Blog Posts
The Hidden Secret of Winter Trees
In order to grasp this great truth, the first thing we need to do is to get off our human high horse. We aren’t all that, especially when you compare us to the world of trees.
Shared with permission by the Rev. Susan Sparks and www.day1.org.
Today, I’d like to share the secret to life.
Where might I have found this great wisdom?
Oprah? No.
Dr. Phil? Nope.
Tik Tok? Definitely not.
No, I found this great wisdom by doing something very simple: walking out and looking up at the winter trees.
How could trees—let alone dead, lifeless, winter trees—hold the secret to life?
In order to grasp this great truth, the first thing we need to do is to get off our human high horse. We aren’t all that, especially when you compare us to the world of trees.
Trees have lived longer than we have. In fact, trees are the oldest living organisms on the planet. Trees, mold, and jellyfish are older than human history. The oldest tree is a bristlecone pine in the White Mountains of California that scientists date as around 5000 years old. That is Tigris and Euphrates, early Mesopotamia, Bronze Age stuff. Its name, appropriately, is Methuselah.
Trees are also smarter than we are. In the book, The Hidden Life of Trees German forester Peter Wohlleben shares some astonishing discoveries. He talks about trees as social beings and explains how they actually communicate with each other, give warnings to other trees in the forest, share food through their root systems with their own species, and sometimes even go so far as to nourish their competitors. Why? Because one lone tree is vulnerable, but a forest offers strength and safety. In short, trees nourish community.
If only human beings could learn that simple lesson.
At least the writers of the Bible realized the importance of trees. In fact, there are three things the Bible mentions more than anything else: God, people, and trees. The Bible speaks of the great cedars of Lebanon and tells how Moses used acacia wood for the ark of the covenant. Zacchaeus climbed a sycamore tree, and Jesus’ followers are described as oaks of righteousness. David crafted his musical instruments from the wood of a fir tree. A branch from the olive tree signified safety after the flood. A tree formed the wooden manger, and a tree formed the cross.
Trees are an intimate part of the holy narrative, but they’re even more than that because out of all creation, God chose trees for self-revelation. We see this in the beautiful passage Isaiah 41:19-20, where God recognizes the suffering of the people and offers them a sign: “I will put in the desert the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive. I will set junipers in the wasteland, the fir and the cypress together, so that people may see and know, may consider and understand, that the hand of the Lord has done this.”
God chose trees—the myrtle and the olive, the fir and the cypress—to reveal God’s self, making trees the sacred keepers of holy wisdom.
This brings us back to the secret of life, which, in my humble opinion, is to be found in trees. Specifically, it’s in winter trees.
The day I walked out to look up at the trees was dim and dreary. The trees, leafless and bare, formed an almost lace-like pattern against the gray winter sky. To a brief passerby, they probably appeared lifeless, dead even.
I think we all know how that feels. Sometimes everything in life can feel and look bare and brittle, lifeless, even dead. However, there is way more going on under the surface than we realize.
Consider those bare winter trees. Inside their seemingly dead branches and trunks, a magical transformation is happening. Months before, in the fall, the trees dropped their green leaves in order to conserve water and centralize and focus their energy. I think of a tree in this stage as being like a sprinter in a quiet, motionless crouch before a race. All energies and focus are drawn down into that moment before the runner springs into action. What appears in winter to be a quiet time of death for those trees is, in fact, the combustion engine of life.
We always think of the season of spring as the beginning of life, but in fact, spring is not the beginning. It’s the manifestation of the transformation happening inside those great trees right now, in the winter.
In writing about wintering trees, the author Katherine May explains, “The tree is waiting. It has everything ready. Its fallen leaves are mulching the forest floor, and its roots are drawing up the extra winter moisture, providing a firm anchor against seasonal storms . . . It is far from dead. It is in fact the life and soul of the wood. It’s just getting on with it quietly.”
We see the same pattern in human life. William Bridges in his book, Transitions talks about the passages of life, such as those that take place in a job, a relationship, a move, or another life change. He explains that all transitions are composed of three things: (1) an ending, (2) a neutral zone, and (3) a new beginning.
The ending is when we let go of the old. The neutral zone is that time of unknowing when we listen, focus, think, and wait. Then, eventually, the new beginning gleams forth. The key is that it all starts with an ending.
The problem is that unlike trees, we humans tend to fight this truth. We want to focus only on the new beginning. We think that to figure out our plan, to make our choices, we’ve got to get going. If we aren’t producing something, who are we? Endings are seen as unpleasant, and the neutral zone is seen as unproductive. It’s also scary.
When we’re in the neutral zone, we stand bare, like the trees in winter. It’s a time when we can no longer hide our truth behind our agendas, lists, or busyness. Who are we without our leaves? We humans hate asking that, but vulnerability is the place of greatest beauty.
There is a tiny, wonderful book called Trees at Leisure written in 1916 by Anna Botsford Comstock. In it, she talks about the beauty of winter trees: “In winter, we are prone to regard our trees as cold, bare, and dreary; and we bid them wait until they are again clothed in verdure before we may accord to them comradeship. However, it is during this winter resting time that the tree stands revealed to the uttermost, ready to give its most intimate confidences to those who love it.”
The true secret to life lies in the deep wisdom of trees, the place where God chose to reveal God’s self. The trees know that spring is not where life is truly generated. Transformation takes place in winter—that time of ending, that quiet neutral zone, that gap that exists when the old is gone but the new isn’t fully formed.
What parts of your life feel like those bare, brittle, lifeless branches? Who are you without your leaves?
While life can sometimes look and feel like a tree in winter, remember that there is more going on under the surface than we realize. Like the energy humming inside those trees, there are unseen things happening within us. We are changing, churning, transforming inside.
If you doubt that, just walk outside and look up.
While it may feel like loss, while we ourselves may feel lost, winter is simply a time when our energies are gathered deep into our souls, waiting like a sprinter in a crouch ready to spring into new life.
Amanda Gorman, the inaugural poet, put it best: “If nothing else, this must be known: Even as we’ve grieved, we’ve grown . . . We are battered, but bolder; worn, but wiser . . . If anything, the very fact that we’re weary means we are, by definition, changed; we are brave enough to listen to, and learn from, our fear. This time will be different because this time we’ll be different. We already are.”
Rev. Susan Sparks
JAs a trial lawyer turned standup comedian and Baptist minister, the Rev. Susan Sparks is America’s only female comedian with a pulpit. A North Carolina native, Susan received her B.A. at the University of North Carolina, law degree from Wake Forest University, and Master of Divinity at Union Theological in New York City.
Currently the senior pastor of the historic Madison Avenue Baptist Church in New York City (and the first woman pastor in its 170-year history), Susan's work with humor, healing, and spirituality has been featured in O (The Oprah) Magazine, the New York Times, and on such networks as ABC, CNN, CBS, and the History Channel.
A featured TEDx speaker and a professional comedian, Susan tours nationally with a stand-up Rabbi and a Muslim comic in the Laugh in Peace Tour. In addition to her speaking and preaching, Susan writes a nationally syndicated column through Gannett distributed to over 600 newspapers reaching over 21 million people in 36 states.
She is the author of three books, Laugh Your Way to Grace: Reclaiming the Spiritual Power of Humor, Preaching Punchlines: The Ten Commandments of Standup Comedy. and Miracle on 31st Street: Christmas Cheer Every Day of the Year – Grinch to Gratitude in 26 Days! (May 2020).
Most importantly, Susan and her husband Toby love to fly-fish, ride their Harleys, eat good BBQ, and root for UNC Tar Heel Basketball and the Green Bay Packers.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Making 100 TikToks as Ministry
It’s remarkable how many transformative words stay locked within the walls of our churches. Our messages are beautiful, life-changing, and somehow secret. Our ideas are available only to those who know our addresses and trust us enough to step inside.
It’s remarkable how many transformative words stay locked within the walls of our churches. Our messages are beautiful, life-changing, and somehow secret. Our ideas are available only to those who know our addresses and trust us enough to step inside.
As part of the preaching team at New City Church, I felt this. As a church led by queer people of color in South Minneapolis, I heard and gave powerful messages. I saw God’s liberation experienced and expressed – with one condition.
