Blog Posts
Revisiting Enfleshing Witness: Dr. Patrick Reyes
A few years ago, I was charged with helping host, convene, and design a conference about Indian mass incarceration. Talking about the locked up bodies, black and brown, indigenous bodies in this country.
The following is a lightly edited transcript and a talk from Dr. Patrick Reyes at our 2021 Enfleshing Witness gathering.
Patrick preaches to connect with the ancestors. Talk with hummingbirds. Run with coyotes. Celebrate his community and dream of futures not yet realized for our descendants and our world. As a spiritual practice and discipline, it is his honor to listen to the voices of the spirits, human and non human, and advocate for all those seeking freedom.
Patrick doesn't preach to anyone. He preaches in congregations and churches, certainly. But the spiritual act of preaching? That has taken him to places like synagogues. Schools, libraries, literal wildernesses across the U.S. If Saint Francis preached to the birds, Patrick preaches to the cactus, butterflies, and hummingbirds that cohabitate the desert where he lives.
And as we work with young adults and doctoral students of color at the Forum for Theological Exploration, he does his best to embody communal preaching at all gatherings, a collective preaching voice, where none of us preaches solo. Communal preaching draws on the wisdom of the group and names the emerging beauty of our collective voice.
Hey, what's going on? I pray that each of you are well. I'm grateful for this Enfleshing Witness conference. I'm Dr. Patrick Reyes. I'm here from my home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and I want to open with a story.
A few years ago, I was charged with helping host, convene, and design a conference about Indian mass incarceration. Talking about the locked up bodies, black and brown, indigenous bodies in this country.
And I was sitting on a call, and I was thinking about this issue of bodies because we were, as BIPOC folks, gathering together to say we needed to address this issue: That where I'm from, 1 in 4 African Americans and 1 in 5 Latinos were being locked up, and that is not okay. That is a violation of human rights.
We are stealing the lives of purpose from people. We were having a deep conversation about this, and then something tricky happened. As we started talking about the statistics, we lost the names, the places, the family members I have, and others had who had been locked up, incarcerated.
We forgot about the humanity of the people we were talking about.
We transitioned to say, ‘Well, who is most affected? Who needs to be free?’ And this just happened to be the same year that we were locking up children at our border.
So here I was as the Latino in this group, who was talking about this, and the way it affects my community. Naming for them ( on a call similar to this), where I was yelling at the top of my lungs, THIS is our problem! These are our babies they are locking up at the border!
And I'm yelling this on the call. Talking about these issues, about the children who are locked up, who are just a few generations removed from the experience I had as a Latino, born in this country, and being on this land and on this soil, indigenous to this space. That they were locking up my primos, my primos’ kids, my kids’ family.
I close the laptop, the call,( just like this recording). I get off this Zoom call like so many of us have been on.
And I turn around.
And there's my son (who's only in kindergarten at the time) listening to me yell stats, facts, figures, solutions, and challenges to how we were going to free our people.
And I see on his face, absolute terror.
He is scared for his life. And he asked me, “Pa, are they going to take you away? Are they going to lock us up?”
And I think about this moment where I have these babies, these young, our kids, this next generation, my son hearing this, and making the connection that so many of us on this call couldn't make that these bodies were our bodies.
As Christians, as people of faith, these bodies were our bodies.
And one of the challenges I had, especially with my son, (because I’m a Christian leader, someone raised in the Church, and his mom is Jewish) he had just learned about Yom HaShoah that same day he was thinking about the annihilation of the Jewish people.
So here he has Latinos locked up, indigenous to this land, people who have experienced genocide, and kids locked at the border. His three main identities. They're tied up into his imagination. They have faced genocide, annihilation, and incarceration.
And I think how have we let this happen? That this has shaped our children's imagination. We say things like children are the future, but do we mean it when we have stolen their future, their purpose, because of the damage we're doing to this planet and the moral injury we're causing when we let other children, regardless of race, get incarcerated, abused, violated?
Not allowing them to have the freedom to dream those big dreams. To be able to imagine those futures that they want for themselves.
I think about myself as a Christian leader as I read the scripture: “Let the children come, do not hinder them for theirs is the kingdom.” This is Jesus talking to us.
Let the children come, do not hinder them. And we have hindered a generation. We have stolen lives of meaning and purpose. If for nothing else, just to allow them to dream their biggest dreams.
So what's our call? What are we going to do as a church, as a people who are called to call people to life, to call people to dream those big dreams, to imagine a world that they can thrive and inhabit. Maybe even dream of the resurrection.
Rubem Alves, who is a famous theologian, writes that adults imagine the cross, it's deep suffering. Children imagine the resurrection. They can go to that place. How do we cultivate and dream up that imagination?
That's my question. How do we do this in the age of COVID 19, in the age of environmental destruction, in the age of racism and violation of the state against black and brown and indigenous bodies in this country? How do we do this work? How do we do this work faithfully?
That's our charge. This is not a preaching moment. You don't get an answer from me. You get a charge. A question.
That's our task as the church to answer that. To go forth and let the children come. Do not hinder them. How are we gonna remove the barriers for them thriving? That is my preaching challenge.
That is what's coming out of my flesh to you, the church. How do we do this work together?
I pray that we find a way.
I love you. And I love your children. How do we do this in a way that allows them to dream and imagine the futures that we know they are worthy of?
This is our work. This is the church's work. Let us enflesh the witness required to create a future that our kids deserve.
We are excited to announce a new chapter in the Enfleshing Witness movement: “Enfleshing Witness: Rewilding Otherwise Preaching.” Learn more about this new grant opportunity and sign-up to stay connected as the project unfolds.
Revisiting Enfleshing Witness
Funerals in the black community are often called home-going celebrations. The opportunity for the community to gather to celebrate the life of a loved one, family member, community leader, community person, an opportunity for us to gather and be in grief and celebration with one another.
The following is a lightly edited transcript and a video of Rev. Dr. Theresa Thames’ talk from our 2021 Enfleshing Witness gathering. Theresa preaches because at 14 years old, she heard God's call and she truly believes in the transformative power and love of God. Teresa preaches to every person she encounters in real life or on social media because she lives her faith. Teresa preaches among those on and beyond the margins, without place or title, and those committed to radical freedom and liberation.
There's nothing like a funeral in a black church, in a black community.
Funerals in the black community are often called home-going celebrations. The opportunity for the community to gather to celebrate the life of a loved one, family member, community leader, community person, an opportunity for us to gather and be in grief and celebration with one another.
There is nothing quite like a funeral in a black church, in a black community.
We live in a society and a country that often renders our bodies invisible, but in the black church and a black funeral with the black community we see each other. We gather together to celebrate life no matter if that person's name is on the side of a building or spray painted on a t-shirt.
We see them. We gather to acknowledge to that family that, “you are held by the community.” It is in the gathering that we sing songs of joy on the other side of what it meant for God to get us to this moment. And no matter your life trajectory a black funeral and a black church in the black community is full of love, is full of this weight of you can fall apart here and we will catch you.
There is nothing quite like a funeral in a black community, with our people.
There is something about the grandeur, the pomp and circumstance of the gathered community. What does it mean for the funeral director to walk in lockstep and lead this family in? Where ushers are donned in white and white gloves, leading order in the service. Where there are fans with Jesus on one side, Black Jesus, and on the other side, a sponsorship from a funeral home. The place where we are able to intermingle life and death.
All of our history, the people who were enslaved in this country, sang about the other side of the Jordan, of when I get over. It is in the songs that we sing, in the prayers that we pray, even the scriptures that we read, that in my father's house there are many mansions. And if it were not so, I wouldn't have told you.
Funerals in the black church are built on this hope that no matter what happened in this life, that there is something for us on the other side and the great by and by when we get over.
There's nothing like funerals in the black community and the black church.
There is nothing like seeing a family brokenhearted walking in, and there is whispering of ‘I got you, baby.’ ‘I see you.’ The holding of a grieving mother, the passing of tissues, the care that is taken even in the repast of fried catfish and fried fish and fried chicken and sweet potato pie and sweet potatoes and all of the food that is care and nurture. From the food that is brought to the house, to the back of the church.
There is nothing quite like a funeral in the Black community, in a Black church.
This past year, those gatherings have looked different. Even as our death rate in our communities climbed higher and higher, we've seen congregations lose member after member at the hand of COVID-19. We weren't able to gather in the same way. We weren't able to celebrate in the same way. There's something that we lost that we missed. Zoom and the ways of technology served us well.
We did our best as we could but there is something about standing around a graveside service As the pastor recites Psalm 23, the Lord is my shepherd. As ashes and flowers are strewn across caskets; as doves and pigeons are released into the air. As all of the ways that we, our community, see one another and hold one another. Even in this place of life and death, of hope and grief, of grief and looking forward and looking back.
Ah, I've missed it.
I've missed the opportunity to be with, to hold, to sing, and to pray. My friends, what does it mean for us to be enfleshed as we hold our grief? We will be grieving and holding space for this ritual for years and years, and dare I say, generations to come.
I am so thankful for the opportunities that I've had over this past year to gather via Zoom and there were elements of our in-person gatherings that I witnessed and experienced on this green. Witnessed the offering of love and community. The witness of sharing stories and testimonies. The witness of hope. The witness of grief. The witness of your life. Your flesh mattered in this life. That when no one else saw you, we see you. When no one has held you, we are holding you. Even though we are distant.
Enfleshed. Incarnate. That's what Jesus was. Came and took on flesh.
And now we are enfleshed and even in death, the joy and the witness and the power and the strength of the Black community is seen as we gather and acknowledge and name and pray and preach and hope. As we go into the rest of this journey, I pray we never lose the pomp and circumstance and grandeur of what it means for us to celebrate life.
We've lost so many. We've lost too many. From COVID-19 and cancer and all of the other ways that our communities have systematically felt the ramifications of white supremacy in this country. We have laid to rest way too many of our children and babies. We have laid to rest way too many of our women and fems. We have laid to rest way too many of our LGBTQ siblings and children of God. We have laid to rest way too many and I pray that we never let go of what it means for us to gather and celebrate life. And to celebrate the life that this person lived and to hope and to work for a better life.
My sister died many, many years ago at the age of 40. She died of meningitis. And the song that we sang, entering the church and exiting the church is “Soon And Very Soon,” and no matter where I am, when I hear that song, it reminds me that this is not the end of our story. That this is not the end of the promise that while we are here, we will hope, and we will fight, and we will show up, but when this life is over, we will gather and celebrate.
“Soon And Very Soon.”
When we go and see the King, no more crying there.
We are going to see peace and happiness there.
We are going. Hallelujah.
Hallelujah. We are going.
And when I get over, the song says, I'm going to put on my robe and tell the story: how I made it over.
As we gather. As we remember, I pray that in this life that we will see each other, that we will hold each other in our grief and we will celebrate life.
Celebrate life.
We are excited to announce a new chapter in the Enfleshing Witness movement: “Enfleshing Witness: Rewilding Otherwise Preaching.” Learn more about this new grant opportunity and sign-up to stay connected as the project unfolds.
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.
Cultivating Leaders for a Digital Age
Recently, AI tools have given us the capacity to work with greater efficiency, to communicate with increased ease, to create digital content, and to give our communities the tools to tell their faith stories. But just as important as improving or increasing our adoption of technologies is the church’s call to cultivate leadership for an accelerating world.
Photo by Javier Miranda on Unsplash
Physics teaches us an important lesson about the challenge of being church in a digital culture. The second law of thermodynamics tells us that, in any system, disorder increases over time. Disorder never diminishes, and if we wait long enough, we will inevitably observe greater unpredictability in a system.
Physics also tells us that we can increase the disorder of a system by speeding it up. When we accelerate the speed of a system’s constituent parts, the more volatility, and even collisions, we observe.
In physics, increasing the heat of a closed system increases entropy. In culture, increasing the pace of lived experience hastens the arrival of volatility. Volatility, a result of acceleration, is increasingly prevalent in countless cultural systems: from political upheavals to disruption in the marketplace, from organizational chaos to interpersonal conflict.
Much of this acceleration can be attributed to technology. The rapid emergence of artificial intelligence represents a once-in-a-generation acceleration of our digital tools. Is it any surprise, then, that those who developed these technologies seem to be the most beholden to volatility?
OpenAI, the company behind ChatGPT, recently triggered a tumultuous news cycle as their board ousted Sam Altman, their founder and CEO - only to change their minds days later. Altman returned to OpenAI along with a reconstituted board of directors. The company’s revamped leadership is now even more committed to accelerating commercial adoption of AI. It was a messy reversal for one of the world’s most quickly-innovating and influential companies - the result being that more technological acceleration is on the horizon.
OpenAI’s predicament revealed the inevitability of disorder in an accelerating system. As an organization, even if we create innovative governance structures, even if we write an altruistic charter, even if we staff our board with directors inclined towards ethical reflection - disorder finds a way in. And as the development of technology accelerates, entropy arrives faster and faster. OpenAI’s early technological successes planted the seeds for future disorder at their company. Their influential technologies will implicitly and explicitly influence countless other organizations to innovate, accelerate, and by extension, to experience chaos.
The digital age has created many opportunities for ministry. It’s given us new ways of proclaiming the Word, introduced us to new styles of worship, and given us the ability to collaborate with those who expand our theological imagination. Recently, AI tools have given us the capacity to work with greater efficiency, to communicate with increased ease, to create digital content, and to give our communities the tools to tell their faith stories.
But just as important as improving or increasing our adoption of technologies is the church’s call to cultivate leadership for an accelerating world.
Our cultural context will only continue to accelerate, producing ever greater levels of entropy. Part of the reason why entropy increases with cultural acceleration is that trust still forms at a slow and deliberate pace. In this moment of acceleration, our culture doesn’t have the time or patience for the development of trust. Thus, one of the self-perpetuating cycles associated with this cultural acceleration is the difficulty of knowing one another’s stories.
We are increasingly connected at great breadth but at little depth. Filtered Instagram photos and truncated small talk at the start of a Zoom meeting give us a superficial sense of connection. But this shallow communication is insufficient to form meaningful levels of trust - and without trust, there is only more disorder. As we speed up the pace of our interactions, communications will become even more superficial, creating a vicious cycle.
Still, the church is called to witness the story of salvation through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. More specifically, we are called to form disciples, to cultivate leaders, who can give witness to the new life that emerges from even the most chaotic systems. To give witness to the grace of God in a specific context is to articulate real experiences through personal stories. It’s never been so difficult to meaningfully listen to the articulated experiences of our connections. It’s also never been so important.
Cultivating leadership for a digital age involves modeling how to deepen interpersonal connections. And we can only deepen interpersonal connections through the slow and deliberate telling of stories: stories that reveal our values, demonstrate our character, and show how God reaches into the brokenness around us to speak a word of redemption.
An effective leader in today’s culture understands the value of sharing one another’s stories. A leader creates the spaces in which stories can be shared and heard at meaningful depth. An effective Christian leader today recognizes that it is through stories that we recognize God’s active and redeeming hand at work. Christian leadership in a digital age involves standing with our neighbor in the swift moving current of our time. It involves resisting the pull to be swept forward by the increasing demands on our time and energy. It requires moving deeper into our stories, choosing depth over breadth.
Digital age leadership is about deepening the interpersonal connections that create trust. In our congregations we ought to be asking how we might carve out more opportunities for stories of our lives, for stories that form our faith. The more we create spaces to exchange these stories, the more we model how to bring this practice beyond the walls of the church. And that, more than any promotion of self care, more than passionate calls to slow down, more than any leadership development program, is how we will cultivate Christian leaders for a digital age.
Recently, my congregation in Madison, WI launched a new program called “Conversation Sundays.” It’s a simple premise: twice a year, we run a sermon series on a topic that is meaningful to the conversation. But within each sermon, we provide a three minute pause for the congregation to talk to their neighbor about a shared discussion question - to tell a story of faith in action. We then go to the small groups in our congregation to provide another opportunity for members to tell and hear one another’s stories. So far, we’ve carved out spaces for conversations on hospitality, vocation, and servant leadership.
I like to imagine that, in some small way, these conversations are cultivating the types of leaders our world needs today: curious, empathetic, and compassionate leaders supported by trusted connections, called to bear witness to the redemptive work of an eternal God.
As we turn the pages of the calendar to another year, let’s continue discerning how to use digital tools for the sake of creativity and faithful collaboration. Let’s continue to experiment with AI and new technologies for the sake of promoting theological curiosity. Most importantly, let’s carve out spaces where we can step aside from acceleration and volatility, to articulate the very real ways that God shows up. If we learn to do this well, we will inspire leaders willing to step into an accelerating world to create trust, where today there is only volatility.
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.
Liminal Spaces
Theologians and practitioners have used the word “liminal space” or “liminal time” to describe these experiences. They are the point at which you become aware that a transition is about to occur. Liminal literally means, “threshold”. Think of walking through a doorway and going through/over a threshold. You are neither in one room nor the other; you are in-between. However you can see both, one behind and in front.
Photo by Viktor Talashuk on Unsplash
I was standing in a very long line at the grocery store when people behind me were discussing the governor shutting down the state. I immediately started “googling” things on my phone. It was March of 2020. I had just flown back from an ELCA Youth Gathering preparation meeting in San Antonio. Our team had met to continue preparations for the 2021 ELCA Youth Gathering scheduled for Minneapolis. Team members made up of pastors and other church leaders were getting word from their constituents back home in various places across the county that something was afoot and perhaps we needed to end the meeting early so these leaders could return home to lead in their ever-growing anxious spaces. I was planning extra days to visit my brother’s family but after watching the news, I only stayed a day as it was increasingly clear a mysterious disease might cause the airport to shut down preventing my return home. There were only a few of us at the airport when I left. It was eerie. Something had changed.
Theologians and practitioners have used the word “liminal space” or “liminal time” to describe these experiences. They are the point at which you become aware that a transition is about to occur. Liminal literally means, “threshold”. Think of walking through a doorway and going through/over a threshold. You are neither in one room nor the other; you are in-between. However you can see both, one behind and in front.
Liminal space also implies the transition is uncertain–whether physically, emotionally, or metaphorically. The difference between liminality and what some might call “fancy change management” is that we often don't know where we are. We can't really describe the ground on which we stand with any clarity. In the instance I described above with the early days of the pandemic, remember all those bold declarations made by leaders about how long we'd be closed for and when we were reopening? And then do you remember the point in time when they gave up doing that? It changed every day. You could make a statement and say, as of this point in time, we're going to do this and then realize we can't make a claim about that because I thought we were here, but we're not really here. Right? We don't know where we stand. How do we as leaders anticipate the barriers that stand in the way of us moving to that desired future?
Much of the world these days has become a liminal space. Susan Beaumont in her book, How to Lead When You Don’t Know Where You are Going, says entry into a liminal season begins with an ending, with the collapse of order. Something comes to an end: an identity, a program, a structure or a process. As you read this, perhaps you return to the feelings that come from liminality–it is disorienting, exhausting, very ambiguous, can’t-wrap-your-arms-around-it confusion which involves grief. Have any of you lamented about church attendance lately? Or wondered where all the young people have gone compared to 10, 20 or even 30 years ago?
Liminal times come in various forms: Liminal contexts–think about when we send young people to camp or on a mission trip, we are intentionally setting up a liminal experience for them. We also have liminal seasons that happen in congregations all the time. A pastoral transition is a great example of this. One body of people under the leadership of this particular pastor, when that pastor leaves, a congregation has to go through a difficult, but also exhilarating season of figuring out who they are without the leadership of that particular pastor before they're ready to attach to the leadership of a new pastor. We also know that there are liminal eras. Phyllis Tickle talks about this in her book, The Great Emergence, that historically the larger church “cleans house” every 500 years or so deciding what to keep and what to dispose of, making room for new things. Tickle believes that we are in one of those eras now, where the church’s institutional infrastructures actually begin to crumble and that's necessary for the rebirth of whatever the next chapter of the church is.
As Spirit pulls us into our new future undefined, liminal space, it has three parts: a separation or an ending, a liminal period of waiting, and then a reassimilation. I think of it like ziplining. You are harnessed up in something that will hold you on this line. You walk to the tallest part of a known structure. Then you need to let go. To the unknown. Can I even take this step? What if it doesn’t hold ME? But you just have to do it, let go, a total act of faith.
Oh yeah, faith. I can’t think of a Biblical story that doesn’t have a liminal season to it. Abraham and Sarah, Noah, Jonah, Esther–a person taken from an old identity and brought into a new identity. Jesus in the wilderness, Paul on the road to Damascus experiencing blindness where he is transformed. The question for us is…If we know this is how God has worked in Biblical time, that this is how we find God, why are we so resistant to pausing in this space and letting the transformation happen? Why are we so panicked to either move back to something that felt like the old normal or to rush ahead to what feels like something new? Have you heard people saying either? Let us pause in this liminal context, season, or era we find ourselves in (or perhaps all three) and recognize the comfort in the uncomfortable. Knowing God is creating something new, and we get to take part.
Kris Bjorke
Kris Bjorke is a children, youth, and family enthusiast. Having co-created and led InterServe Ministries for the past 15 years, she understands the value of creating strong teams to model and lead faith formation ministries. With a doctorate degree at Luther Seminary, she enjoys wondering with congregations about collaborative ministry, encouraging volunteer and paid staff in congregations and teaching Christian Public Leadership at Luther Seminary. A 25-plus-year veteran in children and youth ministry both in long-term and interim positions, Kris has a passion for seeing young people question and grow in their faith together with adults that surround them.
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’s Christmas Message
The message of the angel is as scandalous and striking now as it was then. For in it is embedded God’s message in the death and resurrection of Jesus: to trust and believe in the invincibility of the good in spite of the titanic reality of evil, because God is good all the time.
Photo by Kieran White on Unsplash
The following transcript of Episcopal Church Presiding Bishop Michael Curry’s recorded Christmas message for 2023 was originally published here.
Hello to my family of faith in The Episcopal Church, and to all of our ecumenical and interfaith friends, and to all people of love and goodwill.
I want to first thank you all for your prayers and well wishes this year as I have weathered some health issues. Please know that I’m doing well, following the doctor’s orders.
I’m also ever more aware of the power of the messages of Advent to watch, to wait, and to listen to the pregnant voice of silence, as one version of the Bible says. And out of that watching, waiting, and listening, following the way of Jesus of Nazareth and his way of love, the Spirit of God being our helper.
So please allow me to offer a reading from the Gospel according to Luke. You know it well. The deep truth embedded in it, simple story of the birth of a baby. That deep truth has long given me strength for these 70 years, strength that I often did not have on my own. For some, it may seem fanciful, but in its own way, it points to what the Bible calls hope beyond hope. It reads:
While Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem, the time came for her to deliver her child. She gave birth to her firstborn son, wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger because there was no place for them in the guest room. Now in that same region, there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people: To you is born this day in the city of David, a savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: You will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”
The message of the angel is as scandalous and striking now as it was then. For in it is embedded God’s message in the death and resurrection of Jesus: to trust and believe in the invincibility of the good in spite of the titanic reality of evil, because God is good all the time. To trust and believe in the enduring power of love, of truth, of the good, and of justice when the reality of the opposite seems so prodigious.
To trust and believe in the enduring power of love, justice, kindness, and compassion, all because God is love and the author of all that is true, noble, and just. “Do not be afraid,” the Scripture says, “for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: To you is born this day in the city of David, a savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: You will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”
Lord, we pray, give us this sign anew. Give us the lowly, the tired, those of high estate and low, and those of no estate. Church folk, those who haven’t stepped through the red doors for years or ever, give us all a sign. Give us the working, the watching, the weeping. Give us that sign anew; as you did in the first century, so now in the 21st. Give us the expected, the faithful, the passionate, the undeserving; give us a sign.
“The angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people: To you is born this day in the city of David, a savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.’”
On behalf of the entire Episcopal Church, we wish you and yours a Merry Christmas and a joyous new year.
God love you. God bless you. May God hold us all in those almighty hands of love. Merry Christmas.
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.
Enfleshing Witness: Eric Barreto
Home is a place, yes, but it's also a commitment, a demand that God's justice would unfurl here and now, a faith that expects to taste God's grace in the people and the places where God has planted us. Home is a feeling and a commitment.
The following is a lightly edited transcript and a video of Rev. Dr. Eric Barreto’s talk from our 2021 Enfleshing Witness gathering. Eric preaches because the God who called him is a God who creates and delights in the storytelling of diverse communities. In short, he preaches because the way of Jesus's faith is not a solitary path, but one in which we lean on and learn from the stories of others. Eric preaches to followers of Jesus yearning to connect their community's reading of scripture with God's active grace in everyday life. He preaches so that followers of Jesus might see how their faithfulness is bound up in the lives and experiences of their diverse neighbors.
If you didn't know, you will shortly know a very important unwritten rule. An unwritten rule that extends beyond ritual or tradition and taps into the yearnings of a people and a place.
You see, if you have ever flown to San Juan, Puerto Rico, the capital of the indisputably most beautiful island in the world, then you probably experienced this unwritten rule as the plane's wheels touched the ground and Puerto Ricans on the plane began to clap. Now, you have to understand that the clapping is not just an affirmation of the pilot's or crew's skills.
No matter the quality of the landing, we clap. It is the fact of the landing that we applaud. For so many of us, landing back on this island is not the beginning of a vacation, but an emotional return to a place we seek and yet cannot really find.
Home. There's something powerful in that small but meaningful word.
Home. There's also something sad, challenging, even forlorn for many of us.
For me, there's a certain bittersweetness in that Caribbean air and the taste of comida criolla, in the view of the Puerto Rican coast from the plane window that breaks the blue expanse of ocean.
Home is both promise and grief.
You see, imperial and colonial imaginations have made home complicated for some of us.
For Puerto Ricans, colonial rule has taken the resources of the land, and then spread many of us in a diaspora across the United States and the world. For other communities, the slave ships tore apart families and places and belonging. For others, it was warfare and privation that led to migration. For yet others, it was rejection at home, at school, at church, about whom God has made you to be.
That this home for many of us feels like it is somewhere else, but it's a somewhere else that lives largely in our hopes and imaginations, a somewhere else to which we cannot descend on a plane, even if we clap as the wheels touch the ground.
In Luke 4, we read about Jesus's return home to Nazareth. There is initial applause.
But that adulation quickly turns more dire. Jesus, you'll remember, reads from Isaiah at his home synagogue, announcing the ways God's grace is embodied in freedom for the imprisoned, liberation for the poor, wholeness for all those who lack. And at first his neighbors celebrate his prophetic voice, but then Jesus reminds them and us that God's grace falls upon those we don't think are worthy. And with that, applause turns to rage, and Jesus' neighbors seek to cast him from the nearest cliff.
You see, Empire has taught us that grace is a zero-sum game, that our thriving requires the suffering of others, that there simply isn't enough to go around, so we must desperately hold on to whatever we have.
Empire has lied to us. That grace for others means loss for us, and Jesus was trying to help his neighbors and to help us imagine something different. Yet returning home apparently was simply not possible for a prophet. And I wonder if Jesus took this lesson with him on the road to Jerusalem, on the road to a Roman cross.
In Luke 9:58, Jesus responds to a would-be disciple who perhaps impulsively declares that they would follow Jesus wherever he went. Perhaps you, like me, have uttered such foolishness to Jesus, forgetting to count the high cost of the Messiah's path. Jesus responds to them and to us:
“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests. But the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”
Now, that's a word. And I think we miss the point if we narrow the scope of this verse to be an indication of Jesus' itinerant life, or merely a biographical point. No, I wonder if this is a way to think about life under the shadow of Empire, under the threat of the kind of imperial violence that will take Jesus' life. And which still stalks so many of us still today. Perhaps home is just not possible in the wake of Empire's violence.
My friends, I yearn to be on a plane again, heading to an island that makes me who I am, an island whose influence reverberates in the lives of those I love. I want to gaze expectantly to the horizon, waiting to see those green shores.
I can't wait for the first step on that jet bridge, that first whiff of Caribbean air. Can't wait to be home again. But I also know that feeling, that yearning for home, will remain unrequited. That home I yearn for no longer really exists, but what does exist is not the home I imagine. But the tangible, real home I've created here in this home, with this family, with these friends.
Home is a place, yes, but it's also a commitment, a demand that God's justice would unfurl here and now, a faith that expects to taste God's grace in the people and the places where God has planted us. Home is a feeling and a commitment. But it's also a sense of loss, an absence, an unfulfilled promise. And in all that, Jesus is our companion, and so also are all these marginalized folks yearning for home and finding it wherever we can.
In the end, home is tinged with grief for many of us. God's promise is that home can also be a recognition. Hard won to be sure, but a recognition of the immense grace that yet surrounds us. And maybe as we clap when we land, we grieve what we have lost, and yet treasure the many gifts that have kept us alive.
And in that space between grief and hope, loss and promise, life and death, we discover anew the shape of God's grace. And just maybe. Catch a glimpse of home right here and right now.
We are excited to announce a new chapter in the Enfleshing Witness movement: “Enfleshing Witness: Rewilding Otherwise Preaching.” Learn more about this new grant opportunity and sign-up to stay connected as the project unfolds.
Rev. Eric Bareto
Eric D. Barreto is the Weyerhaeuser Associate Professor of New Testament at Princeton Seminary. He holds a BA in religion from Oklahoma Baptist University, an MDiv from Princeton Seminary, and a PhD in New Testament from Emory University. Prior to coming to Princeton Seminary, he served as associate professor of New Testament at Luther Seminary, and also taught as an adjunct professor at the Candler School of Theology and McAfee School of Theology.
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.
Enfleshing Witness: Winnie Varghese
Be not conformed to this world, the Bible says, but be transformed by the renewing of your hearts. Or, it is for freedom that Christ has set us free. What are those conforming things that we should be watching out for? What keeps us from freedom?
The following is a lightly edited transcript and a video of Reverend Winnie Varghese’s talk from our 2021 Enfleshing Witness gathering. Winnie preaches because God has given her a love for words and images and a heart that is changed by the words of others. Winnie preaches to American Episcopalians because she has found her home there. And because she believes the word held in the context of communal prayer creates a space for her to encounter profound truths, personal clarity, hope, and community. Winnie preaches among people who seek to walk with Jesus on the way of liberation.
Hi, my name is Winnie and I'm an Episcopal priest, and I've just moved back to Atlanta, Georgia.
When my dad was on the phone with his sister (my aunt) he told her that I was moving to Georgia, she replied, “Winnie's moving to Russia?”
My aunt lives in India, but when I was a child, that family lived in Tripoli, in Libya. There's a picture of her in our photo album. By herself, with her hair in a high, loose, very glamorous bun, early 1970s, with a Ghazi sari on, on the beach, on the Mediterranean, on the Africa side, in Tripoli. From my perspective, in Garland, Texas, just impossibly glamorous.
How amazing that she would assume that I was equally cool and international. I mean, I guess I am her brother's daughter, but... My Georgia is in blue and red America, and of course, it is perfect for me to be here again. I came here for the first time as a 17-year-old and among the first generation in my community of immigrants from India to have their college education in the United States.
So, “be not conformed to this world,” the Bible says, “but be transformed by the renewing of your hearts.” Or, “it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” What are those conforming things that we should be watching out for? What keeps us from freedom?
My pursuit of freedom, of vocation, of purpose, and my own curiosity about what my life should be like or could be like, took me far from my family and community at the same time that racialized identity started to act, and starts to act in most of our lives. All the forms with race start to appear right around college. The clubs that you have to join, the organizing, the potlucks around identity. What does it mean to be Asian American or Indian or Malayali if you have no place in those communities?
The Bible reads to me as a story of people who migrate and move and wonder about identity. People that move away from the place and people they know. Sometimes they say it’s because God calls them, which I think means that whoever was writing it down couldn't figure out why they had left that great home. Or that the writers are a generation that experiences themselves as interlopers in a strange land, still, and who needed to tell a story of their own legitimacy. Or because of empire, or war, or political upheaval, or violence, or famine. The things that cause migrations of people today. At the mercy of powers greater than our own little families, we are seeking a way through for this generation and maybe stability for the future.
To people who know these stories well and live in the midst of occupation, Jesus and Paul say: Live in freedom now.
I've tried to take that very seriously in my life and I've noticed a few things along the way.
1. The systems that restrict freedom are sophisticated and can confuse us into believing that freedom lies within those systems.
Climbing a ladder or sitting on the panel, admission to the college, a seat at the table, acquiring some of the access to voice or decision-making that people in power seem to have.
Equality and representation matter a lot, but they have nothing or very little to do with actual freedom. With your freedom. It might make the world appear to be more equitable, but it won't ultimately feed your heart.
2. I feel most at home in communities, I've found, that are multiracial and multicultural.
That's the kind of church and neighborhood where I feel most like myself. I don't feel at home in monocultural church or community of any kind, including the churches of my origin and my family's origins.
Now, I love those communities. I like to hear their language and their music. It brings me to tears often. It is my personal history in some ways, but I literally don't speak that language, and I think that's fine. And more importantly for me, my parents never probably felt fully at home there either. They chose to wander out. Our story is not an ideal, and probably no one's is, right? They too look for other communities, and I inherit those choices of exploring and questioning.
3. No one gets to tell us, me or you, what home is, who to love, what is authentically you.
The Bible actually seems to say you will struggle and journey in that space your entire life. Have integrity there. Communities of origin or identity are very important for political organizing, for solidarity based on experience. No one is going to fight for our rights, but us, we're all told. That is probably a practical reality. And in that context, yes, I am Asian American. I am Indian. I am Malayali. But let's not confuse that kind of identity marker with freedom, or even with embodiment. Whether my mind can seek knowledge and wisdom freely within that community, whether I can be myself, as my body tells me to be, in that community I come from, where so many men claim that their need for authority within the community is essential to community identity.
I know none of you know what I'm talking about. There's now a robust new round of patriarchy among young adults in my community, as they embrace a more evangelical Christianity, or root themselves in a nationalist lane of orthodox Christianity, or just plain old secular patriarchy, which also we call tradition, culture, and to our shame, faith.
Paul calls that the ‘powers and principalities,’ and ‘the ways of the world.’ Sin that is disguised as tradition and culture, as a racialized excuse to subjugate women, base culture on the unpaid domestic labor of women, to physically and emotionally abuse women and LGBTQIA persons in our communities, to define our community as caste. Sin becomes the ultimate separation from and demonizing of the flesh of our bodies.
So this return to Georgia for me, the U. S. one, has taken me back in my mind to when I was 17 and wondering what it meant to be an adult American from India. Trying on Asian American for the first time, realizing I was a queer person, walking around self-consciously in dark brown skin in George Bush's America that was about to go to war with the parts of the planet that my family is from. That aunt and her family left Libya, not long before the U. S. bombed a neighborhood they used to live in. We are told here that those were precision bombings, targeted, which it makes it sound like it was a military installation or something, far from babies and mothers.
