Category Archives: faith

2007

High school graduation is just around the corner, with this year’s “Pomp and Circumstance” procession including yet another Lewton. Those preparing to graduate share in common one unusual attribute. Someday, their kids and grandkids will scoff at their antiquity, finding it difficult to believe that these old people entered the world with the iPhone.

That’s right! This year’s graduates have only known a world in which apps refer to applications and not appetizers, a society that devotes an entire device to one particular person. (Remember sharing a generic home computer with everyone in your family?)

The invention of this personalized device unleashed a storm of issues no one saw coming, or bothered to mention in 2007: data breaches, bullying, mental health worries (crises?), pornography, never-ending workdays, brand new gambling addictions, and a handful other unfortunate byproducts of the iPhone.

Although these issues are real, the blame for the storm cannot land entirely on any one device. These issues are in fact the byproduct of our sinful condition as broken humans. Human beings steal things, bully, and make poor choices. We set our own desires above the well-being of our neighbors. The device born in 2007 brought nothing new, only new variations on very old problems. There is, after all, nothing new under the sun.1

I have spent the past 17 years wrestling with the meaning of the invention of the iPhone for my kids. It has changed the landscape of their childhood, like any influential invention throughout time: the wheel, antibiotics, the printing press, Elvis Presley’s hip moves.

The wrestling match with a new invention is meant first for the grown-ups, not the kids.

Like any issue we encounter as parents and guardians, this is a faith issue. The match has less to do with a device and everything to do with how we choose to “fear, love and trust God above all things.”2

Instead of blaming a device, I might ask myself these questions:

  • How am I maneuvering life with the iPhone?
  • Do I rely on this gadget for the assurance, comfort and joy only God can deliver and offers me each moment?
  • What impact has this new-ish device had on my own ability to love my neighbor, tend to my well-being, and nurture relationships with those closest to me?

Kids do not learn from listening, they learn from looking. They learn from looking at the wrestling matches of the adults around them as these adults contend with new inventions, relationship disasters, social media, and work stress. What learning has the class of 2025 soaked up from the adults around them?

Just for fun, let’s go back to Elvis’ hips.

In 1956, Elvis was invited onto NBC’s “The Steve Allen Show” under strict instructions to keep his hips under control. One columnist at the time wrote: “Will Elvis rock and wriggle on Steve Allen’s Show tonight??? While thirty million teenage fans applaud in wild delight??? And will he shake his torso like a trotter with the heaves??? Will Presley’s fans all rally at the nearest TV set??? While mom and pop retire just as far as they can get??? Will maidens swoon and lads grow faint when Elvis starts to squeal???3

Elvis’ hips behaved, they did not rock nor wriggle. There was no need for mom and pop to retire as far as they could get. It appeared they had succeeded at teaching kids that hips are not for dance moves.

But what if the adults had offered a different kind of response, less appalled and more amazed at what hips can do? I’m not saying Elvis’ hips and iPhones are worth comparing, but I do wonder how the response of adults can help or hinder progress.

The maidens and lads refenced in the article would go on to hear their own grandkids and great-grandkids scoff at their antiquity, that their generation weathered the stormy moves of a rock star’s hips…until the next invention captured everyone’s attention and produced a new set of fears.

Although the world changes, Beloved Graduates, it also stays the same, as does our lifelong instruction: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.

  1. Ecclesiastes 1:9 ↩︎
  2. Luther’s response to the First Commandment. ↩︎
  3. http://www.elvis-history-blog.com/steve-allen-show.html ↩︎

Photo by Suad Kamardeen on Unsplash

A Chasm Has Been Fixed – Great. What’s a Chasm?

There are some strange words in the Bible. Actually, you can find a lot of them. I suppose a collection of books that spans thousands of years will deliver a handful unfamiliar terms.

Among the strange words: chasm.

I dare you to use this word in ordinary conversation today. No, I triple-dog dare you! First, what is this word?

Chasm appears but once in the Bible, referring to a gulf, or a great big separation. In Luke 17:26 it describes the empty space that stands between the rich man and Lazarus (the poor man) in the afterlife.

Can you imagine it?!! A monumental gulf between the rich and the poor? As if.

The rich man likes it not one bit. “Yo, Abraham,” he bellows from the fiery side of the chasm, as though Abraham is the bouncer. “Can you fix this chasm? Get me across?”