You had to be there. Whether in-person or online, attendance was mandatory.
That’s why I started making TikToks
Culture is having a conversation. Will the Church be a part of it?
We all have different relationships to social media. For you, is it a distraction to avoid? A danger to reject? Another type of noise?
Is it a mystery? An algorithm that rewards some content while punishing others? So complex and changing that it can’t be learned or used?
Or maybe it’s simpler – is it a chore? Is it something you have to do? Is it something you make someone else do?
At some point, I’ve answered yes to each of these questions. Maybe you have, too. But as a speaker and storyteller, I felt compelled to extend my ministry online.
My first reason is geographical. To love my neighbor, I must ask, “Where is my neighbor?”
If my neighbors spent three hours every single day by the river, I would have a river ministry. It just so happens that the river is TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube Shorts.
My second reason is theological. I worship a Jesus who preached in synagogues and in streets. His message could not be contained in a temple; it spilled over into towns, rivers, hills, and fields. His best work was outside – where the people were.
For those reasons, I began to experiment with short-form videos. I tried lots of things – posting clips of sermons, making original content, filming video responses to others, scheduling on different platforms, and much more. I was surprised by what worked and what didn’t.
I’m by no means an expert on TikTok. God knows I watched a bunch of videos from people who say they are. Like many of you, I’m just doing ministry and learning every day. But by taking this journey, I’ve grown as a leader and I’ve grown my community. On average, I reach 10x more people per post (TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube combined) than I do in person.
After making 100 TikToks as part of my ministry, here’s what I’ve learned
1. TikTok Never Ends. You Do.
Social media is an endless source of content, but I am a limited, beautiful child of God.
Content that never ends can mean creators that never stop. This type of content is never content.
When I started, the advice online said to create one to three TikToks a day! With a full-time job in marketing and a ministry role at my church, that was not going to happen. But when you start an account with zero followers, there’s this constant temptation to do more.
To do healthy ministry online, we must reject never-ending, never-stopping, never-enough content.
God has taught me that frequency determines fun. The ideal frequency is the point where something is both presently enjoyable and potentially expandable. It’s the place where you feel like you could do more, but you chose not to. Giving 100% sounds great, but it is actually exhausting and unsustainable. I’ve learned there is something beautiful about giving 70%.
In this season, making three TikToks a week is fun. Five was too many. Seven was a non-starter. Sustainable ministry is more important than super-sized growth.
2. TikTok is Always Available. You Aren’t.
Healthy ministry requires healthy boundaries. This is true whether you’re serving others in-person, online, at church, or on TikTok. These guardrails look different from person to person and even from season to season. While some may reject social media altogether, I think healthy boundaries can make social media a joy and a gift.
First, I protect my time. I want to be fully present in life. This includes my ministry but goes beyond it. I enjoy limiting social media to after 5 PM on weekdays. I turn off notifications so I don’t see likes or comments until a designated time. All of this enables me to engage with my life and work during the day while enjoying great content and community at night. Your life is different than mine, but designated times to be on and off are essential.
Second, I protect my process. I tried so many different ways to create videos – on my phone, on my laptop, in my car, in my house, the day before, a month out, and more. I’m currently making three TikToks a week – two are originals and one is a sermon clip. They are filmed on weekdays and scheduled by Sunday for the following week. I don’t make videos for the same day/week anymore. I have a spot in my house and a time on my calendar for making videos. I schedule my videos for 8 AM on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and I don’t see those videos myself until after 5 PM. I don’t post on weekends because those days are for me. Last year, I edited everything myself and now I have the support of a talented video editor. My process protects my life and my ministry.
3. TikTok is A Place of Discovery. Be Discoverable!
On TikTok, people are constantly discovering new content and creators. It’s a place where people who would never walk into your church or end up on your website can discover your message. Let’s make ourselves discoverable!
Making a 30-minute sermon is an art form – making a 60-second video is, too. Hashtags, subtitles, location, camera, lighting, and sound are all just ways to help people discover you.
I didn’t know sharing an idea from the front seat of a car was more engaging than hearing the same thing from a pulpit. I didn’t realize responding to another video, called a stitch, was more captivating than hearing the same thought in a sermon.
In His ministry, Jesus would say, “You have heard it said,” and then he would add, “But I tell you the truth.” Who knew Jesus was really good at TikTok stitches?
Jean Carlos Diaz
Jean Carlos Diaz is a gay, Puerto Rican speaker and storyteller from the Twin Cities.
jean also preachs at New City Church, a faith community led by queer people of color.
Whether through marketing or ministry, storytelling or speaking, his mission is to move people to things that matter.
he’s married to his amazing husband Fabo. Jean loves Jesus, but in an inclusive and liberating kind of way and He'd love to support or speak to your community.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Questions have Wings
As we enter 2024, there is deep apprehension and fear about the pending presidential election this fall in the United States. How do we stay connected to our faith in such anxiety ridden times?
“At this point in my life
I'd like to live as if only love mattered
As if redemption was in sight..
You see when I've touched the sky
The earth's gravity has pulled me down
But now I've reconciled that in this world
Birds and angels get the wings to fly
If you can believe in this heart of mine
If you can give it a try
Then I'll reach inside and find and give you
All the sweetness that I have
At this point in my life.”-Tracy Chapman
As we enter 2024, there is deep apprehension and fear about the pending presidential election this fall in the United States. There are anxieties about the outcome of that election and the impact it will have on bodies: women’s bodies, the bodies of persons of color, trans bodies, LGBTQIA bodies, bodies living in war zones outside the United States, bodies of those who live on the margins, the poor, the unhoused, the hungry, and those without access to healthcare.
The concern for further division and the hateful rhetoric of years past looms large. Earth’s gravity feels heavier at the start of this year. We feel the weight of the past and wonder what is next. I am reminded of that iconic scene from Forrest Gump, as Jenny, the titular character’s lifelong friend, a young girl traumatized by a life of abuse and hurt, tugs at Forrest’s arm to join her on her knees in a field, in a childlike prayer for deliverance. “Dear God, make me a bird, so that I can fly far, far, far away from here.” The present moment feels as if it is freighted and encumbered by all we’ve been through and there are moments when many of us want nothing more than to escape, to fly far far away. But the weight of gravity seems to keep us stuck in place.
It can feel hard to imagine right now. It can feel hard to consider what the future holds. I find myself asking:
What do I wish I had known years ago to prepare for the years following 2016?
What can I apply today?
How do I show up with love and care for others with this information?
How will my body and the bodies of others be impacted?
There is a phrase I’ve heard , “thoughts have wings”,which describes how a thought or an idea can take off growing and stretching farther than anyone could have anticipated. This phrase invites us to consider unintended consequences attached to the power of words, to stories, to questions. Words can take flight and catalyze our fears, stir our hopes, and spark imagination. The right questions can allow us to let go, take off. They have the power to transform our minds and hearts and to see beyond the fears and pain of any given moment to something hopeful.
The right question has wings.
In Isaiah we read: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles” (Isaiah 40:31) Written at a time when both the kingdoms of Israel and Judah were crushed under the weight of the Assyrian empire, the prophet describes God’s action in the world, but also a people in turmoil. As they looked for liberation from oppression, as they faced their own divisions and conflicts within, these words sparked their imagination and fueled hope.
But, that hope isn’t just the product of inspiring words. Embedded in and around this verse in chapter 40, the prophet questions to their audience: “Who is like our God?” (v.18) and “to whom then will you compare [God]?” The questions catalyze a change in thinking. They serve as a reminder of who the people are, and who they belong to. Ultimately the prophet’s questions serve to shift the hearer’s perspective. “Lift up your eyes on high and see” says the prophet. And so an idea like hope takes flight.
Now is a moment, like the one facing the prophet Isaiah and the people of God. It is a moment that calls for good questions, perspective shifting, eye-opening, story changing questions. Our questions can lead to new ideas, redefining and reshaping how we understand and live into concepts like belonging, stewardship and ownership and so much more, moving us away from easy answers toward deeper connection with one another amid the struggles of life.
Our questions and our words mold themselves into wings that can break free from every weight of fear and defy Earth’s gravity.
