because we do not.

I love Wednesday nights because this is what we live out – a theology not based on rewards for how well we are living, but a theology that solidly trusts in God’s grace through Christ. This gift of grace is enough. You do not need to do more, try harder, or get better.

Where you live, with your weariness and wondering, is exactly where God meets you. In the adventure story of Wednesday nights, we live out our imperfect lives fully trusting in God’s perfect grace.

The number of stories manifested on a single Wednesday night could fill a book, that is, if you could be on all three floors and in every corner of the building at the same time. Since I cannot, I can only report this small chapter.

I sat behind a young, conversational kiddo at worship. I was doing my best to listen to Christina preach, but my worship neighbor has not yet perfected the art of whispering.

“Hey, what’s your name?” she wanted to know.

“Lisa,” I whispered quietly, dropping a hint.

She gave me a hard look and then threw a glance toward the front of the church where Christina was speaking.

“Hey, don’t you live up there?”

“What?” I whispered, trying to set an example and failing.

“Don’t you live? Up there? Why aren’t you up there?”

Oh, I realized! She thinks my home is the chancel. That I make my bed beside the altar and eat bread and wine for breakfast, lunch and dinner. That I had left my home up front to sit in the back of the church.

She accepted my whispered answer, that it wasn’t my turn to be “up there,” and the night went on. During Communion distribution, she had one more thing to say to me, as she paged through the heavy hymnal.

“I like this book,” she announced. “And this is my church.”

There she was in a community of people who astound me each week. Parents and grandparents who have decided that passing along the Christian faith is worth the work of getting a young family to church, which can be a great deal of work. Many of these parents wear their fatigue on their faces, their time at church a brief intermission from running between kids’ activities.

Because my worship neighbor’s family almost never misses worship, this little girl may not be proficient at whispering, but she is wise enough to know St. John is her church.

The adventure book would capture other moments: grandparents teaching grandkids how to hold their hands for Communion; single parents who visit with their kiddos over supper with no cell phone in sight; a cook who lets nothing get in the way of her dedication to the ministry of the Wednesday night meal; kids who woke up that morning and announced to their moms that they can’t wait to eat at church; ordinary people who extraordinarily teach, mentor, sing, wash tables, bring dessert…

We do none of this perfectly. Perfect is not the goal, not the requirement, indeed not even a helpful aspiration. Perfect is the love of God, who also does not live “up there,” but here, among us, now and always.

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Reflecting: You Are What You Value

Look in the rearview mirror to last week, a stretch of days that now count as history. What do you see?

How did you spend your resources: time, money and energy? Did the days rush by in a blur? Did you feel like a pinball being bounced around in a machine? Or was the pace of each day more like a slow walk through the park?

Take a moment here and look around your life. Look back and to the sides. What you see today may not be the same as what you saw last week or last year, like reading the same Scripture you read long ago (or not so long ago) and understanding it completely differently.

The good news of the Christian faith is the stubborn insistence in a new day despite all reason; amid the joys and sorrows, hopes and regrets. Somehow, a splash of light overcomes an ocean of darkness because we believe Christ has died and rose again.

With God’s promise that every day is made new and even you are made new, look at your life and notice how you are spending the resources God has given you. You are what you value, that is, how you spend time, money and energy is a way to describe you.

The days have a way of moving forward whether or not you are buckled in! If your life feels exhausting, try this:

  1. Set an alarm for 15 minutes.
  2. Sit down with a piece of paper and pen.
  3. Write a list of your values. Consider what matters most to you in this season of your life. Your list may be two or 12 items long. Why do these values matter enough to you to make your list?
  4. Look back at your week. Did you spend your resources in a way that reflects your values? Where did you nail it? What needs reconsidering? Notice both what went well and where you have room to grow.
  5. Carry around your list and revisit it whenever you have that “I’m-a-pinball” feeling.

You, beloved one, are no pinball. God did not create you to be bounced around.

“I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love.”

Ephesians 3:16-17

Whether you look in the rearview mirror or to the days ahead, your life matters deeply to the Lord who dwells in your heart and starts over with you each day.

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