Faithful Conversations #137

Introduction to Readers

“Optimism is a passive virtue, hope an active one. It needs no courage to be an optimist, but it takes a great deal of courage to hope. The Hebrew Bible is not an optimistic book. It is, however, one of the great literatures of hope.” (Rabbi Jonathan Sacks)

Lately, I find myself praying for clarity on how to bring a faithful presence into our fractured world. I’ve also been thinking about children and the world they’re experiencing. In the October issue of The Christian Century, Presbyterian minister Maryann McKibben Dana shares a striking moment from a conversation with a friend. The friend pointed out that those who rage at every headline often do so from the comfort of safety—far removed from the daily grind of people fighting just to get by. While some shout from the sidelines, others carry the weight of survival in silence. Dana’s reflection flips the lens, reminding us that outrage can be a privilege not everyone can afford. As Christians, we are called to purveyors of hope in our world, not glittering optimists who dance in superficiality, and as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks suggests, God’s word grounds us in that hope. Keep that in mind as you work through this week’s readings. And let’s stay excited that many in our midst have taken on the challenge of reading the Bible through in one year!

We have reached Pentecost 18 and soon will mark the 508th anniversary of the Reformation (26 October). We have two commemorations on our calendar this week: William Tyndale (died on 6 October 1536) was a groundbreaking English scholar, linguist, and Protestant reformer best known for translating the Bible into English directly from Hebrew and Greek texts—a radical act that challenged both ecclesiastical authority and political power; and Henry Melchior Muhlenberg who died on 7 October 1787. Born in Einbeck, Germany (1711) and deeply influenced by Pietism, he was ordained in 1739 and emigrated to Pennsylvania in 1742, serving scattered German-speaking Lutheran communities in the pre-Revolutionary period. Among other things, he kept detailed journals that remain invaluable for understanding early American Lutheranism and religious life in the colonies. One other notable fact is that Muhlenberg’s son Peter became a soldier of renown during the Revolutionary War.

Thanks for visiting this venue again this week and for your continued interest in the Lectionary. My reflections will focus on the readings from Jeremiah and Luke. I’m also including a prayer dedicated to the refugees in our midst and musical selection that focuses on the children in our world (generally), and especially those who have been displaced.

** Note 1: Links to outside references are bolded and italicized and are meant for further reading or research on your part. While the text I am including in the blog is my own, I am pulling from a multitude of sites for ideas and connections.

** Note 2: In my increasing use of A.I. (Copilot), I will cite sourcing of how I am using the tool, if necessary. I don’t want that to be overly cumbersome, but I am gradually incorporating more tools. I am exploring the A.I. world this summer prior to my next teaching semester. As you can imagine, it is a great challenge right now and will forever change the face of education!

** Note 3: The images I include in the blog are drawn from Wikimedia Commons to the fullest extent possible.

Common Themes Among the Readings

Reflection: Strangers in our Midst

This week’s readings from Jeremiah and Luke offer profound insights into the presence—and the power—of the foreigner in our midst. In Jeremiah 29:1, 4–7, the prophet pens a letter to the exiles in Babylon—a displaced people, torn from Jerusalem and thrust into foreign soil. His message is startling in its realism: “Build houses and live in them… seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile.” Rather than resist or retreat, the exiles are called to engage, to bless, and to pray for the flourishing of the very place that holds them captive. This summons is both unsettling and deeply hopeful. Historically, this letter was written after the first wave of deportations in 597 BCE, when King Jehoiachin and the Judean elite were taken to Babylon. Archaeological records confirm that these exiles were not merely prisoners—they were artisans, officials, and laborers integrated into Babylonian society. Jeremiah’s call was radical: live faithfully among foreigners and recognize that God’s presence is not confined to Jerusalem. The stranger becomes neighbor, and exile becomes a crucible for spiritual renewal. It’s a vision that redefines exile—not as punishment, but as possibility.