Erin Weber-Johnson
Erin Weber-Johnson is Senior Consultant at Vandersall Collective, a faith based, woman-led consulting firm and Primary Faculty of Project Resource. In 2017 she co-founded the Collective Foundation, which worked to address the gap in giving characteristics in faith communities of color. In 2022 she co-founded The Belonging Project, a movement designed to reimagine belonging across the ecclesial landscape.
Previously, Erin worked as the Senior Program Director at the Episcopal Church Foundation, as a grants officer at Trinity Wall Street in New York City, and served as a missionary for the Episcopal Church. She holds a BS from Greenville University, a Masters of Public Administration for NYU and is currently completing a second masters in Religion and Theology from United Theological Seminary.
A published author, she strives to root her work in practical theology while utilizing her experience in the nonprofit sector. Her co-edited book, Crisis and Care: Meditations on Faith and Philanthropy is available through Cascade Books.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
The body is not an accomplishment: a bodily apocalypse
What do we do with the memories that haunt us? That sneak up on us late at night. And whisper words that cut quick to our core?
Photo by Eneko Uruñuela on Unsplash
“….somewhere a little girl is reading aloud
in the middle of a dirt road. she smiles
at the sound of her own voice escaping
she is not the opinions of others
she is of visions and imagination
somewhere a little girl is reading aloud in the middle of a dirt road.
she smiles at the sound of her own voice escaping the spine of a book.
she is a room full
of listening, lending herself
to her own words
somewhere
a deep remembering of what was, she survives all.”-AJ Monet
There is an industry alive and well. The industry of healthy lifestyles. So many before/after pictures, promises of things to come, ways for the body to achieve more than we thought possible.
By making healthy choices, we are told we will become more successful, more at peace, more in our bodies, more, more more.
I see similarities to the prosperity gospel mentalities which spout that financial blessing and physical well-being are always the will of God, and that faith, positive speech, and donations to religious causes increases one's material wealth and physical well-being. The responsibility lies solely on us as humans to make better choices, to be better people, to follow the rules. And if you don’t follow the rules, then those who experience poor health or a lack of wealth are in these circumstances because of choices they made.
The other side of this, of course, is what happens when change isn't possible.
When economic systems are built to ensure people remain in poverty.
When the body doesn't respond to changes in behavior.
When both money and health intersect and we see a deep inequity in our access to healthcare.
When we are told that we are the sum product of our choices, it's a lie.
There is an interconnection between the illusion of control, the commodification of well-being and our culture of blame for those who cannot meet unattainable expectations.
There always comes a moment when bodies break, and are beyond control, despite our deepest wishes. What does it mean to come to a bodily apocalypse? When we are stripped down of all illusions that the latest Instagram reel or set of positive choices will delay the onset of age, or will change our health realities.
What pervisity has befallen us that calls for us to use the health of our bodies for more systematic bias? When did we create a narrative of success and achievement around health?
When I hear words of bodily health lifted up as something we control, we battle, we push the limits for, we seek to own as a marker of influence…it is here that I wonder: where is God?
Pseudo-Dionysius and other like-minded negative theologians talked about how, in the working of articulating the limits of language, we find the divine. In describing what the Divine isn’t, we point both to the limits of language and, in comparison, how much more God is.
In this same way, we can apply this thoughtful framework to how our bodies exist in the world and intercept God's movements.
Our limits, our beautiful humanity, point to a place where the divine is. This is holy.
Resist how our bodies, in all their limits, become places of idolatry. Where we seek to become more than we are or were ever created wondrously to be. Perhaps instead, our body’s limits are reflections of the Divine’s creation, and by buying into false promises, we reject that creation.
Erin Weber-Johnson
Erin Weber-Johnson is Senior Consultant at Vandersall Collective, a faith based, woman-led consulting firm and Primary Faculty of Project Resource. In 2017 she co-founded the Collective Foundation, which worked to address the gap in giving characteristics in faith communities of color. In 2022 she co-founded The Belonging Project, a movement designed to reimagine belonging across the ecclesial landscape.
Previously, Erin worked as the Senior Program Director at the Episcopal Church Foundation, as a grants officer at Trinity Wall Street in New York City, and served as a missionary for the Episcopal Church. She holds a BS from Greenville University, a Masters of Public Administration for NYU and is currently completing a second masters in Religion and Theology from United Theological Seminary.
A published author, she strives to root her work in practical theology while utilizing her experience in the nonprofit sector. Her co-edited book, Crisis and Care: Meditations on Faith and Philanthropy is available through Cascade Books.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Apocalypse Of The Body
Theologians have a word for this kind of revealing, when something stark and dire and even painful occurs and reveals a deeper truth, something hidden in plain sight; it is called apocalypse. The word apocalypse includes the meaning “unveiling” or “disclosing”.
Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash
Touched the mirror
Broke the surface of the water
Saw my true self
All illusions shattered
Money's only paper only ink
We'll destroy ourselves if we can't agree
How the world turns
Who made the sun
Who owns the sea
The world we know will fall piece by piece…
By Tracy Chapman
Fall is beginning to wane in my part of the world. The leaves have all changed, fallen from the trees, and begun to drift in the gutters and along the boulevard. I look out my office window and the branches of our Norway maple look stark and bare, naked under a gray sky. Recently, during an exercise at work, my colleague Thia explained the startling science of how leaves change color in the fall. She described that it's not actually that they change from green to red or orange or yellow. Rather, their autumnal color was there all along, hidden under the green chlorophyll. When fall occurs and the leaves begin to lose this nutrient, as they near a kind of death, their true colors are revealed underneath. What was hidden all along is now breathtakingly visible for the world to see. The world we know falls piece by piece.
Theologians have a word for this kind of revealing, when something stark and dire and even painful occurs and reveals a deeper truth, something hidden in plain sight; it is called apocalypse. The word apocalypse includes the meaning “unveiling” or “disclosing”. An apocalyptic event or vision, therefore, reveals things as they really are. Sometimes we hear this word used to describe political or world events, wars, natural disasters, and tragedies. It is important to notice that these things impact whole groups and communities of people, sometimes the whole world. The scope of an apocalypse is most often collective or communal.
At the same time, these collective moments of apocalypse can unveil truths hidden in our individual lives, in our personal stories, and in our bodies. One of my favorite singer-songwriters, Tracy Chapman, is having a moment right now, and I’ve found myself returning to her songs with new eyes. I love the piece, quoted at the outset for the ways it brings together apocalypse and bodies and money. Apocalypse can be the moment when illusions, like the great songwriter describes, are shattered, when we see our true selves.
Recently a pastor asked me why as a fundraiser and lay theologian, whose work is ostensibly about money and philanthropy, why I spend so much time talking about bodies? How are the two interconnected? How does asking questions about how we value our bodies relate at all to budgets?
When talking about stewardship, we often talk about the three T’s: time, talent and treasure. Pastors and theologians and folks like me who work at the intersection of faith and money use these three T’s to invite people to tangibly offer what often feels intangible, to give people a way to put their faith into action for the common good – for the repair of the world.
What concerns me many days are what falls in between the T’s. These things – time, talent, and treasure – have a lot to do with bodies, but they are not the sum total of us. When we are healed and whole, our bodies include these things and all that is in between as well, the things often hidden in plain sight.
And, I am convinced that embodied, fleshy beings that we are, when we’ve encountered an apocalypse that reveals how bodies are commodified, objectified, or not loved in their fullness, as God loves us, that our job as people of faith is to imagine an alternative way to be in the world.
“We’ll destroy ourselves if we can’t agree”, if we can’t imagine that alternative way in the world. Since the first horrific attack in Israel by Hamas, and the subsequent bombing in Gaza by the Israeli military, the siege-like tactics cutting off food and water and aid, my heart like so much of the world has broken again and again.
Yet, if you listen to the rhetoric on all sides of this war, you’ll hear the language of bodies and worth, how many were killed and what constitutes an equal and measured response to that loss of life, what kinds of lives were lost (combatants, innocents, children, adults, the elderly)?
An alternative way asks, how does one assign value to lives and bodies, when each of us is of infinite and incalculable worth in the eyes of God?
In the shattering of lives and bodies and communities, may our lives open to this truth, that each of us, Israelis, Palestinians, Ukrainians, Russians, Americans, black, white, queer, straight, male, female, non-binary, all of us are priceless. When all is stripped away, when each of us sees each other in the fullness of who we are, may we be granted a glimpse of the holy and infinite, unfathomable, value and beauty of the lives we share, and the bodies we inhabit.
Bared myself wholly heart and body unadorned
Stripped down solely
To the evil and the good
Felt no shame
Naked to the world
And all illusions shattered
Money's only paper only ink
We'll destroy ourselves if we can't agree
How the world turns
Who made the sun
Who owns the sea
The world we know will fall piece by piece
Erin Weber-Johnson
Erin Weber-Johnson is Senior Consultant at Vandersall Collective, a faith based, woman-led consulting firm and Primary Faculty of Project Resource. In 2017 she co-founded the Collective Foundation, which worked to address the gap in giving characteristics in faith communities of color. In 2022 she co-founded The Belonging Project, a movement designed to reimagine belonging across the ecclesial landscape.
Previously, Erin worked as the Senior Program Director at the Episcopal Church Foundation, as a grants officer at Trinity Wall Street in New York City, and served as a missionary for the Episcopal Church. She holds a BS from Greenville University, a Masters of Public Administration for NYU and is currently completing a second masters in Religion and Theology from United Theological Seminary.
A published author, she strives to root her work in practical theology while utilizing her experience in the nonprofit sector. Her co-edited book, Crisis and Care: Meditations on Faith and Philanthropy is available through Cascade Books.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Bishop Michael Curry on his Faith and Health Journey
Prayer seeks the good and well-being of others. It is an act and expression of love as we lift someone or some circumstances before the God whom the Bible says is love. And that is not only a matter of expression. It leads to and undergirds outward action.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
The following is a lightly edited transcript of the opening remarks of Presiding Bishop Michael Curry to the Executive Council of The Episcopal Church, meeting virtually through Oct. 27.
My wife, Sharon, and I are profoundly grateful to you for your prayers, thoughts, and well wishes; and to God, who, out of the fullness of love, receives our prayers and responds in God’s will and way. Thank you is hardly an adequate word but please receive it in the full spirit. Thank you.
I don’t think that I have ever been more prayed for than in the last month or so. I’ve been prayed for by you, my fellow Episcopalians, by friends and colleagues from other Christian traditions, by Jewish and Muslim friends, by fellow children of God of all stripes and types. Prayer matters, and it makes a difference. I’m a witness.
Before the surgery I found myself at a strange peace with whatever was to be. I know that that peace wasn’t the result of Michael Curry’s will power. Somebody was praying. I remember there’s an old Gospel song that says in the refrain, “Somebody prayed for me.”
During nine hours of surgery, somebody was praying. During three days in ICU, two weeks in the hospital, somebody was praying. And now in this recovery period with physical therapy, somebody was praying. Part of my physical therapy has been to walk a little bit further each day, and the therapist goes with me. And then when she’s not here my wife, Sharon, goes with me. And Sharon sometimes will say, “It’s time for our walk.” And I’ll say, “You know, I’m not a dog,” but it does sound like taking the dog for a walk.
But believe me, prayer matters, and it has made a difference. And I’m a witness. Thank you.
In the weeks since I was in the hospital, I’ve thought more about prayer, and not only prayer, but the relationship between prayer and what Jesus taught us about God’s way of love.
When Jesus and New Testament writers speak of love, the Greek word most frequently used to translate the word love is the word “agape.” The word agape refers to the kind of love that is unselfish, sometimes sacrificial, but always seeks the good and the well-being of others as well as the self.
That kind of love is what Jesus was talking about when he said, “God so loved the world that he gave his only son.” Unselfish, sacrificial, seeking the good, our good, of all people. That kind of love is what Jesus was talking about when he said, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”
Agape. Sacrificial. Unselfish. That kind of love is what the writer of 1 John was talking about when he said: “Those who say, ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen.” Agape. Unselfish. Sacrificial. Seeking the good and welfare of others.
So what’s this got to do with prayer? Interestingly enough, I didn’t think of this til earlier this week, but if you look in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s Gospel in Matthew 5-7, where Matthew has brought together many of the critical teachings of Jesus, Jesus explicitly links prayer and love as a way of personal and social change. This is what he said:
“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven.”
Agape. Unselfish, sacrificial love that seeks the good and well-being of others as well as the self.
From Leo Tolstoy to Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, this text has been a cornerstone of the nonviolent way of justice and change that seeks the good and well-being of others as well as the self, personally and in society.
Prayer seeks the good and well-being of others. It is an act and expression of love as we lift someone or some circumstances before the God whom the Bible says is love. And that is not only a matter of expression. It leads to and undergirds outward action. In other words, in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus was saying, pray and do something.
Actually, that’s what our prayer book teaches us. This is a side note—the prayer book really is our order of worship; it actually is kind of a rule of life shaped by prayer in the best of the Benedictine tradition. In the prayer book, in the General Thanksgiving at the very end of Morning and Evening Prayer, it asks that we may pray and praise God, “not only with our lips, but in our lives.” Prayer is as much action as it is contemplation. So pray, and do something.
Now this can be dismissed as church talk, and I know that. But this is not simply a church thing or a religious thing. It matters for the life of our world. It matters in our homes and families. It matters in our communities and societies. It matters in our congregations and in our church. It matters here in our life together as Executive Council. It matters to the nations that we call home. It matters to the entire human family and our care for God’s creation. Dr. King wisely and prophetically warned us before his death: “We shall either learn to live as brothers and sisters or we will perish together as fools.” The choice is ours—chaos or community. We are all children of God equally bearing the image of God, each of infinite worth, value, and dignity.
Even as we speak there is conflict, division, and great suffering in Israel and in Gaza; in Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo; and in Ukraine, Armenia, and Haiti.
Prayer matters and makes a difference. We must pray. So, pray for wisdom and moral courage for world leaders so that violence does not beget more violence—because violence doesn’t work, and violence will not bring about a just and sustainable and enduring peace. Shalom. Salaam. Violence will not get us there. Violence of the spirit, violence of the tongue. Violence of the flesh. It does not work. So pray for the leaders of the nations. Pray for all victims of violence who have been hurt, harmed, or killed in our societies and communities.
Pray for those who have been victims of hate crimes, whether directed at Jews or Muslims or anybody else.
While we can’t do everything, we can do something. I’ve learned this from our Office of Government Relations. People of faith and goodwill can organize and address our governments to call for humanitarian aid to flow freely to those in desperate need in Gaza; for the release of all hostages; for an end to all targeting of children and other civilians; and for a de-escalation of violence in the West Bank and East Jerusalem.
But beyond the practical about what we can do is who we are called to be. On Aug. 16, 1967, Dr. King addressed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, which I believe was his last formal address to that conference, with these words:
I’m concerned about a better world. I’m concerned about justice; I’m concerned about brotherhood; I’m concerned about truth. And when one is concerned about that, he can never advocate violence. For through violence, you may murder a murderer, but you can’t murder murder. Through violence you may murder a liar, but you can’t establish truth. Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate through violence. Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that.
And I say to you, I have also decided to stick with love, for I know that love is ultimately the only answer to mankind’s problems. And I’m going to talk about it everywhere I go. I know it isn’t popular to talk about it in some circles today. And I’m not talking about emotional bosh when I talk about love; I’m talking about a strong, demanding love.
For I have seen too much hate. And hate is too great a burden to bear. I have decided to love.
But this doesn’t have to apply just to lands far away or to political leaders. It can apply to us. It’s not just about Israel and Gaza, Sudan and DRC, Ukraine, Armenia, or Haiti. It’s about Michael Curry. It’s about you and me. It’s about all of us in this church and all of us who are part of God’s human family.
Jesus said it this way, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you and so fulfill the law and the prophets.” In our agreements and in our disagreements, we can treat each other with love, honor, and respect. For that is God’s way of love and life. And that is the only hope of humanity.
God love you. God bless you.
Shared with permission by the Office of the Right Reverend Michael B. Curry, The Episcopal Church, in its entirety. The Most Rev. Michael Curry is the presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church and the author of the book "Love Is the Way: Holding On to Hope in Troubling Times".