But this one was catty-cornered to my aunt's house, like when the U. S. invaded Kuwait and our relatives fled, leaving everything they owned behind, never compensated, some missing for months. In that good war. ‘We won that war,’ they said on TV. ‘No one was harmed. We were invited in,’ they said.
For those of us with families impacted by U. S. foreign policy and the shifts in the 1990s, there is a new solidarity of otherness and outsider. Those were the years I started to get stopped in airport security lines for the extra long checks with guns and dogs sometimes. ‘For your own protection,’ I was told over and over again. And I'm one of the super lucky ones that was actually never hurt or detained.
But I remember all the people who walked by and looked away. That multiracial America. Everyone, right? No one stopped. Some people shouted, people stopped. And sometimes in Spanish, to each other, assuming that I could not understand.
The powers and principalities are everywhere. The ways of the world, we read in the Bible. Take care of your own, we are told today.
I believe our freedom in Christ is far more than that, and offers us so much more than that. Entangling human connection through the boundaries of identities, generating wild possibilities, for beautifully connected living that we discern in these bodies, in these contexts, over and over and over again.
Now I don't know that there will be anyone to look at a faded photo in a family album of me in 20 years, but if there were, I hope they would see a woman whose image says that there are many ways to be in this world. This beautiful world of seashores and continents stretching the limits of our imaginations.
A photo of someone enough like your own flesh and blood. To know she could love you and already imagines for you much more than you might think to ask or imagine.
We are excited to announce a new chapter in the Enfleshing Witness movement: “Enfleshing Witness: Rewilding Otherwise Preaching.” Learn more about this new grant opportunity and sign-up to stay connected as the project unfolds.
Rev. Winnie Varghese
The Rev. Winnie Varghese is the rector of St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Atlanta. She co-hosts the (G)race podcast with The Rev. Azariah France-William and is on the leadership team for Church Anew’s Enfleshing Witness movement.
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.
The Case For Reducing (Temporarily) Church Technology Usage
In this trajectory, the church takes a temporary step back from its current tech usage, in order to reflect on the resources most aligned to a ministry’s purpose.
Photo by Ales Nesetril on Unsplash
The rapid development of AI will change digital ministry. It’s possible, perhaps even likely, that the digital ministry in 2026 will look nothing like the digital ministry of 2023, which looks nothing like the digital ministry of 2020. We cannot know for certain how or even if church leaders will learn to do ministry alongside AI. But we know that change is coming. If we are to give ourselves and our communities sufficient time and energy to experience and experiment with these changes, a digital decluttering may be necessary.
AI tools will certainly disrupt and in many cases displace the technologies of today. The technologies that we relied on during the pandemic will, in many cases, not be the technologies we use five years from now. By decluttering our digital toolkits, we make space for experimentation and discernment on how to thoughtfully use AI for ministry.
GIven the magnitude of the shift to AI, I would argue that the church needs to adopt a practice of experimentation, to both learn and critique these systems. We cannot learn to use AI in a way that complements our mission if we are too busy posting to last year’s trendy social media site. And if we are to experiment with what AI could look like in the church, we must change the current trajectory of digital ministry.
2020 represented an abrupt lurch forward, with most ministries adopting new digital tools. While some churches have stopped live streaming services and offering Zoom options for meetings, many continue to offer some form of hybrid ministry. Today, churches continue to add new tools to their technology stacks: better cameras, more sophisticated streaming software, new social media channels, upgraded A/V equipment, and more recently, generative AI tools. This technological addition comes at a cost. Three years of continuous technological growth has called into question the sustainability of digital ministry efforts, leading in some cases to burnout.
But just as continuous digital addition is not the ideal trajectory, complete digital disconnection is equally problematic. Visitors continue to experience churches for the first time through live streaming. Members continue to worship online when they are unable to attend in-person. Messaging and social media technologies continue to extend conversations and story-sharing beyond the walls of the building.
There is a third trajectory that represents a compromise: a trajectory of purposeful technology usage that is aligned to mission and vision, that provides sufficient space for experimenting with AI.
In this trajectory, the church takes a temporary step back from its current tech usage, in order to reflect on the resources most aligned to a ministry’s purpose. Likely, this will involve stepping back from some of the live streaming efforts we have adopted in the last three years. Churches should not continue to use every app, service, or software added during Covid. Nor should we be bound to offer a digital format for every church gathering, as some attempted towards the end of the pandemic. What we once thought of as digital ministry essentials: social media, live streaming, and digital content, ought to be revisited in this moment.
Live stream worship, arguably the standard model for digital ministry, is a resource-intensive effort requiring considerable coordination and staffing. If we are to make the space for AI experimentation we may need to reduce the level of effort currently allocated to online worship. For some ministries this might mean broadcasting one service time, rather than all. For others, this might involve streaming some weeks rather than others. Some may choose to automate the live streaming process entirely, utilizing A/V resources like a pan-tilt zoom camera or the Mevo webcam to reduce the overhead involved with worship production. This is the time to compromise on production value in order to free up energy and resources for trying new technologies!
By reducing technology usage in the short-term, we create the bandwidth to experiment with emerging tools that will help us to foster a greater sense of connection and belonging across our communities. While we don’t yet know the specifics of what this will involve, AI will give us tools that can make online worship more immersive and spiritual practice more enriching. It will give us the tools to create new types of content that deepen the bonds of Chrisitan communities, and provide us the means of articulating our faith stories.
In addition to creating the space for AI experimentation, this moment of intentional digital pruning ensures we are not using technology for the sake of using a trending tool. This leads us closer towards a more purposeful vision of technology in the church. At a time when it is so easy to subscribe to new software, upgrade to new hardware, and test new digital platforms, purposeful ministry requires us to say no. At a practical level, churches could resolve to end next year using the same number, or fewer, digital tools than they are using today.
The work of Cal Newport can be instructive to today’s church leaders, which provides a philosophical foundation that we can apply towards our experimentation with AI. Newport, a computer scientist and author, has written extensively on purposeful uses of technology that lead to greater alignment with vision and values. In his 2019 book, Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World, Newport writes:
“Digital minimalists see new technologies as tools to be used to support things they deeply value—not as sources of value themselves. They don’t accept the idea that offering some small benefit is justification for allowing an attention-gobbling service into their lives, and are instead interested in applying new technology in highly selective and intentional ways that yield big wins. Just as important: they’re comfortable missing out on everything else.”
Now is an opportune time for ministries to revisit their values, to reflect on mission and vision, and to ask if our digital tools lead us into mission or merely make us busier.
Three and a half years since the start of the pandemic, the church ought to re-evaluate our relationship with technology, ensuring these systems take us to where God is calling. AI represents an immense change. Hearing the voice of God can be challenging during periods of transition. By temporarily reducing our technology usage, we provide space to hear God’s voice as we step into the unknown.
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.
Planting Gardens of Belonging
The task at hand for young people of faith is to draw from our traditions to steward this change—this social transformation—towards the redemptive possibilities of loving exceedingly, seeking justice, practicing hospitality, and giving generously. In doing so, we might reimagine and create anew the means through which our communities join together across differences.
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
This post originally appeared on the Fetzer Institute's blog and was written by Church Anew and Enfleshing Witness collaborator, Amar Peterman. Read more from Amar on his Substack, This Common Life.
Our cultural moment is marked decisively by a bitter, national upheaval. The ramifications of such division are evident in the ongoing reformation of social and civic life that has fundamentally reshaped the American landscape for the next generation of public leaders, particularly those who are deeply rooted in a spiritual tradition.
As someone born between the conclusion of the Millennial generation and the genesis of Gen-Z, this decade of social animosity, political hostility, and religious skepticism is my only experience of political and religious life. I navigated the complexities of voting in my first primary election in 2016 while enrolled in a theology program at a conservative, evangelical bible college in downtown Chicago. I studied American religious history and public theology in seminary during a global pandemic that put the worst of my tradition on display for the public to see. Today, I work at a civic, bridge-building organization that seeks to elevate the constructive role of faith in public life at a time when the integrity of both organized religion and democratic systems are under heavy scrutiny.
While these experiences have produced long seasons of pain, frustration, and grief, my engagement at the intersection of faith and public life over the past decade has also taught me an important lesson: change is not only possible, it is inevitable. Indeed, our country and those who reside in it are constantly shifting and changing. We are ever caught in liminal spaces: of devastation and building, of death and life, of grief and joy, of pessimism and hope, of death and new life, of what is and what might be. The collective spirit of America is a malleable energy that is impossible to contain.
Framed another way, this decade has—for myself and many others—removed the illusion of permanence. Desipte their present grandeur or platform, no person, institution, building, or system will stand forever. The clarity and freedom that accompany this realization are the beating heart of great social movements that have prophetically envisioned new designs of habitation and built new possibilities for our shared life marked by belonging, community, and inclusion. These movements of change directed by and towards love resist the bifurcation of buildings from bodies and systems from citizens. Most importantly, these movements of change are not destructive in their end; their vision is one of redemption and justice.
We meet God drawing us and showing us the life of one who yields and listens, and in this way, the yielding and listening prepare for us a life together of dreaming and building.
—Willie James Jennings, “Addressing the Hateful Condition of the Line”
The task at hand for young people of faith is to draw from our traditions to steward this change—this social transformation—towards the redemptive possibilities of loving exceedingly, seeking justice, practicing hospitality, and giving generously. In doing so, we might reimagine and create anew the means through which our communities join together across differences. In my experience, this joining work often looks like bending down and digging our hands into the earth to cultivate the soil of our cultural landscape with the nutrients and environment to bring forth a garden of dreaming, building, and flourishing together.
This begins by telling good stories that can transparently name both the tensions and promise of a shared, common life. At their best, stories like these remind us that difference does not necessitate division. They can name where our experiences diverge while also binding us together through a shared vision of who we can be together. Stories remind us that, although we may be strangers, we are deeply connected—and connection is the seedbed for a robust, generative community.
Second, planting a garden or building an institution requires identifying a space to lay a firm foundation. If we aim to draw in our communities towards a constructive vision of our common life, then we must build and plant at the site of public gathering. Truly, our moral and civic formation is not located in prescribed rules and legislation but in communion and belonging. If we want to shape and direct the malleable energy of our communities and society, we must place ourselves where individuals and habits are formed: churches, mosques, temples, synagogues, gurdwaras; and museums, hospitals, schools, potlucks, food pantries, and community centers.
Moreover, in these spaces where people gather across lines of difference, young people of faith must lead the way in cutting through the fog of ideological isolation and tribalism by uplifting the hopeful majority of individuals in every community who genuinely want to their neighbors to thrive. Of course, this is incredibly difficult when we are implicitly formed to treat disagreement within a moral frame—where “you are wrong” necessitates “you are evil.” It is the task of the leader to foster the space and opportunity for shared action towards belonging and a common good.
Finally, no garden grows without the gentle care and fervent love of a passionate gardener. As young leaders strive to make constructive change in their communities, they must draw from their spiritual traditions to love tangibly—to till and plant, water and weed. Anne Synder says it best when she writes, “There’s a growing awareness that love can never be abstracted—we’re touched by incarnational living and doing, less prescription from on high.” The image of a garden is beautiful, just as a vision of belonging is powerful, but both remain incomplete until real fruit is borne and real flowers bloom. Our striving for a meaningful community must be materialized—incarnated—through proximity, hospitality, generosity, and collective action.
Described theologically, the action of love opens people to participate in the divine love that is constantly sustaining and making the world fresh and new.