“Nope,” comes Abraham’s reply before reminding the rich man how he spent his life on earth ignoring Lazarus, stepping over his suffering body each day. The rich man’s control on earth did not accompany him into the afterlife.

On the news, I have seen this rich man. I have seen him cut programs that will primarily impact the poor and leave him and his ivy league cronies in the safety zone of wealth. I have seen him.

He has sent innocent immigrant families into a dangerously chaotic panic, even though these many (not all) of these families have improved my community with their hard work and dedication. I know this rich man.

The problem, as you well know, goes beyond the chasm between the rich and the poor. The more troublesome chasm in the United States runs between truth and baseless lies, between those who are loyal to President Trump and those who are less impressed with the past two months.

The real problem is not the chasm, but the fact that the chasm exists at all.

What is a chasm? It is the human presumption that “they” are wrong and “we” are right. No matter who is cast as “they” and “we”, the chasm is hugely problematic for the poor.

The gospel writer of Luke consistently points to the injustice of those who are left systemically poor. It is the unique spirit of this particular book. The writer concludes this chapter by insisting that not even a resurrection could fix the chasm that stands between the rich and the poor, which is a dismal forecast, yet more than 2,000 years later, seems correct.

Not even the resurrection of Christ reduced the gulf between the rich man and Lazarus. Not even religious wars or world wars or the invention of the internet. Not the expanse to the west or even into outer space fixed the chasm between those who have enough and those whose children will not survive past the age of one because their water is unclean.

Chasms are stubborn that way. Fed by the fertilizer of fear, the chasm between the rich and the poor, between versions of the truth, between political sides is not a far-away problem, but a here-and-now-problem.

  • How might the way that you speak of “them” and “us” affect the chasm? Who is listening and learning from your rhetoric?
  • Is there a news source you have not explored, a side of the coin you might explore in order to keep the chasm from expanding?
  • Name it. What are you afraid of as you stand on your side of the chasm? What is it about “them” that incites fear in you?

If the Bible teaches us anything, it is that hate and bitterness are not change agents. Only mercy engenders change.

Mercy. There’s a word. That word makes avalanches of appearances in the Bible. It is spoken and acted out repeatedly. Perhaps mercy could make more appearances among us today, beginning in our homes, on our devices, and among our next-door neighbors.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

The Hen

What do you know about hens? I know very little except that I really like their beautiful and expensive eggs, which I eat very sparingly these days.

I also know from Luke 13:31-35 that hens gather. They are they original mother hens, buk-buk-buk-ba-gwacking and fussing over their babies.

Jesus offers the image of two animals in this passage: a fox and a hen. The fox is endless bad news for the hen, of course. The hen gathers because the fox prowls.

The fox, Jesus interprets for us, is Herod, the Roman governor on the prowl. As best he can, he gathers power and control.

Who, then is the hen? God Almighty.

Who is she gathering under her wings? You, beloved one.

God is the fussing hen, buk-buk-buk-ba-gwacking all the way to you.

And that is not all.

God is the fussing hen gathering all the beloved, all the broken, and all who live under the threat of Herod.

Herod is long gone, of course, yet the threat of those who love power and control remains. Where there is love of power and control, there is a threat for those whom Jesus describes as the least of these: those who live on the edges of safety, the neighbors who barely scrape by each day.

I imagine the hen gathering those who are still living in a warzone in Ukraine, the mothers whose husbands and sons will never come home. And those in Gaza, the brown-skinned ones whose homes, sacred spaces, schools, hospitals and coffee shops have been destroyed.

Still, the hen fusses.

Global Refuge is a non-profit with Lutheran roots. For Christmas, all of St. John’s offering went to the neighbors who are served by this organization. I learned from my colleague that when the federal government cut funding to organizations like this one, the federal government had the privilege of defaulting on their debt. Not only did Global Refuge lose future funding, it lost the funding the federal government had promised to pay.

And so, the hen’s work is never done.

Certainly, the fox has good intentions. I prefer a balanced budget and I dislike wasteful spending. Are there lines in the federal budget that should be cut? Has spending gotten out of control? Absolutely.

What does it say about the fox and its den when many of very first budget lines cut were the lines meant to become food for the hungry and shelter for the poor? It says that the hen will continue to fuss. Buk-buk-buk-ba-gwack.

Photo by Aditya Tma on Unsplash

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.

Photo by Jeremy Vessey on Unsplash

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.

Photo by Adrien Olichon on Unsplash

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. ↩︎

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