Bishop Michael Curry
The Most Rev. Michael Bruce Curry is Presiding Bishop and Primate of The Episcopal Church. He is the Chief Pastor and serves as President and Chief Executive Officer, and as Chair of the Executive Council of The Episcopal Church.
Presiding Bishop Curry was installed as the 27th Presiding Bishop and Primate of The Episcopal Church on November 1, 2015. He was elected to a nine-year term and confirmed at the 78th General Convention of The Episcopal Church in Salt Lake City, UT, on June 27, 2015.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
What Sabbatical Taught Me
I know some countries and companies are flirting with 4 day work weeks, or 6 hour workdays and finding increased happiness and productivity among their employees. They aren’t being lazy, but have learned what I have - there is so much more to life than work.
Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash
What if you did less?
This is the question posed to me by my therapist, one week before I went back to work after 12 weeks of sabbatical. We were talking about my work-life balance, and she posed this question about the work part of the pie.
What if you did less?
During my 3 months of rest and renewal I found myself with time. So much time. Time for the people that matter most, and time for myself, so the prospect of giving roughly 8 hours a day back to a job has been the cause of a lot of anxiety. How do I stay healthy without sacrificing something or someone? I was able to say so many yeses with all that time. Yes to hanging out with my teenager (in those rare moments she left her cave), yes to walks and dates with my spouse, yes to friend getaways and happy hours, yes to drag brunch, yes to reconnecting to a worshiping community I wasn’t in charge of leading, yes to my mental health, yes to my creativity, yes to my physical health, yes to helping friends, yes to serving my community.
My days were not empty, they just weren’t filled with work.
So now what?
What if you did less?
I know some countries and companies are flirting with 4 day work weeks, or 6 hour workdays and finding increased happiness and productivity among their employees. They aren’t being lazy, but have learned what I have - there is so much more to life than work.
In the church (and in so many other caring professions) we name our work a “call” and in doing so open the doors to overwork and underpay. But what we don’t often talk about is who bears the cost of clergy giving all their hours of the day to their call. I wrote an article for Church Anew earlier this year about PKs (pastor kids) and how I don’t want my kid to resent the church for getting all of me, or the best of me.
What might it mean that my first call is to my family?
What might it mean that my next call is to myself?
What if you did less?
I ask all these questions knowing that this is tricky. We live in a culture that values overwork, overextension, and we reward achievers with promotions and financial incentives. In the church, we have trained congregations to see clergy as the be everything and do everything leaders. Not just shepherds but CEOs and CFOs and administrators and project managers and teachers and preachers and, and, and.
I wonder what it might look like for a congregation to ask their pastor to do less?
I wonder what would happen if we rewarded people for saying yes to their families and yes to themselves?
Sabbaticals are such a privileged gift, I know.
Not everyone gets one (that’s a rant for another time because I wish EVERYONE got a significant chunk of paid time off of work) but the point is for the receiver of this time to find rest and renewal. I did find those things, but I also found myself in the midst of a massive rearrangement. My priorities and how I spent my days finally aligned and it was magic. Absolute magic. And I want to be a part of creating this magic in others.
Who is with me?
Natalia Terfa
Natalia is a Lutheran pastor and author who lives in Minneapolis with her hubby, kiddo, and kitty babies. She loves to bake, to read, practice yoga, and find nature adventures. She is passionate about the church of the future, one with no boundaries and filled to the brim with love and grace and laughter and snark and a lot of fellow “not that kind of Christians.”
Natalia co-hosts Cafeteria Christian, a podcast for people who love Jesus but aren’t so sure about his follower
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Upending the Parable of The Widow's Mite: Witnessing Systems of Harm
A close reading of Mark 12: 41-44, especially interpreted through the lens of the Law found in Deuteronomy (14:22-29), stirs up important questions about an often used stewardship approach that interprets this as an object lesson from Jesus regarding individual, sacrificial giving: a person of limited means asked to give generously beyond their livelihood.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
Stories about what we think about money, or what we think God thinks about money, are profoundly important. Our money narratives impact scripture and can shape how we hear and interpret scripture. Fostering feelings of guilt or shame, they can serve as a barrier to receiving the good news of the liberating love of God.
The story of the widow’s mite from the Gospel of Mark is frequently utilized in sermons across denominations during annual giving campaigns. While often used to provoke individuals to faithfully consider their giving to the Church, unlike the wealthy young ruler found earlier in Mark (chapter 10), here Jesus does not prescribe action or lift up the widow as an example for others to follow:
He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. (42) A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. (43) Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. (44) For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
(Mark: 12:41-44)
A close reading of Mark 12: 41-44, especially interpreted through the lens of the Law found in Deuteronomy (14:22-29), stirs up important questions about an often used stewardship approach that interprets this as an object lesson from Jesus regarding individual, sacrificial giving: a person of limited means asked to give generously beyond their livelihood.
Rather, Jesus is observing and commenting on predatory and exploitative political and social practices. Read in this refocused way, the story reveals the negative impact those that misuse the Temple system had on the marginalized, specifically this widow. Reinforcing this interpretation is Jesus’ own words, often found throughout the gospels quoting Deuteronomy, to highlight and condemn the predatory practices of the day.
Jesus was concerned about how money and possessions were used within larger systems, and utilizing this pericope, frames his observation as directed at the Temple treasury rather than the widow, and draws a corollary between the unjust systems experienced both then and now.
When reading this selection of text from Mark, one might rightly ask the question:
“Where is Jesus pointing our attention ? Where is the moral weight of this story? Is it with the widow or the treasury?”
How one answers these questions dramatically shapes the interpretation of the passage. Fellow Church Anew contributor Walter Brueggemann’s Money and Possessions presses this question:
“It is astonishing that we in the west have been schooled to read the Gospel narratives through a privatized, otherworldly lens that has transposed the story into an individualized, spiritualized account…Jesus was focused on issues related to money and possessions, the ways they are deployed in a world governed by God, and the ways in which they define and key social relationships.”
Brueggemann points to a Jesus who not only was deeply concerned about the ethical use of money and possessions within systems, but in keeping with Mark’s context, saw the necessity of fulfilling the Law found in the Torah.
Before the destruction of the Temple the treasury functioned as a vehicle to fulfill the demands of Torah for the collection of economic aid for those regularly dispossessed, namely widows. By giving to the treasury, the rich and those with means were fulfilling their responsibilities, so that the widow did not have to. In fact, widows were not required by Law to give to the Temple. Given that she was not under any obligation to give (and in light of the fact that she contributed her two remaining coins), this parable challenges the interpretation that the widow is motivated by generosity. In fact her motives remain unclear. What is important to note is that the wealthy are not taken to task for contributing to the system. Rather, in the passages just before this text, it is the scribes that would “devour the houses of widows” (Mark 12:40) that perpetuate an inequitable and unjust system.
This challenges many western narratives about money. We do not see any passage within this text that suggests Jesus is asking others to give sacrificially or to reflect on their own individual giving. Rather, his words seem almost intended to shame those who would receive a widow’s last coins.
In the wake of crisis after crisis from the last few years, many are calling for reordering of our faith communities and systems. We see the dispossessed and marginalized still fighting for rent relief, for justice from consumer predatory practices, and the regular practice of philanthropic redlining which limits what additional services are provided.
Throughout Mark we witness Jesus concerned about the use of money in larger systems. This preexisting concern provides a consistent basis for the argument that Jesus’ attention was not focused on the sacrifice of the widow, for whom we do not know of her actual motives for giving, but for the predatory economic practices of the day. When viewed not in the interpretative lens of an individual giver, but through a wider analysis of broader systems of injustice, the Jesus in Mark’s gospel provides relevant spiritual insight to be utilized by contemporary readers today.
How might shifting the focus away from individual thoughts on giving to systems that do financial harm release problematic narratives this fall?
How might Jesus’ witness of predatory practices invite us into the liberating love of God? And, living in that love, might we respond?
This fall is an important time to ask what narratives need to be released and how we might reorder our lives together.