More than six centuries later, in Luke 17:11–19, Jesus encounters ten lepers on the borderlands between Galilee and Samaria. These men are doubly marginalized—by disease and geography. Yet it is the Samaritan, the foreigner among them, who returns to give thanks. Jesus’ response is telling: “Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” The outsider becomes exemplar, the one who sees clearly and responds with gratitude. This encounter unfolds in a region scarred by ethnic division and religious mistrust. Samaritans were viewed with suspicion by many Jews, their worship practices deemed impure. Yet here, the Samaritan’s faith transcends boundaries. All ten are healed, but only one is made whole—his gratitude becomes the gateway to deeper restoration. Once again, Jesus throws us a curveball.

Together, these passages challenge us to reconsider our posture toward the foreigner. Jeremiah urges rootedness and blessing in unfamiliar places. Luke reveals that grace often flows through those we least expect. In both, God’s movement is not confined to the familiar or the favored—it pulses through exile, borderlands, and gratitude. As so often in Scripture, these ancient voices speak directly into our present moment. As migration and displacement continue to rock the global political environment, and cultural tension shapes our communities, these texts beckon us toward prophetic realism and gospel hospitality. The foreigner is not merely among us—they are often the vessel of divine insight. To dwell faithfully is to seek the welfare of the stranger, and to recognize that healing and thanksgiving may come from unexpected voices. Hope is all around us if we choose to see it.

Soli Deo Gloria!

Prayer Reflection: Prayer for Refugees and Migrants

Lutherans have a strong tradition in the world of immigration. Formed in 1939, Global Refuge (formerly Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services), has been active in the world for 86 years. The following prayer is an interpretation of a prayer suggested within their resources and also inspired by Psalm 146. We know that children, in particular, are caught within the various forces of displacement in our world — political conflicts, civil wars, and famine just to name a few.

A Musical Offering: Prayer of the Children (Kurt Bestor)

Faithful Conversations Updates

Join us for some free-flowing conversation about the Lectionary readings each Sunday. We meet from 10:45-11:30 in the church library each week, with some exceptions. No prior knowledge is necessary! ALL ARE WELCOME! And, let’s discuss these questions when we gather (or any other questions you would like to raise for the group!):

1. Why did Jeremiah instruct the captive Israelites (verses 4-7) in the manner he did?

2. What does the Samaritan’s gratitude teach us about recognizing grace in unexpected places—and voices? Who are the “foreigners” in your life whose faith or insight has challenged you to see more clearly?

Faithful Conversations #135

Introduction to Readers

“Education is much more a matter of the heart than of the head.” (Gordon Thunder)

I spent my early years in this community (ages 5 to 15), then returned in 1990 at age 33 after nearly twenty years away. Since then, I’ve witnessed many familiar faces journey on—a steady rhythm of loss that sometimes seem to come in waves. Across cultures, people honor elders as wisdom keepers, and their passing reminds us of the sacred cycle of exile and return, of memory, renewal, and life beyond this life. Last week, we lost Gordon Thunder, a gracious man who, with his sister Charity, helped me see the world through Indigenous eyes. They often visited my classroom, sharing stories of history, language, and culture that left lasting impressions on my students. During one visit in the early 1990s, Gordon spoke the line offered above that struck me as both simple and profound—I scribbled it down and have shared it with thousands of students since. It speaks to the heart of education: not just knowledge, but empathy, connection, and transformation—companions I carry with me in my exploration of the scriptures each week. In Ho-Chunk tradition, the death of an elder marks a sacred journey back to Earthmaker, who formed humans from clay and gave them a soul. Guided by prayer, song, and offerings, this journey leads the soul home, echoing the Christian hope of returning to our Creator, where rest and reunion await. You will note a connection to these themes in the musical selection I’m offering further on in the blog.

Thanks for your visit to this space again this week. Incredibly, we are rounding the corner into October and will be engaged in our Bible 365 Challenge. I am reminded each and every week that God’s Word is vast and powerfully relevant in every age. My reflections will focus on the Amos passage again this week, noting how it intersects with Luke 16. Note the prompts for discussion in the Faithful Conversations update at the end of the blog — we will utilize those for our in-person discussion on Sunday.

** Note 1: Links to outside references are bolded and italicized and are meant for further reading or research on your part. While the text I am including in the blog is my own, I am pulling from a multitude of sites for ideas and connections.

** Note 2: In my increasing use of A.I. (Copilot), I will cite sourcing of how I am using the tool, if necessary. I don’t want that to be overly cumbersome, but I am gradually incorporating more tools. I am exploring the A.I. world this summer prior to my next teaching semester. As you can imagine, it is a great challenge right now and will forever change the face of education!

** Note 3: The images I include in the blog are drawn from Wikimedia Commons to the fullest extent possible.

Common Themes Among the Readings

Reflection: How Much is Enough?

In 1821, British poet Percy Bysshe Shelley (b. 1792) wrote a line that still rings true: “The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poorer.” He was watching the rise of industrial England—a world where wealth piled up for the few while the many labored in worsening conditions. Shelley’s lament wasn’t just poetic—it was prophetic. And yet, the cry he voiced wasn’t new. Centuries earlier, the prophet Amos stood in the northern kingdom of Israel and spoke with fire. His words cut through the comfort of the elite: “Woe to those who are at ease in Zion… who lie on beds of ivory… who drink wine in bowls… but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph!”

Amos, like all prophets, spoke into a particular moment. His ministry unfolded during the reigns of King Uzziah of Judah and King Jeroboam II of Israel—a time of booming trade, expanding borders, and political stability. On the surface, things looked good. Israel was thriving. But beneath that prosperity, the poor were being crushed, justice was for sale, and worship had lost its soul. Amos wasn’t part of the establishment. He was a shepherd and fig farmer from Tekoa—called to speak truth in the king’s sanctuary at Bethel. And he didn’t mince words. He didn’t condemn wealth itself, but wealth without justice, comfort without compassion, and rituals that ignored righteousness.

That message still speaks. As Juliana Claassens points out in a sharply written commentary, “An online search for who, most recently, has been drawn to this book (Amos) steeped in the pursuit of justice and righteousness, is telling: Results show many scholars from the Developing World concerned about the state of their people in impoverished countries where the rich are getting richer and the poor poorer—for example, Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Myanmar, and parts of Latin America.” As Claassens asserts, these communities face unfair labor systems, resource extraction by the Global North, and corruption from within. Claassens reminds us: Amos’s call for justice is not abstract. It’s urgent. It’s real. It’s now.

As Christians trying to live out our faith, we might ask ourselves, how much is enough? If someone is a billionaire, do they need many billions? What happens when abundance becomes blindness? That question echoes in Luke 16, where Jesus tells the story of the rich man and Lazarus. The rich man feasts daily, dressed in purple and fine linen. Lazarus lies at his gate, covered in sores. After death, their roles reverse—but the rich man’s vision doesn’t. He still sees Lazarus as a servant, not a neighbor. The chasm between them, once social, becomes eternal. Amos and Jesus both confront us with the moral danger of indifference. They remind us that ease is not innocence, and that comfort can become complicity. To lie on beds of ivory while others sleep on concrete is not just unfortunate—it’s unjust. To feast while others hunger is not just a lifestyle—it’s a spiritual crisis.

And so, back to Shelley. His lament is more than a line—it’s a summons. (Sidebar: Shelley’s was deeply skeptical of organized religion because he thought it was used to justify inequality and moral hypocrisy, something you may want to explore further). How much is enough? Enough to lift the fallen. Enough to mend the breach. Enough to remember that every Lazarus at the gate is a child of God.

Soli Deo Gloria!

