 Holy Trinity Lutheran Church was founded in 1950. Ankeny’s population had grown to a little over 1,200 people and prospects for continued growth were buoyed by the new John Deere sprayer production facility that had moved into the old munitions plant in 1947. The American Lutheran Church started a mission that met in the American Legion Hall in uptown and became Holy Trinity.
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 It's Thanksgiving week. Families are traveling. Tables are being set. We're preparing for the gathering; the food, the conversations, the complicated dynamics that come with bringing everyone together. There's excitement and anxiety, joy and exhaustion, all mixed together.
And woven through it all is this expectation that we should be grateful. That we should feel thankful. That this should be a time of abundance and warmth.  I know that the title seems backwards. I mean, ends always follow beginnings, right? We Christians, however, are a peculiar people. This Sunday we will observe the Festival of Christ the King. It is an ending. We have spent the last year telling the story of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Our gospel guides have been Luke and John. This Sunday we will celebrate and anticipate the completion, the consummation, of the reign of God and redemption of all things.
 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.
 I have been doing stewardship work in the church for thirty-seven years. That seems like a lifetime. It has been rewarding as congregations came together to fund mission, build buildings, and grow spiritually as they tended gifts of generosity. It has also been a challenge because we live in an age in which coming together and growing in generosity are far from people’s minds and hearts.
 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.
 (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)  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.
 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?  Over the last few months as my wife and I have faced some serious health concerns, people – lots of people – have assured us that they are praying for us. We deeply appreciate and treasure every prayer offered. I am not always sure what the content of the prayers might be. I assume they are prayers for healing, strength, and hope among other things. It really does not matter because the expressions of care and compassion are genuine and are gifts of grace. Even when someone says, “I’m praying for you,” without a clue as to what to say or out of the desperation of feeling helpless, the impulse to pray is itself a prayer. As Paul says, “… the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26)
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