—Norman Wirzba, This Sacred Life
In the Christian tradition, the potential of prophetic social change is never rooted in the individual leader. Instead, the spiritual source of this work is found in an eternal, permanent God who wombs and breathes out beautiful things and, in return, compels us to join in this creative action. This is the mission set before the person of faith engaging in their community: to cultivate, create, and nurture a faithful, hopeful, and loving way of being alive that compels others to join in this way of life.
There is no question that a great deal of work lies before us if we seek to build beautiful and loving communities through healthy civic and democratic practices. I believe that young people of faith are exactly the kind of leaders we need paving the way. Equipped with the experiences, wisdom, knowledge, and energy to transform communities, young leaders of faith have the incredible opportunity to lead us into a better way of being in the world marked by love of God, neighbor, earth, and self.
Amar Peterman
Amar D. Peterman (MDiv, Princeton Seminary) is an author and theologian working at the intersection of faith and public life. He is the founder of Scholarship for Religion and Society LLC, a research and consulting firm working with some of the leading philanthropic and civic institutions, religious organizations, and faith leaders in America today. His first book, This Common Life: Seeking the Common Good Through Love of Neighbor is forthcoming with Eerdmans Publishing Company. You can learn more about him at amarpeterman.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.
Unlikely Saints
All Saints Sunday gives us a very personal way to talk about the present and future by talking about the past. Who are we? Who do we want to be? Those saints from our past give us a way to talk about where we are and where we are headed.
Personal Saints
On All Saints’ Sunday, I can’t help but think about all the blessed saints who gather around me in my memories. And believe me, there were plenty of characters in my family and in my life. Looking back, I see they were saints indeed. Not officially entered into sainthood perhaps, but saints nonetheless—people who were set apart by God to make a difference in the world, as they did in my life.
I grew up in West Virginia as a PK—a preacher’s kid and grandkid. Sunday dinner was always a big affair for my family, and more often than not Grandmother and Granddaddy Yoak would join us for pot roast as my parents, two brothers and sister and I gathered around the big dining room table. My Granddaddy, Dr. J.B.F. Yoak, Jr., was a beloved Methodist minister, as was my dad; in fact Granddaddy is the one who encouraged my father to pursue ordained ministry—as well as to pursue his daughter, my mother!
Granddaddy would tell knee-slapping stories about his experiences growing up, or as a young, horseback circuit-riding preacher in the hills and valleys of West Virginia—stories he collected later in a book I treasure. And of course my parents and grandparents would have to catch up on the Methodist conference gossip with him. Granddaddy would often bring the latest issue of The West Virginia Hillbilly weekly newspaper—I was enamored of that eccentric, fascinating, unique tabloid—so much so that after I graduated from college I was thrilled to go work there—but that’s a whole other story.
Also visiting us occasionally was Aunt Grace, Granddaddy’s sister, an opinionated widow who rarely smiled, as I recall—though when she did you felt it; her deep, commanding voice often kept me behaving myself.
And Aunt Maude, who I have to say was my favorite great aunt, a sweet spinster, retired teacher, she loved to read stories to my sister and me. I prize a copy of A. A. Milne’s book, When We Were Six, which she gave me when I was, yep, six years old.
Most every summer when I was a kid, my family spent a month at Sunken Meadow beach on the James River in Virginia—and every summer we would see Dad’s side of the family nearby in Hopewell. I never knew my Dad’s father, who had passed away. Dad’s mother, my other grandmother, we called Nana.
We kids were fascinated by Nana’s oddly crossed toes and her lush, haunted back yard with an algae-tinged goldfish pond and heavy vines of fragrant muscadine grapes. Like many Virginians of the time, Nana smoked—and consequently had a gruff voice. She was a wonderful Southern cook, and she would not let you leave the table in any way hungry. “Have some more,” she would urge gruffly, and if you hesitated, “What’s the matter, don’t you like it?” Only because she loved us.
Then there was Aunt Ida, who had worked in a chemical plant whose odors permeated Hopewell, “The Chemical Capital of the South.” Ida was somewhat mystical, loved cooking, reading mysteries, and telling ghost stories in her syrupy Tidewater accent.
And Aunt Martha—she too was a widow who had worked in the plant. My sister and I would usually stay a night or two with her and our cousin Billy. We’d watch old horror movies, go to the store to get comic books and candy. She spoiled us lovingly.
Many other beloved family members come to my mind, but another saint in my life was Mrs. Robinette, a dear soul who was a member of the church I grew up in, where my Dad was pastor. When I was in elementary school, she taught Vacation Bible School one summer. She seemed ancient to me then but was sweet and full of life. And she had a big impact on my life.
One of the VBS projects she had us do was to create a newspaper as though it were published during the time of the Apostle Paul. I relished that assignment—creating news stories about Paul’s latest ruckus, ads for chariot dealers, even a comic strip. I count that experience as planting the seeds that set me on the path to study journalism in college, to fall in love with writing, and to discover a calling to communicating the faith.
All these saints, and so many more, come to my mind. I share them with you to prod your own memory of the dear saints who have blessed your life. Maybe there are some you’ve forgotten, or realize you need to be in touch with to tell them you love them.
Of course, I look back and acknowledge these saints’ flaws, peccadillos, and occasional mistakes, and I realize they were just ordinary human people like you and me. But there was something more about them. When I was a kid, they were giants to me. Salt of the earth. They truly believed and loved God. They tried to live as followers of Jesus. When I look back, I see them as saints. Saints of God.
Who are your Saints?
So, who are your saints? Who comes to your heart and mind on All Saints Sunday?
All Saints Sunday gives us a very personal way to talk about the present and future by talking about the past. Who are we? Who do we want to be? Those saints from our past give us a way to talk about where we are and where we are headed.
One huge thing I missed deeply during our pandemic worship was coming to the communion table with the family of faith and together eating the bread and drinking the wine, the body and blood of Jesus Christ. When I go to the altar rail, I always sense that the saints are with me, singing and praying, praising God; these compassionate souls who nurtured me in the faith and set me on the path of the way of love.
Think about the dear saints in your life—your family members, Sunday school teachers, mentors, those you honor in your heart.
Of course, those we remember as saints were not perfect, and often far from it—but we can relate to them because we, like they, are flawed human beings. For instance…
Mother Teresa was known for her kindness, her generosity, her monumental work on behalf of the poor, but she was also known for her sharp temper, and her personal journals reveal a woman tortured by decades of inner spiritual conflict and doubt.
The desert fathers and mothers, revered for their spiritual depth, in many cases fled to the wilderness, not because they were saints, but because they were so plagued by the gremlins of temptation that they had to go be by themselves, and even then, alone in the wild, they still wrestled with anger, pride, dejection, and depression. Even so, they were saints. Full of life and love, full of God.
Vietnamese monk and author Thich Nhat Hanh explains that, in Buddhism, the energy that helps us “touch life deeply” is known as smrti, it’s the energy of mindfulness. Jesus is full of smrti. Because Jesus knows himself. Jesus is mindful of his feelings and expresses them clearly and directly. He allows his emotions to empower his life positively. And, he invites us to join him in this authentic way of living.
Jesus began his teaching ministry (Matthew 5:1-12) on a hill surrounded by hungry, wounded people who yearned for meaning and fullness in their impoverished lives. They may not have even had a glimmer of understanding why he came and what he was about to do. Yet, they were drawn to him, and he connected directly and intimately with them as he shared the blessings of God.
In contrast to Moses, who brought the law down the mountain from on high to the people, here is Jesus, beginning his teaching ministry by bringing blessings up the mountain, to the people, where he sits down with his disciples and teaches.
“Blessed are you,” he says to the poor in spirit, to those who were mourning, to the meek who would inherit the earth, to those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for the merciful, peacemakers, and others. They were all saints! Blessed saints.
These blessings, the Beatitudes in Matthew 5, focus on our emotional life—our mourning, our passion, our fear, our suffering. All the grief and fear and pain and anger we are feeling even now in our country and in our world. In the midst of all that, we hear Jesus speak to us: “Blessed are you.”
Roman Catholic priest and author Richard Rohr writes, “Suffering is the necessary deep feeling of the human situation. If we don’t feel pain, suffering, human failure, and weakness, we stand antiseptically apart from it, and remain numb and small.”
Sometimes it seems the saintliest among us are those who have suffered the most—right?
Jesus, however, refuses to numb himself from human emotions. And so should we.
Rohr goes on: “The irony is not that God should feel so fiercely; it’s that his creatures feel so feebly. If there is nothing in your life to cry about, if there is nothing in your life to yell about, you must be out of touch. We must all feel and know the immense pain of this global humanity. Then we are no longer isolated, but a true member of the universal Body of Christ. Then we know God not only from the outside but from the inside.”
So, those we remember lovingly as the saints in our lives? I think they got this. They lived their lives knowing they were beloved children of God, called to love and serve God, no matter how they struggled, no matter what pains they strove to overcome. And as a result, they made their mark on our lives and no doubt on many others.
While you’re at it, consider others in our society and history who have also made an impact on your life. For instance, the late, great Civil Rights icon and United States Congressman, John Lewis, served the district I live in. He continues to beckon us to get into “good trouble,” as he would put it, and that’s my goal. He was a hero to me and to so many others for all his good work and strong faith.
Blessed are these saints in our lives. Blessed are you. Blessed am I. Jesus himself gave these Beatitude blessings abundantly to anyone who would receive them, anyone who would open themselves up to risk experiencing them.
But, once those blessings are received, they are ours to do something with—we are blessed to be a blessing in this hurting, divided, terrifying world. One day—who knows—maybe we will be the saints remembered and honored by others, because we took the blessings we received and gave them away just as extravagantly as did Jesus, and as did all the saints who followed him.
Let’s live unafraid to honor those dear souls who helped make you and me who we are. Remember those who have come before us as a way of considering prayerfully who we are, and who we want to be.
And one day, may we be remembered for the positive influence we left in others’ lives. As impossible as it may seem to us now, may we ourselves be remembered as unlikely saints. Let’s live every day in a way that will make it so, in the power of our loving Lord.
Sources:
Peter Wallace, The Passionate Jesus (Conclusion)
Lisa Cressman, Backstory Preaching, “What Not to Preach on All Saints’ Day,” October 23, 2017
Richard Rohr, Daily Meditation, "Suffering," March 27, 2012, adapted from Rohr, Radical Grace, 209.
Peter M. Wallace
Rev. Peter M. Wallace, an Episcopal priest, was for 22 years the executive producer and host of the “Day1” weekly radio program and podcast (Day1.org). He is the author or editor of 15 books, including most recently A Generous Beckoning: Accepting God’s Invitation to a More Fulfilling Life; Bread Enough for All: A Day1 Guide to Life; Heart and Soul: The Emotions of Jesus; and Comstock & Me: My Brief But Unforgettable Career with The West Virginia Hillbilly.
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.
Leadership Lab: Winnie Varghese
We've had to rebuild all of our systems for who we are today. I don't know that we would've had permission without that kind of isolation to rethink some things that probably needed to be rethought, frankly.
Over the past year the Church Anew team has been working to connect and build resources for church leaders to see what their colleagues are doing around the country. With that the Leadership Lab was born. We have interviewed several church leaders doing innovative and amazing things, and we want to share their knowledge and wisdom with the world.
Church Anew recently caught up with Rev. Winnie Varghese whose name you might recognize from our Enfleshing Witness project. We are excited to share a deeper dive into the roots of her passion and the richness of her experiences serving Episcopal congregations in Los Angeles, New York City, and now in Atlanta, Georgia.
Church Anew (CA): Can you tell us a little bit about yourself?
Winnie Varghese (WV): I am an Episcopal priest and the rector of St. Luke's in Atlanta. I grew up in Dallas, Texas, and I served as a priest in New York City for about 20 years and in Los Angeles before that. I've been here in Atlanta for two years.