Note: I am indebted to Juliana Claassens, Old Testament Professor at the University of Stellenbosch in Stellenbosch, South Africa for her commentary on the Amos passage. You may find the commentary at Working Preacher, a site sponsored by Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Prayer Reflection: A Future Not Our Own (Oscar Romero)

A Musical Offering: Suiderkruis (Southern Cross)
by Jacques de Villiers

Suiderkruis (Southern Cross), composed by Jacques de Villiers and arranged by André van der Merwe, is a choral elegy that mourns the loss of homeland and honors the elders whose lives once anchored its memory. The Southern Cross shines as a celestial guide for those in exile, not only pointing the way home but illuminating the spiritual path beyond death—a journey through silence, longing, and ancestral remembrance. Sung in Afrikaans, its haunting lyrics ask whether we are still remembered, whether anyone stands beneath the stars to welcome the soul’s return, as the music swells from quiet lament to transcendent yearning—a requiem for the departed and a compass for those who remain. The song spoke to me in navigating the recent passing of several elders in our faith community and beyond.

Faithful Conversations Updates

Join us for some free-flowing conversation about the Lectionary readings each Sunday. We meet from 10:45-11:30 in the church library each week, with some exceptions. No prior knowledge is necessary! ALL ARE WELCOME! And, let’s discuss these questions when we gather:

1. Drawing from Juliana Claassens’s insight: How does Amos’s cry for justice speak to the realities of economic exploitation in places like Nigeria, Myanmar, or Latin America? What responsibilities do those of us in the Global North carry in light of these imbalances?

2. Let’s talk about the “prophetic imagination.” Amos and Jesus both confront systems of indifference. If you were to write a modern-day parable or prophetic lament in the spirit of Amos 6 or Luke 16, what would it sound like? Who are the “Lazaruses” at our gates today—and what would it mean to truly see them?

📖 ARE YOU READY TO READ THE BIBLE IN A YEAR?
Starting on Monday 29 September, join our Bible 365 Challenge—a yearlong journey through Scripture for individuals, families, and groups. Luther once said, “The Bible is alive… it lays hold of me.” Whether you choose the print path or go digital, we’ll grow together—with daily readings, mutual support, and spiritual connection. Pastor Jen will offer a “Bible Reading Kick-Off Class” on 28 September at 11:00 in the Gathering Area.

As of last Sunday, 50 people had signed up to undertake the challenge! ALL ARE WELCOME!

Faithful Conversations #131

Introduction to Readers

“The big majority of Americans, who are comparatively well-off, have developed an ability to have enclaves of people living in the greatest misery almost without noticing them.” — Gunnar Myrdal (1898-1987)

We live in a time marked by deep divisions. This week’s readings from Proverbs and Luke revolve around meals, invitations, and where people sit, both literally and metaphorically. The closing verses of Luke’s Gospel (14:13–14) remind me of a story my father shared with me many times. During his World War II training (1943), prior to his deployment to the Italian theater, he witnessed something that stayed with him for life (sidebar: much of his training took place in the South, but this incident was in a different region of the country. Also, a reminder that the US Military was not integrated until 1948). One evening, while eating with fellow soldiers, a Black man entered the restaurant and sat nearby. Unk’s training partner—a young lad from Georgia—suddenly stood up and left, visibly shaken and nearly sick. The reaction stunned Unk. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so shaped by racial prejudice that the simple presence of another person caused such a visceral response. I believe that moment, quiet but powerful, opened his eyes to the deeper divisions in the country he was preparing to defend. As a nineteen-year-old northern boy, he had never seen anything like it. Swedish economist and sociologist Gunnar Myrdal’s famous study, The American Dilemma: The Negro Problem and Modern Democracy, published around that time (1944), highlighted the deep contradiction between the United States’ democratic ideals and its systemic racism. Myrdal saw a deep spiritual crisis at the heart of American life: a nation that preached liberty and equality yet built systems that denied those very gifts to Black citizens. This contradiction, especially in the conscience of white Americans, became a kind of moral blindness—one that sustained injustice across generations. He believed that only by naming and repenting of this hypocrisy could the nation begin to walk the path of true reconciliation and justice. Though time has passed and progress has come, I believe we are still called—eighty-one years later—to wrestle with this same brokenness and seek healing with honesty, humility, and hope. More on this later in my reflection.