Erin Weber-Johnson
Erin Weber-Johnson is Senior Consultant at Vandersall Collective, a faith based, woman-led consulting firm and Primary Faculty of Project Resource. In 2017 she co-founded the Collective Foundation, which worked to address the gap in giving characteristics in faith communities of color. In 2022 she co-founded The Belonging Project, a movement designed to reimagine belonging across the ecclesial landscape.
Previously, Erin worked as the Senior Program Director at the Episcopal Church Foundation, as a grants officer at Trinity Wall Street in New York City, and served as a missionary for the Episcopal Church. She holds a BS from Greenville University, a Masters of Public Administration for NYU and is currently completing a second masters in Religion and Theology from United Theological Seminary.
A published author, she strives to root her work in practical theology while utilizing her experience in the nonprofit sector. Her co-edited book, Crisis and Care: Meditations on Faith and Philanthropy is available through Cascade Books.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
AI for Ministry: A Purposeful Vision for A New Technology
AI may be shaping the cultural and technological environment, but we also have an opportunity to shape norms around its usage and in the process to raise important ethical and theological questions about how one can and should use these powerful tools. AI represents a seismic change in both technology and culture.
Photo by David Libeert on Unsplash
AI is already shaping church life and it will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. It will impact everything from how we work to how we learn. It will most certainly impact faith formation and our theological imaginations. Already, the most widely used AI tools have ingested the entirety of the Christian canon, along with innumerable commentaries, devotionals, and reflections. OpenAI’s tool ChatGPT, for example, can summarize the book of Ecclesiastes, explain what theologians like Martin Luther and John Calvin thought of the book, and provide guidance on how to respond to the text within daily life. More than providing summaries of scripture, these tools can also generate answers to questions like “Is my work meaningful,” “How do I explain the death of a loved one to my young children,” and “What should I look for when selecting a faith community?” It will even respond to deeply personal prompts like, “I am burnt out” or “I am struggling with anxiety.”
But as leaders, we are not just passive objects in this story. AI may be shaping the cultural and technological environment, but we also have an opportunity to shape norms around its usage and in the process to raise important ethical and theological questions about how one can and should use these powerful tools. AI represents a seismic change in both technology and culture. Faith communities ought not stand by idly and watch the accelerating deployment of these tools. This is a moment that demands the church’s creativity, curiosity, and thoughtfulness.
In this essay, we set out to describe a philosophy of use that places human spiritual flourishing at its center. After describing this philosophy of use, we will offer concrete examples of how AI can be used in congregational contexts to promote our communities' well-being.
Utilizing AI in a human-centered way should not only be about increasing our capacity to do more work. Maximum productivity is not a virtue. Instead, we should deploy AI to help us connect with actual communities. By organizing information and creating coherence out of our experiences, AI can declutter some of the noise from our day-to-day lives. In doing so, it can help to initiate conversations of meaningful spiritual depth. As church leaders, we ought to learn to channel this process towards spiritually nourishing ends, using AI generated content for conversation, discernment, and spiritual formation. By doing this, we will learn to use AI to help our communities become more human.
From productivity to curiosity
Currently available AI tools are highly effective at making us more efficient at work that is related to communication, visual textual content development, data summary, and the entry level triage of human needs. We should make use of these capabilities in ways that enable us to tend more carefully and effectively to the human work of caring for souls, accompanying others in times of longing and loss, and promoting human flourishing.
It is well documented that AI can make us more efficient at procedural tasks. From summarizing data sets to organizing communications, systems like ChatGPT can create coherence out of clutter. Culture commentators have had much to say on these capacities. Predictions range from a future where we are all made more efficient and fulfilled to a future where we are all unemployed. It is no surprise that much of the attention to AI has been focused on what tasks we ought to outsource to these new technologies. It is also worth noting that a similarly wide range of concerns are often articulated at times of immense technological change.
But AI for ministry is about far more than productivity and efficiency. Inevitably, our communities will turn to these systems not just for task completion but with significant questions on what it means to live a good and meaningful life. One can ask ChatGPT if their work is impactful, or if their anxiety is treatable, or if their faith is meaningful because these questions can be asked without any associated stigma. In this sense, ChatGPT has created an alternative to the sacred spaces of Christian communities.
If we are to use AI in a human-centered way, we cannot cede these essential questions to large language models. Rather, we must learn to extend such conversations, which will initiate in cyberspace, to the analog spaces of Christian community. A philosophy of AI for ministry views these tools as sidekicks for initiating a dialogue. A church leader might encourage the use of these tools as a means for initial exploration. By cultivating a psychologically safe church community where one is free to ask big questions, the same leader also encourages the transfer of this inquiry from the screen to the small group. In this way, AI becomes a tool for encouraging our curiosity. The content it generates provides a sort of fodder for deeply human conversations taking place in analog communities.
Articulating faith narratives with AI assistance
Sharing one’s faith story is a deeply formative event, yet one that is often peripheral to many mainline Christian communities. The practice of offering testimony is far more common in evangelical, charismatic, and pentecostal churches. This is an unfortunate reality, given that the recollection of God’s work in the world is as ancient as the Old Testament itself, and is particularly prominent in the psalms and other collections of Hebrew poetry. Perhaps the most significant reason that we don’t take up this narrative exercise more often in the church is the confidence one must have to create and share one’s story. To share a testimony, faith footprint, or faith reflection is to make one’s faith come alive. Unfortunately, this is a spiritual practice that has long been accessible only to the privileged few who have the requisite educational background and skills to translate lived experience into cohesive story through a theological lens.
Still, to create a coherent story of how one’s life is part of God’s story is to solidify one’s faith, and even commitment to one’s church. AI can be an equalizer in this formative spiritual practice. Lacking in its theological imagination, AI cannot take on this task independently. But tools like ChatGPT can help us to create a coherent, compelling and persuasive narrative of our lived experience – our relationships, our struggles, our moments of triumph, our experiences with the mundane and the sublime. From simple lines of description of everyday life, these systems can give us the raw material for communal spiritual discernment. Currently available AI tools are remarkably effective at creating such simple narratives. These systems can use a stream of consciousness list of day-to-day encounters or a detailed export of calendar entries to create a coherent story of how we spend our time.
When AI provides us with coherence and the confidence to share our stories, ministers can reinterpret these narratives through a theological lens. A chatbot cannot explain how lived experience relates to the cross, nor how death and resurrection are at work in one’s personal stories. So after hearing an individual's story, a minister can contextualize it within the broader narrative of how God is active in a particular time and place. They can also create communal spaces where everyone's stories are acknowledged. In doing so, church leaders weave a vibrant tapestry from the individual narratives in a community, illustrating the myriad ways in which God manifests in lived experiences.
Michael Chan
Dr. Chan is the Executive Director of the Center for Faith and Work at Concordia College, Moorhead, Minnesota. Prior to this position, he was associate professor of Old Testament at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota. He holds a Ph.D. from Emory University and is a graduate of Luther Seminary (M.A. in biblical theology) and Pacific Lutheran University (B.A. in elementary education).
Ryan Panzer
Ryan Panzer is the author of “Grace and Gigabytes: Being Church in a Tech-Shaped Culture” (Fortress Press, 2020) and "The Holy and the Hybrid: Navigating the Church's Digital Reformation" (Fortress Press, 2022). Ryan has spent his career in the worlds of church leadership and technology. He received his M.A. from Luther Seminary while simultaneously working for Google. Ryan serves as a learning and leadership development professional in the technology industry and as a speaker and writer on digital technology in the church. Ryan also serves as the Resident Theologian at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Madison, WI. For more writings and resources, visit www.ryanpanzer.com.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
The Stewardship of Memory
What do we do with the memories that haunt us? That sneak up on us late at night. And whisper words that cut quick to our core?
Photo by Prometheus 🔥 on Unsplash
Gawd at times it's pretty rough
I get these flashes from the past
The pain, the anger, the sadness
Just creeps up on me, unexpectedly…
Haunted by Memory: A poem by Kaila George
There are many sayings about living a life without regrets, living life to the fullest, regretting what you did instead of what one didn’t. So many memes and words of inspiration. What do we do with the memories that haunt us? That sneak up on us late at night. And whisper words that cut quick to our core?