CA: Can you tell us a little bit about your current ministry context?
WV: St. Luke's is a downtown church in Atlanta. It was founded in 1864, the last year of the Civil War. This is its fourth building, and it's moved within maybe a mile downtown. This building is from 1906. 1906 was the year of the Atlanta race riots, and it was a massacre of black people by white people. That was called a riot, and many happened all over the country at that time. And so this building opened that year, and the rector at the time, Kerry Wilmer, invited W. E. B. DuBois, who was a mile away at Clark Atlanta, Spelman, Morehouse, to come and have a conversation about what had happened. I feel like that's a really iconic piece of who this church is.
We didn't move out of the city during white flight, or when the highway tore through the city during that era of segregation, of disenfranchising black people and emptying out neighborhoods. We're right at that court junction. We've had the kind of leadership that could do things, like have a conversation with DuBois, at that level of conversation in our church on the broad step in a brand new building when things like that just were not happening, but also it feels shameful to read the conversation today. We're ashamed, you know, you couldn't be proud of that conversation, but it happened.
So, I feel like we sit on seven acres in downtown Atlanta that is booming, that is ripe with development possibility, and it has the ministry founded at the church that serves people who are unhoused, that has mental health services that are very accessible and that are linked to spirituality. The food bank for the city was founded here. It has this great sense of service to the community and is thinking about what belonging means and what it means to be a powerful institution in the center of the city with access to all the leadership of the city with an endowment that's robust and booming that actually speaks the truth and creates space for the city we're becoming.
CA: What are some bright spots currently of the ministry of St. Luke's or your own ministry personally?
WV: What's really fun about the city, this church and the city, is two years out of pandemic isolation, which in our church, across the board in the Episcopal church, bishops took a really firm hand in telling people to close their buildings, to not gather in the buildings. So it means that coming from an empty building, an empty site a couple of years ago to coming back to full functioning has been a journey. We are right at the point where we now again have hundreds of people on a Sunday morning and we've got 20 babies in the nursery and we're coming back and you see people on Sunday, so happy to see each other because it's been three years and we can do that again.
It feels just really energized because people are coming back, and we've had to rebuild all of our systems for who we are today. I don't know that we would've had permission without that kind of isolation to rethink some things that probably needed to be rethought, frankly. We've tried to take that opportunity to get it right about what people need, what they can handle, and really to get back in the business of inviting people to be together because it feels good to be in community. On Sunday morning when I asked people to greet each other before we start the opening hymn, it's just raucous, which feels really good in a very big building for it to feel full. It's a really happy time at St. Luke's.
CA: What have been some of the challenges that you've faced in either your current ministry context or previously? What have been the challenges related to creating an equitable, diverse environment that is inclusive of everyone?
WV: I think one of the pieces that we might work with leadership on, lay and ordained, is to really think about belonging and equity. You've got to do your personal work.
We all carry a lot of baggage. I think what I've watched in the church is either one version where it’s kind of resigned: ‘Why would anyone want to come here? Church is so lame, so dull, we're so problematic.’ This self-defeating almost cynical version of church. Or, the other extreme of that would be scolding people that ‘y’all are just getting it wrong and that we've got to get it right.’ Whether you're the kind of church that scolds people on their personal behavior, or on the systems that we live in, and the struggles of the world that we live in.
I think being a grounded Christian leader, a faith leader that has thought about their, and worked on our own, points of pain and trauma that trigger in our own lives. What we're trying to accommodate and account for in leadership, what we're scared of, our own sense of what is good and what makes us good, which is often a very shallow place for most of us. Our desire to be good is probably why we are in church. That's actually a destructive place to act from because good and innocence and all those things are deeply problematic. Really having done the work of thinking through how we function in complex societies, are complicit in those societies, are rewarded for that, are privileged in that. Really doing that work so that we stand in pulpits and in leadership with a lot of humility work, working out our salvation as we are collectively. Speaking modestly and boldly the truth.
That's what prevents people from becoming burned out, from becoming cynical, from becoming resigned to the way things are from or not believing in the power of the gospel to transform the world or the church. I feel like I've just encountered it over and over and over. Both self-righteous and ragey leadership. They're just frustrated with the system, or really sanguine, just kind of, ‘ah, we tried and we couldn't get there’ or burned out or defeated. I feel like I've encountered that character over and over in my adult life. Clearly that's where I'm supposed to learn something about myself, and so I think the capacity to be self-reflective and learn while also being a leader, not using that to be passive, is the trick. That's the journey, and it never ends.
But I think that's the heart of it. I guess another way I'd say that is I remember meeting an older priest when I was a new priest who said that you couldn't be an effective priest unless you had had an encounter with the living Christ and been born again. And she's a mainline Anglican. What is she talking about? Right? I'm not fundamentalist or evangelical, but I think I know what she means now. She had been a priest for a while before she figured that out. If the journey of faith isn't true and active in your life, if you're not on that journey and changing - changing before God, changing yourself - you burn out.
CA: You said a lot of the people, in clergy and church leadership are coming in because they want to be good, but that's not the goal. Can you elaborate a little bit more on that idea?
WV: Often people that want to be in religious leadership…deep down what's happening is you want to be right, you want to be good. And that's often tied to a sense of innocence: that we are good, that there's bad things out there or bad ideas out there, but we are good. And I think it's really naive, and it's an American identity as well. And it's not true. And so if we do something wrong, it's a mistake where we wouldn't have meant genocide or slavery or class oppression. We're good and our hands are clean.
I think it's part of the fallacy of the American identity that because we didn't mean it then it doesn't matter, it's not part of us. I think a true Christian identity is much more about standing in the truth of who we are, and what we inherit, and what our responsibilities are, and then seeking the guidance of the gospel message; seeking to be followers of Jesus as we find our way. That's always going to be messy. There's not a way to step out of that mess.
I've had friends that talk about their call that way. Like ‘I was a lawyer, I was in finance and that was just so conflicted and complex. And so I came to the church where things were on the side of the good,’ and then they're disappointed by how there are still the same old people in the church that were everywhere else. Everywhere we go is just people trying to figure out how to be people together. There's nothing more holy or different in this space except that we're more clear that we're trying to follow this path of Jesus. But it's the same old people in the same old struggles everywhere. We are still making decisions with all the complexity of ourselves.
So I think that desire to separate ourselves from the rest of the world, and I come from that idea of a commune or a utopia or somewhere where we're not having that much impact on the land and we're not causing harm. I have that in me, and it's just not true. There's no version of life that's like that. But I think a lot of people that choose church leadership, we have that idealism in us that there's some way that we can really get this right separate from the world. And I feel like that so much of the story of Jesus is that he steps away for relief, but he's just constantly in the messiest part of the mix where we see the life of God.
CA: Where have you found support and encouragement for some of the harder work that you're doing?
WV: I remember when I was a student at Union watching James Cone, like the great James Cone. He was in his sixties still lecturing. Watching him literally learn with students in class with this amazing lecture, these amazing readings, and then asking questions in such a way that meant that we were learning, and he was learning, and we were learning from each other together.
I remember thinking, I want to be an adult like that. I want to be someone who's always curious and knows how to learn, that can know how to draw teaching out of people.
I learned this in my third congregation. I wish I had learned it earlier, to talk to other leaders here. And it's really interesting to me to watch them guide me and guide themselves to a better solution than I would've come up with myself. And if it is something I might come up with, it's faster and better than I would've done if I had been sitting by myself trying to figure it out. Staying in a real, solid relationship with the people in our community.
I'm answering this very differently than I would've 15 years ago, I would've said, ’here's my colleague group of people that are not attached to where I work’, or ‘here are my friends who are not church people or not in ministry who are my safe place.’
I find that now in our lay leadership, in our staff, like our people, but importantly not just clergy people. Being as inquisitive as Dr. Cone was, and inviting that from them, and being curious brings so much clarity. For me it's really important that it's within the context I'm in, that it's not like a little cabal of clergy are the only people that have answers, or that a little group of people so separated from the church are the people I can really trust. That we do that here, I'm finding, is really important for me.
CA: What words of encouragement, advice, or challenge would you have for ministers and church leaders right now?
WV: There's this beautiful writing: “the response to anxiety is awe and wonder.” [In] our baptismal prayer, we pray for a sense of awe and wonder in God's creation. We are in such an anxious time – for very good reason. What a clown show of a world we live in right now, just hate everywhere. Fascism everywhere. All around us are such strong reactions that feel violent and are violent. We are right to feel anxious. And I think part of being a church leader is that you feel the anxiety of your people. It is so important that we stay in the awe and wonder space. It doesn't mean that we deny anxiety, but that we notice those things that facilitate our being, and those things that make us thankful, and that we make time to notice in those ways.
We don't counter anxiety by repressing it or denying it. We counter it by noticing the great beauty of life. You need creativity to feel courageous. It's not like I have a moment where I think, ‘oh, I'll be brave and say some brave words. I'll be courageous.’ I have moments where I think, ‘oh, this is what needs to be said. This is the truth. This is actually a beautiful truth.’ And I can do that with some humility, say something that feels true. When I get that right, the community comes right back with, ‘oh yeah, that's so true.’ And some people will be mad at us, but we've got to feel creative to do those courageous things. We can't do them out of anxiety, so we have to find ways to step out of our things that take us out of our anxiety. Sometimes that's speaking it, but, often it's getting myself to a more creative place.
I often don't feel confident, but I want people to feel like we can be calm, and go together. That we can make mistakes, and we can come back. Everything in our culture is designed to make us feel like we're alone, and that we need to buy stuff to feel less alone. Whether we're alone or not, really deeply, it's a choice we can make. If we can invite people to be with us, even in those things that we think are our decisions alone, and be with us in those things where it's obvious, we don't have to be alone. To me, that's where courage comes. It's where the spirit works when two or three are gathered. And I think we should resist everything that tells us we must be alone or isolated.
Special thanks to Elizabeth Schoen, one of our Church Anew interns over the summer, for her work conducting many of the Leadership Lab interviews and getting the series launched!
Winnie Varghese
The Rev. Winnie Varghese is the rector of St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Atlanta. She co-hosts the (G)race podcast with The Rev. Azariah France-Williams.
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.
Leadership Lab: Erika Spaet
A one on one interview with Pastor Erika Spaet exploring the challenges of planting a church and building relationships between the congregation and the community in an ever-changing world.
Over the past year the Church Anew team has been working to connect and build resources for church leaders to see what their colleagues are doing around the country. With that the Leadership Lab was born. We have interviewed several church leaders doing innovative and amazing things, and we want to share their knowledge and wisdom with the world.
Church Anew recently caught up with Pastor Erika Spaet in Bend, OR to discuss her ministry and the Story Dwelling community that she has helped to build there.
Church Anew: Can you tell us a little bit about yourself?
Erika Spaet: Sure. I'm an ordained pastor in the ELCA, and I live in Bend, Oregon. I would say it’s a rapidly growing small city, maybe you've heard of Bend. I don't know. It's kind of a hot thing right now.
I am married, and I have two very young children. I have a three year old and a three month old. I moved to Bend in 2017. This is my first call, I moved to Bend as a mission developer under a call through both the Oregon Synod and the United Methodist Church. So those two denominations invited me to come to Bend because it's a quickly growing city and to listen since I have some background in community organizing, particularly in the criminal justice system and local politics. They wanted me to come and weave some of my organizing experiences along with a call to word and sacrament, to uncover what the longings are here in this place, particularly among young people and working people and queer folks.
I was really open to what the call might evolve into. I didn't know if a faith community would be the thing that this place needed. And what has emerged is Story Dwelling, which is a faith ecosystem. We talk about it as a web, or a network of people, who are walking together with shared commitments around liberation and real relationships that care for one another and for our neighbors.We have a Sunday morning gathering, but we also have these other kinds of gatherings and other ways that the work expresses itself as a faith community. Not everybody would describe themselves as Christian. Many people would describe themselves that way. But what brings us together are these shared convictions around relationship and justice.