Thanks for your continued interest in the Lectionary and for returning to this space! This week (August 28th) the ELCA commemorates both Augustine, Bishop of Hippo (CE 354-430), and Moses the Black, 4th Century monk and martyr. Recall that Martin Luther had Augustinian training under the guidance of Johann von Staupitz, who encouraged Luther’s deep engagement with grace, sin, and faith. This training laid the foundation for Luther’s theological breakthroughs, as he later drew heavily on Augustine’s writings while developing his own reformist ideas. And, a reminder — the modified version of the Lectio Divina I include each week, comes from Augustine. As for Moses the Black, his fascinating story is new to me, and I encourage you to read about him here.

** Note 1: Links to outside references are bolded and italicized and are meant for further reading or research on your part. While the text I am including in the blog is my own, I am pulling from a multitude of sites for ideas and connections.

** Note 2: In my increasing use of A.I. (Copilot), I will cite sourcing of how I am using the tool, if necessary. I don’t want that to be overly cumbersome, but I am gradually incorporating more tools. I am exploring the A.I. world this summer prior to my next teaching semester. As you can imagine, it is a great challenge right now and will forever change the face of education!

** Note 3: The images I include in the blog are drawn from Wikimedia Commons to the fullest extent possible.

Common Themes Among the Readings

Reflection: “Welcoming Angels, Mending Wounds”

On Sunday morning (yesterday), I had a “Holy Spirit moment” while listening to the first reading from Isaiah (thanks Sue Leadholm, for your reading, and also Pastor Jen for helping me think further regarding exclusion!). One verse stood out with unusual force—Isaiah 58:12: “You shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.” A bit of background for context: Isaiah 58 is a prophetic call to authentic faithfulness, where God—through the prophet—challenges hollow religious rituals and redirects attention toward justice, mercy, and community restoration. The chapter opens with a rebuke: the people are fasting and seeking God, but their actions are disconnected from righteousness—they exploit workers, quarrel, and ignore the oppressed. Instead of empty gestures, God calls for a fast that loosens the bonds of injustice, frees the oppressed, shares bread with the hungry, and shelters the homeless. It was that phrase—repairer of the breach— that stopped me in my tracks. It felt powerfully relevant and a call for Christians today, especially in a world so divided and wounded. It’s an age-old problem — excluding others — but listen for it in the daily news cycle! We are meant to be people who help mend what’s broken, who rebuild trust, and who provide space for others to live with dignity and hope. As followers of Christ, if we can’t do this — if we won’t do this — who will?

In turn, that verse and that moment reframed my hearing of the Hebrews 13 and Luke 14 readings in this week’s lectionary. The passage from Hebrews (the last of four in the lectionary cycle) reminds us, among other things, to show love to strangers, saying that in doing so, we may be welcoming angels without knowing it (13:2). Let that notion sink in for a moment. Luke takes this even further, urging us to invite those who cannot repay us—the poor, the forgotten, the excluded (14:13). Both passages suggest that hospitality isn’t just about being polite—it’s about seeing Christ in others, especially those who are vulnerable. It’s about creating space where grace can take root.

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that scripture speaks differently each time we read it. Familiar passages can suddenly feel new, offering fresh insight or a deeper challenge. That’s part of the beauty of the Bible—it grows with us. Starting in late September, we’re inviting our members to begin a journey: reading through the Bible in a year. It’s a commitment, yes—but also an opportunity to hear God’s voice in new ways, to be shaped by the stories, wisdom, and promises that have guided generations. I hope you’ll join us. Let’s walk this path together.

Soli Deo Gloria!