I live many days as Harper Lee describes her iconic character Scout; living the book of common prayer. I am thinking of things done or left undone, evil done to me or done on my behalf. Working to be present, but when living I hold my ancestors' stories and my own ... .all the while working to discern what's useful, what needs to be saved, what needs to be passed on to my children.. Sometimes all my old memories feel like junk— hanging out for all to see, to comment on, to frame in their own lens.
I wonder what the old evangelical revivalists would proclaim about an internet that doesn't allow for memories to be washed clean as snow. They pop up at us, surprise us, take us back at how real feeling can hit—even after decades. There they are—sitting out—waiting to be used, to be remembered, to be felt again.
The summer I was married, I lived in my husband’s village on an island in Alaska. Growing up in the midwest in a white, upwardly middle class family had taught me specific economic and class rules. Among those rules were neatly mowed, tidy yards with houses well tended. At Christmas, we were assigned a specific lamp color so as to keep to the correct order of red-green-red-green. All distracting kids paraphernalia saved for the backyard where fences kept messes away from view.
Arriving at my husband’s fishing village, I was unprepared for how stewardship looked in different cultures. How cars and old machinery parts were piled and lined the yards of houses. Piece of whatnots stored for a future date.
On the island, there are few places to take, say a car with a broken down transmission, to trade in. There is also limited ability to locate items for repair and often items can be reused for other purposes. Kids toys are often communal property as well. Rather than used by one family, they lay in front yards ready for other families.
Nothing is wasted. Everything can be saved, reused or shared.
Stewardship is often described in how we use the gift of our lives. Whether it be the gift of time, talent, treasure, testimony. We use these simple T’s as they present tangible ways to consider how God moves in the world and, in the movement, calls us to life. Tangible things we can offer to give up for the sake of God’s liberating, life giving love. Yet, our life is made up of so much more than those tangible things.
In the stewardship of our lives, nothing is wasted. In the economy of God, we see how creation reflects this wisdom. We are seen fully and loved completely—from the hairs of our head to the random sparrow.
But, what do we do with the stuff of our lives that don't fit easily into those tangible T-categories? The stuff that doesn't feel like treasure but doesn't feel like sin either.
The memories that we receive may not feel like gifts.
I am haunted by memory. Memories of moments I can not take back. Regrets for choices made, even when the choices were the right ones. Even when I believe I acted as one called.
Memories my ancestors made through their choices. Regrets carried, even when they believed they acted rightly, as one called.
And so today I am laying them out in my front yard. No longer seeking to hide them with a fence. I may pray for my soul to be clean but my memory will never be.
In the ongoing act of the stewardship of life, I offer up my memories for repair, for reconciliation, for the common good. I am unsure what can be reused or shared. But I cling to the hope of God’s economy.
And, some memories, the haunted memories, are of no use except that they bear witness to mine or others’ survival. In God’s economy, nothing is wasted.
Erin Weber-Johnson
Erin Weber-Johnson is Senior Consultant at Vandersall Collective, a faith based, woman-led consulting firm and Primary Faculty of Project Resource. In 2017 she co-founded the Collective Foundation, which worked to address the gap in giving characteristics in faith communities of color. In 2022 she co-founded The Belonging Project, a movement designed to reimagine belonging across the ecclesial landscape.
Previously, Erin worked as the Senior Program Director at the Episcopal Church Foundation, as a grants officer at Trinity Wall Street in New York City, and served as a missionary for the Episcopal Church. She holds a BS from Greenville University, a Masters of Public Administration for NYU and is currently completing a second masters in Religion and Theology from United Theological Seminary.
A published author, she strives to root her work in practical theology while utilizing her experience in the nonprofit sector. Her co-edited book, Crisis and Care: Meditations on Faith and Philanthropy is available through Cascade Books.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
One Pastor's Side Hustle: Subscription Boxes for Women in Ministry
An interview with ConseCrate subscription box founder Dr. Rev. Ruth Hetland.
Photo by Dmitry Mashkin on Unsplash
Our Church Anew blog editor, Pastor Mary Brown, recently sat down with The Rev. Dr. Ruth Hetland to talk about a unique side hustle she engages in called ConseCrate Subscription Box.
Church Anew: How long have you been a parish pastor?
Ruth Hetland: I was ordained in 1999 and I served 4 full-time calls in churches. Now I am doing part-time interim work in addition to my calling as business owner of ConseCrate Subscription Box, LLC.
CA: What led you to consider pursuing a second vocation?
RH: I love being a pastor but always felt very restless and liked doing new things. I had many different side projects over the years and so I was a big fan of a podcast called Side Hustle School. The ideas were so creative! One in particular was someone who started a subscription box and they talked about how important it is to find a group of people that are underserved. In thinking about a good market for a subscription box, it occurred to me that women in ministry didn’t always have many resources just for them. I thought it could be a really fun idea to start a subscription box for women in ministry. I posed the idea with some clergy friends and there was a great response. I found some other podcasts that focused on subscription boxes and related topics, such as how to find boxes, source items and set up an LLC. I followed all of the steps and gave it a try. My first ConseCrate box was for Advent in 2020. I started with 170 subscribers and had fast growth right from the start.
CA: What is your subscription base now and how have you grown it?
RH: Today I have 500 subscribers a month from all around the country and throughout the world. Most have found me through social media and other ministers sharing about ConseCrate on social media. We originally packed the boxes at our home, but now we use a fulfillment center.
CA: What types of items do you include in a ConseCrate box?
RH: We have a monthly subscription box and also special one-time boxes for ordinations and installations, etc.. Typically there are five to six items each month, including something useful, something humorous, something inspiring and always a surprise.
I also do custom boxes for special events, such as synod assemblies, conferences, and retreats.
CA: How do you continue to source such a wide variety of creative items?
RH: I love to include items that are created by ministers who have their own side businesses. We’ve had roasted coffee from Oregon and honey from a beekeeper pastor in Kansas. We have included books from several ministers who are authors. After three years of doing this, the list is very long of items we have included from ministers who make things: earrings, mug rugs, lip balm, soap, cards, stickers, cookies, finger labyrinths, and prayer strands. Ministers are very creative people and it is fun to share all the cool things they are making!
CA: How have you grown the concept beyond the boxes?
RH: We recently started a book group that meets virtually for the discussion. Authors of the books join us, too. We are also offering a travel experience - it is called ConseCrate: Out of the Box - for women in ministry. In January of 2024 we are going to Belize for our first journey. We still have a couple of spots open! We are doing this along with another pastor-owned business, Sunlight Tours led by Pastor Sarah Raymond at sunlighttours.org. There will be good food, adventure, rest, warm weather, yoga, and renewal along with women from many different denominations and from all around North America!
CA: What is your hope for the future?
RH: Most of ConseCrate’s subscribers are ministers who buy ConseCrate for themselves. One of my goals that I’d love to see is more congregations buying boxes for their ministers as a fun monthly surprise or clergy appreciation gift. It is a simple way to share a bit of joy with a minister and to support the creative work of so many other people who make the fun and useful items that go in each box. Find out more or subscribe for your minister at consecrate.cratejoy.com.
Rev. Dr. Ruth Hetland
The Reverend Dr. Ruth E. Hetland is an interim pastor and founder of ConseCrate Subscription Box, LLC. She is a happy cat lady and mother of sons. She lives in Detroit Lakes, Minnesota where she drinks a lot of coffee, practices yoga, and writes morning pages every day.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Tears of Renewal
Photo by Ed Leszczynskl on Unsplash
This sermon was adapted from the closing worship service of our recent gathering, Renew, on May 2-3, 2022. It is our prayer that you find morsels of renewal in these words.
And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”Revelation 21:3-4
Over two days we gathered asking for renewal, calling upon God to ignite in us a spirit of renewal for ourselves, for our communities, for our congregations, for our neighborhoods, for our world.
Going into these days, each leader and person of faith came in with hopes and longings of their own. For me, I was hoping that I might catch a glimpse at the Spirit at work in something bigger than me. I hoped also that I would catch a glimpse at the Spirit working also on me.
One of the refrains, one of the rhythms that came through the assembly over these two days was the tension between how much this work is about us – self-reflection, the work that the gospel is doing in us. But the flip side of that call that this work is ultimately not at all about us as leaders in the church. That’s the rub it seems.
