Cloud Shapes

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfector of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:1-2

Was this passage the inspiration for the touching scene in The Lion King? You know the one. Mufasa directed Simba’s attention up to the stars and in the Broadway musical sang, “They Live in You.”

Probably not, but I am going to pretend it was!

The stars in the sky, like clouds molded into a work of art, call our attention to those who have gone before us, to the great cloud of witnesses who shaped our lives on earth.

Who do you remember when you gaze at the clouds or the stars? Who lives in you? Who ran the race with perseverance and waits beside Christ for you?

Today I am remembering my internship supervisor, Tom Zarth, who died on Ash Wednesday re-membered with Christ and the great cloud of witnesses, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

A requirement of ordained pastoral ministry in the ELCA is a year of internship, which I am grateful to have spent at Oak Grove Lutheran Church in Richfield, Minn. In those days, internship typically took place the third of four years of seminary. The fourth year, then, allowed students one more year or learning and processing after practicing ministry on internship.

My timeline had to be adjusted, however. When interviews took place for internships, I asked to stay in the Twin Cities because Marcus had a landscape business and was going to college. Like many others, I interviewed with a handful of pastors and deacons (mostly pastors). The seminary then assigned students to internship sites based on the preferences of both the students and pastors.

I had no offers. Nada. Although I sorted through all the feelings of rejecting, thankfully no congregation chose me as their #1 student. Thankfully because, had I interned my third year like all my classmates, I would have missed out on Oak Grove.

In these days of remembrance and grieving, people will recall Tom Zarth’s solid preaching, his gentle pastoral presence, his musical gifts and radical hospitality. He served at Oak Grove for decades.

The people in your cloud of witnesses are there because of the unique ways they shaped your life. Tom was a formative witness for pastoral ministry for me because he was genuinely human. You can think of pastors who lead with personality, who can mistakenly convert worship into a show. Tom led with authenticity. He preached, sang, and loved the neighbor with the gentle justice Marty Haugen sings of.

Distinctly, I remember when he played his guitar and sang “My Soul Cries Out,” the new rendition from the emerging ELW, at a conference gathering among his colleagues. I had no idea at the time how incredibly brave that was. The Twin Cities include a competitive culture for ELCA pastors and singing along is vulnerable. That song was a mark of his ministry.

I remember one Council meeting when he was almost late. He explained how their three-year-old was excited to hang out with him and not her mom for once, and he didn’t want to miss out. He may have been the first pastor to tell me the perk of the work is its flexibility. Ministry is incredibly intense at times, and at other times it allows you to go to your kids’ events at school.

Who might you remember with thanksgiving this week as you gaze at the clouds or the stars? Who has shaped your life?

Thank you, Lord, for Tom Zarth and for all the cloud of witnesses who have run with perseverance and now rest in you. Amen.

Photo by Jelleke Vanooteghem on Unsplash

Reflect. Rinse. Repeat.

My favorite devotional app is Pray as You Go. I love it because the daily devotion is the same length as my short morning walk with the dog. There is music, a Scripture reading and questions to wander deeper into the reading. It ends with a blessing.

Saturdays are special. On Saturdays, you are invited into examen, a spiritual practice of intentionally looking back on the day or week.

Have you ever stopped to notice how fast the days and weeks can potentially move? Perhaps it’s like a counselor might say at Bible Camp: the days are long, yet the weeks fly by.

How would you estimate the pace of your life? If you were to assign a speed to how fast your life is moving these days, what might be the miles per hour? Is your life moving at a safe speed? Or is it moving so fast you can hardly keep up and you are at risk of getting a speeding ticket?

The Saturday examen is a yield sign with a mirror. Slow down here. Look back and reflect. What do you see?

Take 3 deep breaths here to yield and look back and reflect.

Each Saturday that I take time to do the examen, I am amazed at what I see in the mirror, the volume of things that can happen in one week:

  • I see conversations, both the ones I had and the ones I missed out on.
  • I notice that person in my family who has been quieter than usual.
  • I recognize where I was my true self and where I simply tried to fit in because that was easier.
  • And every time, there was Christ beside me.

This is my favorite part of the examen. The danger of speeding through life risks letting Christ become a blur, a fuzzy figure in the background instead of a passenger beside me, a companion on the way, a conversation partner at the ready.

Reflect and then rinse. Let go of whatever needs letting go. Like the waters of baptism wash away the lurking threat of sin and despair, let the gentle love of Jesus rinse away your old hurts and regrets.

Slow down. Reflect, rinse, and repeat next Saturday, or as often as needed.

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Giving Up

“What are you giving up for Lent?” a Confirmation student asked me on Ash Wednesday.

“Well,” I admitted, “I haven’t narrowed it down yet. But it’s time! I will get back to you.”

It was true. I had journaled a short list of ideas the day before and then set the list aside and forgot about it: minimize the things I have, share the busy Martha-like tasks at home to avoid constantly cleaning the kitchen like a crazy person.

What am I giving up and why do such things throughout the six-week stretch of Lent?

We give up something in Lent to follow the faithful Christian practice of giving up. A life with Christ is a constant, every day, every moment invitation to give up. To give up the gossiping, the gluttony and the gall.