One of the pieces of work that's grown out of that, (I wouldn't say I’m bi-vocational for me it's all connected), is the midwifing of childcare organizing. We set up childcare co-ops in churches, and part of that has been getting these co-ops off the ground and figuring out what it looks like to build that organization for more equitable, affordable childcare here in this place. Because as we were listening, not only was “meaning making community” something that people were longing for, but childcare was an urgent, urgent need, as it is everywhere. So that’s what my days look like, I'm a pastor and a childcare organizer. Yeah, that's me.
CA: You've talked a little bit about how your faith ecosystem started and evolved. If you had to encompass what makes Story Dwelling different on a day-to-day basis from an average ELCA Lutheran congregation, how would you describe that?
ES: Yeah, I think the question for any congregation, whether you're the average traditional or you're a mission development, is like, ‘oh, this particular group of people, what's our work to do together?’ And so that's kind of how I think about it. What's our vocation together as a group of friends and as a group of people walking together? What's our work to do? And I think our work to do is increasingly around three perspectives that are really centered in our community. Those three perspectives are working families with young children, queer folks, and people who, in church jargon, we might say they're ex-vangelicals.
Bend is a place with unbelievable wealth disparity. And so the focus on working families is really intentional, and there's a lot of overlap. We have a lot of queer ex-vangelical young working families. So those three groups of people, what is their work to do together? I think it is to center their experiences, as well as the experiences of other people who have been wounded by church, or who have never experienced church or people who feel like the church is called to do actual tangible in-the-flesh work in the world and in our neighborhoods.
So our work together is to make that a reality. It’s to center the perspectives, our own perspectives and other people who have not found their place in traditional western Christianity. And out of that comes a real commitment to childcare, for instance. Childcare is a faithful issue because if we don't feel supported, if we don't have a place for our children to be nurtured, then I think that's a matter of faith, a matter of community, and a matter of love and justice. To center walking alongside local efforts to elevate and be accomplices alongside BIPOC folks. What does racial justice look like in a very white city, in a very white-centered city?
When we prioritize and center those voices, working families, queer folks, and ex-vangelical voices, what emerges is our own kind of special vocabulary of faith, our own theological vocabulary: What do the sacraments look like for people who didn't grow up with communion? What do rituals look like as our children are growing up? How do we come alongside them with ritual? What kind of music do we sing? I mean, I'm the only one who would identify as Lutheran in my congregation. So what kind of hymns are we singing? What's our musical kind of expression in the world? Our work builds out of our own experiences as working families, queer folks and ex-vangelicals. Cultivating that work in the world together and practicing a liberatory theology that comes out of our experiences is the goal.
CA: You’re creating an individualized faith community that is so centered on the people and the individual experiences of the people.
ES: Yeah. We're doing life together based out of our own experiences for sure. And that's part of the name, Story Dwelling. A lot of what is important to us is not only drawing upon ancient stories, biblical stories, and ancient wisdom, but doing a lot of our own storytelling and being in touch through one-to-one conversations as well as through a public kind of storytelling. But to see those stories as sacred, there's nothing that's not sacred.
CA: You moved to Bend for this project in 2017. What have you found to be the biggest challenges in establishing Story Dwelling and keeping it alive?
ES: Maybe there are three that are coming to mind right now. The first is walking alongside people who are coming out of, to be frank, patriarchal, homophobic contexts (church contexts), but who long for a ritual and community and maybe don't want to identify as Christian ever again. There are challenges, but also there's a lot of beauty inherent in creating community out of what we don't want. So I think, again, I would describe that as a really beautiful, really rich fertile challenge is how do we create community about what we're for? Not just what we're against, but both are very important. It's very important to know what we're saying no to. And to be really clear about our no. But then the evolution of this community has been what are we saying yes to? So that's one I would say a beautiful challenge.
A couple of challenges that are contextual about here, but probably a lot of places in the United States, are, and these are not so beautiful challenges, space and resources in a city that is incredibly expensive to live in. Our people, some of them struggle with whether they can continue to call this place home because it's so expensive to live here and the values of this city can be so different from the values we are trying to live as people and as a community. So gathering space, for example, is very difficult to find gathering space that we can afford. We met in homes for a long time, but at a certain point it was very difficult to pay a pastor and to have a gathering space and to have enough resources in this very expensive city. And that's connected to the final challenge that I would say. And I think that other mission developments are struggling with this, but this is a question for the church, for any denomination who's doing new church plants, is if we create community and accompany young working families.
Millennial families on the whole, I would say, cannot afford to pay a pastor. And so there's a rub there of calling pastors to new church plants. Beautiful, vibrant work, as you said. We have lots and lots of children in our community, which I would say the average typical ELCA church would say like, wow, that's wonderful. And yet if you don't have wealth in your congregation, you cannot pay a pastor. And so that's a rub that I think that the denominations will have to reckon with. It can be a beautiful challenge because perhaps we discern in the future that we're going to rely more heavily than we already do on lay ministers and elevating the leadership of folks in the community. I find that millennial working families are pretty at capacity, so it's valuable for us to have a full-time pastor. So there's a tension there. And it's not just a bad one, it can be a very good one to discern, but I think something for the denominations to get really serious about. In the United State to be an ELCA congregation, do you have to have wealthy membership to survive? And so far up to this day, the answer has been yes. And do we want to change the answer to that? And that the question of the hour.
CA: What would you say when so many pastors are feeling burnt out, especially with the pandemic and all of these growing questions and concerns about the church dying out? Where have you found support and encouragement to keep going and keep working towards something better?
ES: I don't feel burnt out. I feel lucky enough to be pastoring a young, excited, and imaginative group of people that is growing. I think of one woman in our community, and their family's pretty new. They've gotten really engaged over the course of the past year, I would say. I met them last summer. The mom in the family and I are about the same age. Her parents moved to the United States while her mother was pregnant with her from Vietnam. They were refugees from Vietnam during the Vietnam War, and they moved to the United States. She grew up Buddhist, and is now in what she might describe as an inter-faith marriage. And they never knew what church or any of that might look like for their family until they found Story Dwelling. And now she feels like this just feels like the right fit for her family. And for me that’s one of the greatest joys of my life to be pastoring in a context where I have a multi-faith family looking for friendship and community and mutual support and church is where they have found it. And to get to be the priest or the pastor of a family like that is a great joy for me. So I would say I'm not burned out around that. My friendships and my people, we have more that we want to do at the end of the day, but we just don't have the energy to do. But we have a lot of excitement, and a lot of conviction. But I'll come back to the previous question of fundraising, grant writing, hustling to just make ends meet for this beautiful group of people for their sake. That does kind of burn me out.
We have more community than I have the capacity to pastor to. I have more children than I certainly have the capacity to pastor to. Having to use my time grant writing, fundraising, hustling for resources does not feel like it brings me life. Yeah, that is the only part. I mean,there are so many granting agencies that are so generous and such great partners. The Synod, my Synod, I love my Synod. But yeah, that doesn't feel like at the end of the day what I want to be using my time to do. My people give me life , hustling for money does not.
CA: What does your gathering space look like right now?
ES: Well, in the pandemic, we had a lot of really cautious folks in our congregation and a lot of children. So we met outside at our local Unity community. They have a fire pit and a labyrinth. So we met outside all winter, and Bend is probably just as cold as Minnesota. This past winter was the first winter we gathered inside at our local Latino Community Association. They have a community hall where they do events. So we rented space from them and in the summer we meet in a public park that's got a playground. So that's really wonderful. And then we're hoping that this fall for the first time, we might have a semi-permanent partnership gathering space at one of our local mental health counseling facilities. So we will see. It's been a very flexible adaptive group of people.
CA: What is a bright spot in your ministry area?
ES: Yeah, maybe something that I haven't mentioned yet that is definitely a bright spot is partnership. Story Dwelling doesn't think of itself just as Sunday mornings. This is a kind of web of relationship. We are also in relationship with other congregations and other entities in our city, and that feels like exactly the way that it's meant to be for us. We're partnering with three other congregations to do ecumenical youth group work, which has been so valuable. We partner with two other congregations to do our childcare work. And so to be doing all of this in teamwork, not only for my congregation, that feels really good. It's not just us. We've got other groups of people who are following their vocations in the world. It takes all of us. One church is not better than the other. Hopefully we are listening to where Spirit is calling us. As a pastor it offers me a lot of grace in my life, relieves a lot of pressure in my life, and together we've been able to do some pretty incredible things that no one congregation could do by themselves. So that's a bright spot.
CA: You talked a little bit about your background in community organizing. What lessons did you learn from that background that you would want to share with other ministers and leaders in the church?
ES: I think the primary one from these really fundamental points of community organizing is listening. I think that's something that I've tried to really center rather than being a kind visionary who's got a vision for a church that I want to make. It was really important to me to come and listen. It was less like casting a vision and more like putting my ear to the ground. That feels like a skill I learned in community organizing. You don't pick an issue and then try to get people to work with you on that. You listen and then people will say, ‘come on, let's get together and work on this together’. The fundamentals of basically one-on-one relational conversations is a lot of where that listening happens. Listening for what people need, what gets them up in the morning, what keeps them up at night, what stresses them out. Really thinking of everyone as a potential leader and accomplice together. I don't think of myself as being in service to the people in my congregation. I think of us as a bunch of leaders together listening to one another and operating out of that listening. So leadership, listening, one-to-ones.
CA: You talked about the idea of ex-vangelicals and people who have been hurt by the church, whether it be queer folks, people of color, women in general, or people who identify as women, or people assigned female at birth. If somebody were to come in, whether it be a congregation or a faith collective or just a minister's life, what are tips that you would give to try and make them feel more welcome and comfortable in a space that has hurt them in the past?
ES: So one of the ways that we think about this in Story Dwelling is not so much that ‘you are welcome here’, but that ‘we are welcome here’. We need all of us in order to feast in the spirit of Jesus. That's our affirmation statement, we don't have a welcome statement. We have an affirmation statement. And part of the spirit of that is, and I've heard this, I didn't make this up, not like you are welcome here to join this thing that we're already doing, but that this was designed with you in mind, and this is designed with your experiences in mind. So that's one piece of the way that we talk about the space that we create together.
Another piece that felt like the right thing to do, that spirit was calling us to do, was to invite people with all of those experiences into leadership, so that they are making the decisions and they are designing the spaces with their own experiences in mind. We have people on our board who might not describe themselves as Christian because we want to make sure we have spaces, and we want to have people making decisions with that perspective. It's a little bit of a shift from “you are welcome here” to this thing that's already happening, but we are designing this out of our own experiences with people with similar pain or similar joy.
Special thanks to Elizabeth Schoen, one of our Church Anew interns over the summer, for her work conducting many of the Leadership Lab interviews and getting the series launched!
Erica Spaet
Pastor Erica Spaet is an ordained pastor in the E L C A and the founder of Story Dwelling, a faith ecosystem in Bend, Oregon. She moved to Bend in 2017 as a mission developer to listen and uncover the longings of the community, particularly among young people, working people, and queer folks. Story Dwelling is a network of people committed to liberation, real relationships, and care for one another and their neighbors. They have a Sunday morning gathering and also focus on issues like childcare and racial justice.
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 Pandemic Stole My Power
During the pandemic, I could see and feel the world imagining its way out of a crisis in a way that systematically exiled and disregarded disabled lives, making them at best obsolete and at worst, impossible.