I remember hearing Pastor Jenny Sung preach about our willingness to be healed, and the Spirit’s work in and through our lives: “There is something that has been grafted inside your being. There is a place inside that has never been wounded, that has never been hurt, where the Holy Spirit is raising you up with the same power that raised Jesus from the grave. It’s in you.”
I remember Tod Bolsinger encouraging us to remain wholehearted in our work, refusing the temptation toward cynicism and apathy by focusing on the one thing that we can make an impact on. He invited us into the vulnerable work of leadership, sharing the ways that this work has broken us.
I remember Nadia Bolz-Weber speaking about the tension between using our charisma for good and minding it in the room, tending to the ways we invite other voices to the table and choose moments not to speak or share an opinion.
But it wasn’t until Joe Davis took the microphone last night that it really started to work on me. He started talking about tears. From his poem “You Gotta Cry Sometimes,”
“When I gave permission for the waves to rise
waters gathered like a choir in the aqueduct of my eyes
singing psalms of lament with each changing tide
baptizing my breath with every bathing sigh
Tears of mercy and justice kissed, rolling down my chin to meet
rivers of righteousness slid round my cheek like a mighty stream
these waters have shown me crying is not a sign of being weak
but Love’s persistent flow within us during our time of grief”
Tears are so incredible necessary for our healing, for our wholeness, for our wellness. To be made whole, we need to let those tears out. As a white, cisgendered, hetero-presenting man, this is not an act that the society teaches me to do very well. There aren’t a lot of scripts of how to do the difficult work of grief and healing and wholeness and bearing our souls with one another. But perhaps that is exactly the work we are called into at this moment.
There is such a variety of tears. We shed tears of joy, the deep acknowledgement that something is right beyond description. A smile on our face and warmth in our hearts, the moisture from our eyes frees us to see what the first verses of the Bible call tov, good.
For many of us, we shed tears of celebration and wholeness upon seeing faces that we hadn’t seen in three years. People coming back to church, looking sheepishly but greeted with warm smiles and drippy eyeballs. Each tear drop a story, a connection, the time passing and the celebrations missed, the grief of loved ones no longer with us.
There are tears of momentary sadness, something immediately in front of us. An inability to gather near loved ones at a funeral or celebration of life. An impossible diagnosis. A child hurt for the first time by a world that can’t tend one another.
There are tears of generational anguish, communal trauma, and corporate lament. There are tears that well up in us from a chasm we can’t explain. Tears that surprise us with delight or shuddering and longing.
Somehow our bodies express this need through the ducts in the sides of our eyes. Somehow the water in our bodies finds its way out to drip all over the floor into the ground and into the planet. Somehow the same water that waters the earth is the same water that waters our transformation.
In my life I have often found transformation and resisted it wholeheartedly. There have been moments and interactions with my daughters, for example, where I wish I could have a total do-over, where I wish I could take back the words that spilled out of my mouth. A few weeks ago, the consequences of my ill-chosen words were tears. As the words slipped out, I knew right away that I wanted them back, but of course I couldn’t.
But perhaps the tears that changed me in that moment were the tears that I was willing to shed afterward. Tears of apology. Tears of vulnerability. Tears of love.
Joe Davis preached it in his poem. We have a God who weeps with us. This passage from Revelation is not about a God who whisks away the tears and avoids our pain. No, this is a God who physically leans in and wipes away the tear from our faces. This is a God who weeps with us, who mourns with us, who grieves with us, who dies with us so that those tears may be the water of new life.
I wonder, what tears might be welling up in you? What tears might be yearning in your communities and congregations? What tears have gone un-wailed, unacknowledged, unwiped? What tears are still leaking out?
We heard from Dr. Bolsinger about looking at pain points, which can seem like a neat Silicon Valley term for ideation and design thinking. But perhaps God is calling us to look at these tears, looking at the physical embodiment of the pain of transformation in our world. And perhaps it starts with each of us as leaders, allowing ourselves to be broken, to soften with tears that only God can wipe away.
Because those tears are gift. The tears are balm. The tears are healing and holy and of the creator of the universe. At the beginning of creation, God’s spirit breathed over the waters of chaos and uncertainty and called forth light and life and possibility. That water still drips and nourishes and soaks the earth with transformation.
Amen.
Rev. Matthew Ian Fleming
Matthew Ian Fleming is a recovering evangelical who opens up his Bible bruises with curiosity, wonder, and a fair amount of irreverence. He is the founding director of Church Anew, an international platform equipping church leaders to ignite faithful imagination and sustain inspired innovation. With four colleagues, Matthew launched Alter Guild, a podcasting network with over 350,000 downloads that now features four shows including Cafeteria Christian with Nora McInerny and New Time Religion with Andy Root. Matthew is ordained in the ELCA and serves as teaching pastor to St. Andrew Lutheran Church in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. At home, Matthew sings unrequested car-duets with his spouse, Hannah, jams on banjo with their two daughters, and religiously bakes sourdough bread.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Real Ministry in a Digital World
Feeling thrown into the deep end of church online? You are not alone.
Church in person and church online. Connecting real life and real ministry.
When I was learning Greek and Hebrew in seminary, I decided to teach myself HTML and CSS, thinking if these dead languages from the past would help me as a pastor, then surely these living languages of our present and future would be helpful for the future of the church. I am in no way fluent in any of them now, knowing just enough to be dangerous with an interlinear Bible or on the backend of a website. Learning to parse verb stems and <div> tags set me on a path to value the church in person and the church online. Now more than ever, the future of former depends on the latter.
Willa is 90 years old and lives in New Jersey—close enough to catch a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline on a clear day but far enough to require a car in order to make it into the city. She’s perfectly happy with her life in New Jersey, except for one thing: her church is in the city and her friend who would drive her in on Sundays passed away seven years ago. Willa has tried to connect with congregations in her neighborhood but none of them feel like the church home she is used to. She misses connecting with the people, seeing their faces and being seen in return. And so when she received a message saying that her church would not be meeting in person and would only gather online during this pandemic, she was curious to find out more.
Willa clicked a link on her church’s website and suddenly she saw her pastors reading scripture and preaching from their own homes. She saw the choir on screen like the Brady Bunch, singing hymns and inviting everyone to sing along from home. After the benediction one of the pastors mentioned a Virtual Coffee Hour. Willa clicked another link, a small green dot lit up on the front of her computer, and her screen was filled with the familiar faces and voices of her church family.
The phrase “IRL” emerged in the early days of the internet, popping up in AOL chat rooms in the 90s and eventually making it into the Oxford English dictionary in 2000. It stands for “in real life” and is often used to distinguish that which happens online from the world around us. Only as we are all thrown into the deep end of church online, we are realizing that this phrase and its distinction between the internet and “real life” is beginning to break down. Because our online connections are real connections. Virtual is not the opposite of real, it’s the opposite of physical. They are both real. Everything is IRL.
This has always been true but is especially important now when these online spaces and virtual connections might be all we have.
When you respond to someone’s post on social media, that’s pastoral care.
When you reflect on scripture on Instagram Live, that’s preaching.
When we smile and laugh together on what can feel like endless video calls, that’s passing the peace.
In whatever ways you are engaging your congregation online during these COVID-19 times, know that this is the real work of ministry that we are called to—real ministry in our digital world. Because even though we can’t connect in person the ways we typically would, we can still connect in real life, embodying a modification to the prayer Jesus taught us:
“Your kingdom come, your will be done, online as it is in heaven.”
Jim Keat
Rev. Jim Keat is the Digital Minister at The Riverside Church in New York City and the Director of Online Learning for Convergence, a diverse collective of faith-based leaders, learners, artists, activists, learners, communities, and congregations. He is the producer of original media projects from The Riverside Church like Be Still and Go and The Word Made Fresh as well as the creator of the Thirty Second Bible project and Thirty Seconds or Less.
Twitter | @IdeasDoneDaily
Facebook | @IdeasDoneDaily
Instagram | @IdeasDoneDaily
Website | JimKeat.com
Website | freeandsimple.life
Website | trcnyc.org
YouTube | youtube.com/TheRiversideChurch
YouTube | youtube.com/FreeAndSimple
Podcast | trcnyc.org/BeStillAndGo
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.