Lent is also a call to give up trying so hard. To give up on the lurking notion that if you only try harder, you can be better a follower of Jesus. To give up some of the doing to make space in your life for the being with Jesus.

The hope is that after six weeks of a Lenten practice, you might establish a year-long habit. Six weeks of giving up might flow into 46 more weeks of giving up. And then a lifetime of giving up. When you trip and fall, no worries. Lent comes around every year.

The baptismal cross that was covered in ashes on Wednesday proclaims the promise that God does not give up on you, which in the end, is the only giving up that really matters throughout Lent and throughout all time. (However, I am still hoping to give up a handful of kitchen chores!)

Photo by Kseniya Lapteva on Unsplash

Please Explain the Ashes

Last night I arrived home with a dirty forehead and an ashy-black left thumbnail. Serving the church can be messy business! My thumb reminded me of my dad’s hands when I was growing up – grease settled into the lines of his palms, framing his nails after decades of fixing vehicles.

Does smearing ashes on foreheads fix anything?

Ash Wednesday, in my experience, draws a crowd. Perhaps deep down we all know we are the broken ones who need fixing. We have fixed our attention here, there, and everywhere but on the simple mercy of Jesus Christ. We have broken our bodies and our spirits by trying to keep up with a fast-moving conveyor belt of fake promises.

Does smearing ashes on foreheads fix anything? Please explain the ashes.

To the little ones, I would say: “These ashes remind you that you belong with Jesus forever.”

To the teenagers, I would say: “These ashes assure you that nothing you do can undo Christ’s eternal love for you.”

To the young adults, I would say: “These ashes ground you in an unending relationship with God amid the uncertainty of life.”

To the middle aged, I would say, “These ashes speak of the fragility of life and your temporary place in it. Christ’s death takes away the ending of your life story.”

To those in the last third of life, I would say, “Your forehead has worn these ashes so many times. By now you have seen me trace this cross above the graves of so many people you love. It’s time for you to be the teacher by the way that you live: hold tightly to God’s eternal love and loosely to your earthly life.”

But to keep things simple, we say the same words to the baby with a brand-new forehead that we say to the elder with the crumpled-up forehead: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Does smearing ashes on foreheads fix anything?

Absolutely yes.

The ashes smeared on your forehead fix your broken self with the healing grace of God’s promise:

This life is only for now and not forever. Your life with Christ, however, is both for now and forever.

Unlike the fake promises that come at you in ads, in that nagging voice in your head, in the endless ways we compare ourselves with others, God’s promise to be faithful is Gospel truth. It is an unbreakable promise for the broken ones to fix our attention where it belongs. Remember you are dust. To dust you shall return.

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Everything is Fake

Late last night, my daughter and I flew home from a lovely vacation with my mom in New York City. It was so great! The city resembles the kingdom of God, just as Elizabeth Passarella describes it. Every kind of people reside within the five boroughs. Elbow-to-elbow, they share sidewalks, subway trains, and tiny apartments. I squeezed my eyes shut while vehicles squeezed around remarkably tight corners, narrowly missing bikers and pedestrians.

Thousands of religions are represented in the city. In Times Square, we listened to the Muslims chant the mysterious Ramadan prayers. Skull caps and head coverings move through the crowds. Today, my Manhattan friend, Pastor Marsh pointed out, the Christians will be visible with their ashy crosses.

To witness New York City is to see the kingdom of God at work. We are not intended to be a nation of Christians, but a nation of God’s people reflecting God’s limitless glory.

On this Ash Wednesday, I am drawn to a particular story from our trip. We spent much of one day on a bus tour to see some of the major sights that one must see in New York City.

The city that holds every kind of people also holds people with sketchy intentions. We drove by perfectly lined up purses on the sidewalk. Nearby were women with black coats and black bags. Next to them were young men selling AirPods.

“Everything is fake,” our snarky tour guide translated the scene for us. “Those purses,” he explained, “just look closely before buying. The purse might say ‘Couch.’ See the woman with the bag? She will tell you her best handbags are in a building down the street. And who knows what you might buy. Oh, and the box with the AirPods just might be empty.”

He had been a detective once, he explained as he went on to identify a number of other scams we might encounter.

Everything is fake, we remember on Ash Wednesday. The handbags that make us feel as though we have arrived; the purchases that appear to be a good deal when they are no more than an empty box.

Everything is fake. The skincare products that promise to keep us young; the news that convinces us to fear our neighbor; the abundant salary that tricks us into a job we know will leave us miserable.

Everything is fake. The snake in the garden. The voice in our heads that whispers we will never fit in. The machine you work for that never ceases to demand more of you.

Everything is fake. Except for…

the ashy cross someone will draw on your forehead today. This is not fake. It is real. It is as real as the death of Christ for you, as real as God’s promise that you belong to God for all eternity. In fact, the cross is a symbol of the very real promise that no matter how many times you get tricked by the Couch purse or the snake in the garden, you have been claimed forever by the God who remains genuinely faithful.

Photo by Andreas Niendorf on Unsplash

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. ↩︎

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“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.

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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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