Photo by Edwin Hooper on Unsplash
A few months ago, at the end of July, I helped host the conference of my dreams: we brought together practical theologians and ethnographers who study Christian congregations and huddled together for a couple days sharing insights, visions, and challenges about this church that we so love-hate. I got to bring my pedagogical creativity to crafting exercises and conversations between scholars, and I got to share some of the work I’d been doing with people I deeply respect and admire.
During one of the sessions I led, I kept asking questions about how we bring this type of engaged, ethnographic learning to theological education. Later that night I sat next to someone I didn’t know very well at dinner, and she looked me in the eye and said something to the effect of, “All those questions you’re asking, what if you already have the answers? What if you’re the one doing it? Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. You’re on fire. It’s working.”
It was affirmation that I so badly needed to hear, both because of how starved I was for it, and how, in that moment, I realized just much I had let the pandemic take away my power.
Certainly in the absence of community like the one I was experiencing that weekend, so much of us struggled, but it was the politic-making of vulnerability in the pandemic that really sent me reeling. In my teaching and scholarship, I will chide my students when they semantically imagine disabled people out of society (“society treats disabled people like…”), but during the pandemic, I could see and feel the world imagining its way out of a crisis in a way that systematically exiled and disregarded disabled lives, making them at best obsolete and at worst, impossible. It wasn’t so bad when we were all in the crisis together, but as able-bodied people assumed risks that my family couldn’t assume, our lives just became smaller and smaller, not to mention irrelevant and insufficient.
I felt like I was crying into a void. Why holler when no one is listening, because then you truly come to look like a blubbering, pandering fool? What is the point in trying to make people listen, especially if their actions show you that they don’t really care?
I felt sheepish in my advocacy, because it appeared to make no difference. I felt bad about myself, because my requests for accommodations were being met with silence or indifference. I felt like an imposing, annoying, clanging gong, so I gradually stopped talking about it.
But if there are dark forces at work in the world, I’ve come to believe that they are the ones that cause us to question our deepest callings, render us silent in the face of adversity, or circulate the kind of narratives that keep us suspicious rather than sympathetic toward others. At that very conference I had a chat with a former student about some of the resistance I’ve been met with in this passion for teaching about ethnography in theological education and she quipped, “Well, what if they were just intimidated by you?” From her vantage, she could see something I couldn’t see: maybe the resistance wasn’t confirmation that I was doing the wrong thing or doing it wrong, simply that the people I was pushing against had their own stuff going on, or maybe they just weren’t ready for me. The answer wasn’t necessarily to stop trying.
Way back in 2004, when I’d graduated from college feeling on top of the world, then gone to Puerto Rico for a few months to set up a new Youthworks site, only to end up back in my childhood bedroom without a job, I’d somehow gotten an interview that fall with an ecumenical advocacy organization called Bread for the World. I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but whereas the predominant paradigm for fighting hunger and poverty in faith circles often amounts to charity, for over fifty years Bread for the World has taken a different tactic. Informed by the bravery and wisdom of the prophets and the critical advocacy of Jesus’ ministry, they work to speak truth to power and partner with and implore those in power to make better polices for poor and hungry people.
I think I got an interview namely because I wrote something in my cover letter about Jesus being a radical. When they asked me what I meant by that back then, I didn’t have a clear answer, but decades after taking that job with Bread, and now becoming a disability advocate, I think radicalism is something like having the imagination to call people to work for a world that is far better than the one they currently live in. Radicals aren’t satisfied with the status quo and they aren’t afraid to say so. They are restless for justice in a world that is a bit too easily satisfied.
I’ve written a bit about how the biblical practice of lament rescued me in those dark months of the pandemic, because although my cries may have not fallen upon sympathetic ears, God could take and bear all my anger, frustration, and indignation. God’s bottomless well for my tears and anger made a difference, and on this side of the pandemic, I’ve been reminded that I’d rather be the kind of person who speaks up even when or if it doesn’t make a difference, because that’s who God has called me to be.
I think we often imagine the Holy Spirit to be gentle and motherly, but one of my students pointed out that mothers are actually wiry advocates for their children, so we’ve got to get our heads around our prejudice and biases to wise up to how the Spirit works. When no one listens, my advocacy is still a spiritual gift. When it makes me unpopular, my advocacy may still be the work of the Spirit. When it calls us to justice, however convicting, challenging, or downright radical it is, it’s the Spirit.
Did the pandemic call you to question your calling, too? Have you ever felt like a fool for speaking up, for wanting, believing, and imagining that there is a better way? Well, as a few wise women once said to me,
“What if those naysayers are just intimidated by you?”
“And all those questions you’re asking, what if you already have the answers? What if you’re the one doing it? Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. You’re on fire. It’s working.”
Be the person God has called to be. It may just be the only thing that makes a difference in this world.
Rev. Dr. Erin Raffety
Erin Raffety is a cultural anthropologist, a Presbyterian pastor, and an ethnographic researcher who teaches and researches at Princeton Seminary and Princeton University. Her book, From Inclusion to Justice: Disability, Ministry, and Congregational Leadership released in 2022.
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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.
Multi-Vocational Ministry: Part 3 - Profiles in Multi-Vocational Ministry with Rev. Natalia Terfa
For the next few columns, I want to start sharing with you profiles of other folks who are engaged in Multi-vocational Ministry. Their examples will add depth and breadth to how we see multi-vocational ministry, and we can also see through their stories real-life examples of how people are living out these callings, as well as areas where they need more support and guidance.
Hi Everyone,
Welcome back to my musings on Multi-vocational Ministry. You can read parts I and II here and here.
In Part I, I shared a bit about my journey into multi-vocational ministry, and why I think this is such an important conversation for us to be having in the Church right now. In Part II, I delved a bit deeper into some of the background for multi-vocational ministry, how it’s sometimes used as an excuse to pay pastors less, especially pastors with marginalized identities. I also talked about what’s maybe the most complicated/difficult part of multi-vocational ministry: making it work financially, especially when it comes to benefits like healthcare and retirement accounts.
For the next few columns, I want to start sharing with you profiles of other folks who are engaged in Multi-vocational Ministry. Their examples will add depth and breadth to how we see multi-vocational ministry, and we can also see through their stories real-life examples of how people are living out these callings, as well as areas where they need more support and guidance.
I’m looking forward to sharing these stories and interviews with you! If you would like to be featured in this series, or if you know of someone I should profile, please send me a message!
And, as always, if you have a topic in multi-vocational ministry that you’d like to see addressed here, or questions and case studies, send those my way, too. I can always mix in more topical columns in the midst of our profiles.
Thanks for reading - here’s our first profile!
Multivocational Ministry Profile
Name: Rev. Natalia Terfa
Location: Minneapolis/Brooklyn Park, MN
Years of Ordained Ministry: 8
Years of Ministry (total): 20(+)
Official Job Title: Associate Pastor, Prince of Peace Lutheran Church
Un-Official Titles: Project Manager, Church Anew; Podcast Host: Cafeteria Christian; speaker, teacher, presenter, convener; collaborator, dreamer
I’ve known Rev. Natalia Terfa for a few years now, but it wasn’t until we sat down together for this interview that I learned she was an author! And just that fact showed me that even those close to multi-vocational ministers often have little idea of the breadth and depth of their work. So much of multi-vocational ministry gets done behind the scenes, in the margins, with small, incremental pieces of hard-fought progress only much later on resulting in visible accomplishment and acclaim.
Terfa has seen that truth lived out in her own work and ministry, first following a calling into Children, Youth and Family ministry as a longtime Director of Youth Ministry at Prince of Peace, as well as a singer and musician in her own right as a member of the Morning Glories singing group. She then completed a Master of Divinity degree and became ordained to serve as a Pastor of Word and Sacrament in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. While serving the traditional church, Terfa noticed that many people around her no longer felt comfortable in traditional church spaces, especially those who’d experienced abusive church cultures. She eventually teamed up with bestselling author and podcaster Nora McInerny to develop a ministry of their own to reach those very folks, called Cafeteria Christian, which started as a podcast in August 2018 and now boasts 241 episodes (and counting!), 5,000(+) weekly downloads, and an active Facebook group of more than 1,300 members - plus live events and community gatherings online.
Here’s what Terfa had to say about her life as a multi-vocational minister (answers edited slightly for clarity):
Q: How did you become a multi-vocational minister?
I would say … I got asked to write this devotion for our cancer support group (at Prince of Peace). It turned into a book (titled Uplift), which one of my friends gave to (bestselling author and podcaster) Nora McInerny. After that, she and I started meeting and having conversations.
One night, at a fundraising bingo event, she told me: “I came up with a name for our podcast!” Then, we did an episode together on the Alter Guild podcast, and it was just magic … we started Cafeteria Christian in August of 2018.
I’ve also been helping with Church Anew; I started writing for their blog first, and I ended up writing their #1 most-read blog, called An Open Letter to those who haven’t come back to church after COVID, which tells you something about where people are right now.
Since I went 3/4 time (at her pastoral job) in October of 2022, I’ve been doing more of that “side hustle” work, writing curriculum, organizing and managing projects like Stewardship in a Box.
Q: What has been the most rewarding part of being a multi-vocational minister?
I like expanding the view of what a pastor does. So often we think pastor = something at church. It’s fun to be like, “But we do this, too!” I really love singing with the Morning Glories. We just have so much fun singing. I get to show people, “Pastors do this, too!” It’s about widening the view of what ministry is, and helping people see that my only pulpit is not in the church.
Q: What has been the most challenging part of being a multi-vocational minister?
Definitely fitting it into all the time. Because of the expectation that pastors are working at church all the time, it was really helpful to go to 3/4 time in my pastoral call. That way I know: 1/4 time is spent doing this, and I can really give it the time and energy it needs.
One thing I learned on sabbatical (this past summer) is how good it is for me, and my family, to devote time and energy to that part of my life as well, and I don’t want to give that up.
When I first went to 3/4 time, I knew how much pay I was giving up, and I try to keep that in mind to make it up, like how many extra weddings I need to do, or how many articles I need to write. That part has gotten a little bit easier, though I don’t always make it all up. The hardest part too is that health care is attached to your job, and retirement savings.
Q: What’s your advice for others who are considering multi-vocational ministry, or who are doing it right now?
It’s really worth setting time aside from your steady income-paid job or call. I can’t believe I’m going to say that I’m grateful to have gone 3/4 time, but I am. I wish I would have been willing to do it on my own sooner. When I think about the things I love doing most each week, it’s recording the podcasts and spending time with “Cafeterians.” I wondered why I wasn’t giving those things the attention they needed.
I do really get the concept of golden handcuffs, and how everything is often tied to full-time work in a congregation. But there are ways to benefit your congregation through multi vocational ministry. Three-quarter time has been great for my church and for me; if you can set aside a chunk of time to work on your other vocations.
(Note: Pastor Terfa and her pastoral colleague went to 3/4 time in October 2022 for budget reasons. They each take one full week off each month to meet this new schedule).
To learn more about Rev. Natalia Terfa’s multi-vocational ministry journey, and follow her work, check out:
IG: @nterfa
And subscribe to Cafeteria Christian anywhere you get your podcasts.
Thanks for reading this edition of Pastor Angela Denker’s column on Multi-Vocational Ministry. If you’d like to be featured or share your story, or share an idea you’d like Angela to address in this column, please message her at https://angeladenker.com/contact.
Angela Denker
Angela Denker, author of Red State Christians: Understanding the Voters who elected Donald Trump (Fortress: August 2019), is a Lutheran Pastor and veteran journalist who has written for Sports Illustrated, The Washington Post, Christian Century, and Christianity Today. She has pastored congregations in Las Vegas, Chicago, Orange County (Calif.), the Twin Cities, and rural Minnesota.
Twitter | @angela_denker
Facebook | @angeladenker1
Blog | https://angeladenker.substack.com/
Website | https://www.angeladenker.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.