Our theme for the season of Easter this year is, Christ is Alive.  This does not simply point to a distant historical event. Nor does it refer to an ethereal presence of Jesus akin to a pleasant aroma or foul smell. It is easy to store Jesus safely in the future, anticipating his return, (but not too quickly, or he’ll spoil the fun). No, Christ is Alive means what it says. The bodily Christ is here, now, standing and serving and loving right in front of us.

​It may seem odd for a Lutheran Pastor to say much about the death of a pope. Luther himself had little good to say about popes. Popes had little good to say about Luther. Pope Leo X excommunicated Luther in 1521. That was, however, a very long time ago. Lutherans have changed and so have popes.

Easter Sunday stands before us this weekend, and with it comes a decision: Will we be drawn into the moral vortex of vindication and punishment? Or will we rise to the resurrection vision of Jesus?

The vitality and health of a congregation is dependent on the Holy Spirit. It is hard to measure, but not impossible to see. During her recent visit, Bishop Amy Current entered Café Koinonia (where we have coffee and donuts) and was moved by how vibrant and connected people were as they shared this time of fellowship. She said it was an extension of our joyous worship. Simple gifts from God – water, wine, bread, coffee, donuts, and conversation – manifest unity, love, compassion, and hospitality.

With the NCAA basketball tournaments in full swing, I have found myself reflecting on the invaluable contributions of those who may not stand in the spotlight of greatness but hold the fabric of our communities together—the "sixth player" individuals, if you will.

First Published November 2019.

​​Once in a great while I write something that has “legs” (at least I think so).  I offer again a reflection on fear in an age of fear.  ​C.S. Lewis, in his book “Screwtape Letters,” took on the voice of a demon trying to spread evil in the world. The book is a series of letters instructing how best to advance the cause of Hell in the face of the Kingdom of Heaven.  

Sometimes, we miss what’s right in front of us. That’s what happened on the road to Emmaus.

Two disciples walked with Jesus after the resurrection, but they didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t just that they didn’t expect to see him; Luke tells us, "their eyes were kept from recognizing him." At first, it sounds like God was preventing them, but looking deeper, it becomes clear—they were blinded by their own expectations.

We don’t like to admit it, but so much of our self-worth gets wrapped up in external things—the opinions of others, our performance, our success, even our failures. We search for validation, hoping that if we achieve enough or do enough, we’ll finally be seen, finally be enough.

The command to love your neighbor is constant in the Holy Scriptures. We humans, however, are a contentious lot and we’re pretty sure we don’t want to love everyone. I mean, there are certain people that just don’t deserve our love, right? This propensity to restrict the definition of a neighbor leads us to dehumanize anyone we’re sure we shouldn’t love. There is perhaps no better example of this kind of moral gymnastics than in a story from Luke’s gospel: