My spiritual director asked me, “Have you ever heard of Mary, Untier of Knots?”

When kids spill out onto the sidewalk in laughter or race down the block on bikes, we catch a glimpse of the divine extravagance.

I thought that there were two ways to go through life – toiling hard to be good (and being perpetually exhausted), or giving up and being selfish. I thought that life was fight, flight, or freeze. I am learning that the way of Jesus is neither toiling and spinning, nor giving up.

As we approach “stewardship season,” I want to question the language of stewards and stewardship. To be clear, this is not a critique of fundraising. I serve a small Spanish-speaking congregation, and I know firsthand how vital annual pledge drives are for a workable parish budget. My concern, rather, is theological. My question is whether stewardship is still the best framework for what we are doing this season.

Praying together helps me see how God has already torn open the heavens through Christ’s death and resurrection, and is alive and actively working to bring hope where we thought it a lost cause and to topple all the would-be gods and emperors with a love stronger than any evil and a life stronger than death.

I understand why so many parents devote endless hours to the perfect organic diets for their kids, why so many of us research endlessly where to send our kids to school, how to address their medical needs. On a very deep level we sense that when it comes to protecting our children’s lives, we are ultimately mostly powerless, adrift in a sea of powerful interests, in a world where profit is king and kids are another line on a national expense sheet.

I’m not yet sure what to do in a world without Walter. But I know what he’d do—he’d go back to the text. And what do you know? Just like Walter said it would, the Bible has resources for us to think about the crisis of this day.

Independence and autonomy are not the gifts of baptism or communion. Instead, these sacraments remind us that God comes to us from beyond ourselves—that salvation is given, not earned.

We were early adopters of the Pray Without Ceasing (PWC) ministry opportunity. When I suggested PWC, some shared that praying for thirty whole minutes seemed like a very large hill to climb. Folks were nervous, asking, “What will we do for thirty minutes? Will there be awkward silence? Is this even Lutheran?”

Why is it different here? What is so different about Martha that her “ministry” becomes “tasks” and “meal prep”? It is curious, indeed.

The Sunday Scaries—the creeping dread that arrives as the weekend slips away and the responsibilities of the new week inch closer—aren’t just cultural noise. They reflect something deeper: our desire to be in control of our lives, to meet expectations, and to stay ahead of what’s next. But into this anxious reality, the Gospel speaks a quiet and disruptive word of grace.

Through years of theological discernment, prayer, and faithful conversation, the ELCA has affirmed that same-gender couples are fully capable of embodying the love, commitment, and covenant that Christian marriage represents. We marry same-gender couples not in defiance of our beliefs, but in fidelity to them.

The prophets offer us a glimpse of what could be, but visions are not guarantees. They demand something of us.

How can we stand “close enough” to Presiding Bishop-Elect Curry and Secretary-Elect Mills? What is our call as ELCA Lutheran Christians to love, support, and protect our newly called leaders?

A man disconnected from others is more vulnerable than strong—and more dangerous than heroic. His high walls may look like strength but in truth they are purpose-built for hiding, not protection. In his isolation, he becomes a threat to himself.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe the story was never about the whale, but about a God who dares to ask us things we don’t yet know how to answer.

You are not alone in your struggle. Your spiritual despair makes sense, and God is reaching out. Your feelings are real, your overwhelm is real, and God has something to offer.

How might such silly exercises embed the deeply sacred value that everyone’s voice is needed and worthy in your community?

This is our past year in America, and now that we’ve reviewed it — can we finally consign the political past of 2024 to the dustbin of history?

This book is for anyone ready and willing to dig deeper into their personal and communal stories to unearth the healing wisdom that waits for us all.