 Reuters reports that that is the number of hungry people who will be pushed more deeply into food insecurity and hunger this weekend because of the government shutdown. Forty-Two million people. That’s the number of pawns in play as our divided and irresponsible government plays political games with people’s lives.
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 We live in a culture that's lost the ability to name a thing a thing. We soften the edges of evil with euphemisms. We call corruption "political differences." We label systemic injustice "complicated issues." We're told to "pray for our leaders" but never allowed to be angry about the leadership that fails the vulnerable.
 Recent and ongoing events leave me with deepening concerns about humanity. People can no longer, it seems, get along with one another. This is partly due to the collapse of institutions and organizations that bear any kind of moral authority in our lives. The church is a primary example.
 (In the face of a world full of violence, war, school shootings and other turmoil, I realize that perhaps the most fundamental break with our Creator is the seed for all the rest. The first order of violence is what we do to God’s creation, and then to God’s creatures. What follows was first published in Grace Notes in October 2019)
Early this morning, with hot, black tea in hand, I looked upon my backyard, damp with rain and shadowed by clouds. It was serene, but not quiet. There was singing. I saw the lemon-lime sweet potato vine sweeping down the side of a pot on the deck. Its vivid color stood out against the gray of the day. It was doing what it was created to do. Above that luminous song, a woodpecker was wiggling into the cage containing suet, enjoying a morning meal. It was doing what it was created to do. Creation sings when creatures, and even rocks, trees and babbling brooks, do what they were made to do. “All the earth worships you; they sing praises to you, sing praises to your name.” (Psalm 66:4)  I was elected to represent the Southeastern Iowa Synod at the 2025 ELCA Churchwide Assembly July 28-August 1. I was representative as a lay (non-rostered) female in a group of diverse folks from our synod: pastors, staff, volunteers, council members, youth. We travelled in singles and pairs to gather in Phoenix, Arizona for a week of work as the highest legislative body in our denomination. (Yes, it was hot, especially since I had so recently returned from a trip to Alaska!). Most of our time was spent with the gathered body to worship, pray and debate the way we show up as church in the world. We heard reports from various committees, and were greeted by ecumenical and interfaith leaders. We prayed a lot. For our Assembly, for the world, for the leaders of our Church, for our congregations, for each other.
 You can feel it, even when no one says it.
Some topics make the room feel tense. Certain words make people shift in their seats. We don’t always talk about politics in church, but that doesn’t mean politics aren’t shaping the room.  I have a confession of sorts to make. I am a M*A*S*H junkie. I have watched every episode of this old TV series, set in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (M*A*S*H) during the Korean War, repeatedly. One of my favorite characters, as you might guess, is Father Mulcahy, the unit chaplain.
 As a congregation of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), what takes place at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly every three years is important. Last week the faithful voting members from across the country gathered to do the important work of the Church. (They had to be faithful. It was in Phoenix in August!). One of those voting members was Ellen Rothweiler, our Minister for Learning. We give thanks to God for her service.
 You just wanted to check the news. Maybe glance at your feed. See what’s happening out there. But five minutes later, your jaw is tight. Your heart’s racing. You’re angry. Again. And not just abstractly angry, but specific-person-in-your-head, real-words-you-want-to-say angry.
Why does this keep happening? Because it works. Because rage pays off.  The week after July 4th always carries a strange kind of energy.
The fireworks are over. The grill has cooled off. The flags are still hanging on porches and in front yards, but they don’t catch your eye the way they did a few days ago. The big celebration is past, and most of us are easing back into the usual rhythm of life. It’s the kind of moment that invites a little reflection. What exactly are we celebrating when we talk about freedom? What kind of freedom do we actually want? |
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