Prayer Reflection: “On the Pulse of Morning” (Angelou)

A Musical Offering: “Jesus Calls Us Over the Tumult”

Cecil Frances Alexander (1818–1895), a beloved Irish hymn writer known for her poetic clarity and theological depth, wrote over 400 hymns, many for children, including All Things Bright and Beautiful and Once in Royal David’s City. This hymn was written for a Sunday service focused on the calling of the first disciples—Simon, Andrew, James, and John—by the Sea of Galilee (Matthew 4:18–22; Mark 1:16–18). Her husband, William Alexander, an Anglican clergyman (later Archbishop of Ireland), requested a hymn for that occasion. The hymn echoes Jesus’ call to leave behind worldly distractions and follow Him wholeheartedly. Lines like “Christian, love me more than these” draw inspiration from John 21:15, where Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me more than these?” It’s a call to discipleship amid the “tumult” of everyday life. If you need a few moments of calm in your day, enjoy this simple and clear piano interpretation!

Faithful Conversations: Two Updates

Next Sunday (31 August), ELC will offer one service at Hatfield at 10:15 (no in-town worship that day). This will the final Hatfield experience for this year and starting 7 September, we will resume our regular schedule (9:30 service at ELC). One 14 September, we will resume our in-person discussions of the lectionary after worship in the church library (10:45-11:30). ALL ARE WELCOME!

📖 LET’S READ THROUGH THE ENTIRE BIBLE IN ONE YEAR!
We met last week and have laid out the plans for our Bible 365 Challenge—a yearlong journey through Scripture for individuals, families, and groups. As Lutherans, we know God’s Word shapes our lives and deepens our faith. Luther once said, “The Bible is alive… it lays hold of me.” Whether you choose the print path or go digital, we’ll grow together—with daily readings, mutual support, and spiritual connection. More details are coming soon!

Faithful Conversations #130

Introduction to Readers

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” (Santayana)

The debates over our national history have been on my mind this week. They go beyond academic and are existential in some ways. History shapes our identity, both personal and collective. At the center of this fight over our past is the challenge of memory: what we remember, what we forget, and whose stories we tell. Each person sees the past through their own lens, shaped by background and experience. That’s why history is often contested, and why historians work hard to find and share the truth. But behind all these disagreements is that deeper question: Who are we as a people?*

First generation Christians grappled with this question as well. This week’s passage from Hebrews (12:18–29) brought to mind Santayana’s famous warning about failing to remember.** The author of Hebrews (Paul? Apollos?) offers a compelling example of how sacred history can be used to interpret the present and warn against repeating the mistakes of the past. The writer draws a vivid contrast between two mountains—Mount Sinai and Mount Zion. Sinai, with its fire, darkness, and trembling, recalls the fearsome encounter between God and the Israelites—a moment etched in communal memory as both revelation and warning. Zion, by contrast, represents a new reality: the city of the living God, a place of welcome, celebration, and covenant fulfilled. This historical contrast is not incidental—it’s purposeful. It invites the early Christian community, and us as readers today, to reflect on where we stand. Are we still living in the shadow of Sinai, bound by fear and distance? Or have we embraced the promise of Zion, stepping into a relationship marked by grace and proximity? I’ll explore this further in this week’s reflection, including a connection to the Gospel reading.

Thanks for your visit here again this week and I pray for all of us regarding the exploration of God’s Word. We are nearing the half-way point of the 168 days of the Season of Pentecost. Bernard, Abbott of Clairvaux (d. 20 August 1153), is commemorated on our church calendar this week. Bernard (1090–1153) was a key leader in medieval Christianity known for his deep faith and powerful influence. He helped grow the Cistercian order, promoting a simpler, more prayerful way of life. His writings encouraged a personal connection with God and shaped Christian mysticism. Bernard also supported the Knights Templar and helped make devotion to the Virgin Mary a central part of Catholic belief. Honored as a saint and Doctor of the Church, his legacy lives on through his teachings on love, humility, and spiritual renewal. The accompanying image is by the French artist, Emile Signol (1804-1892) and is titled, “Saint Bernard Preaching the Second Crusade in Vezelay, 1146.”

* I am about to embark on my 47th year of teaching history, and these “history wars” have been part of my experience dating back to the late 1970s. If you are interested in a further exploration of this debate, this commentary by historian David Blight is a good place to start. Also, I welcome any exchange you might want to have regarding the topic!

**This interpretation I’m offering was inspired by a posting by Timothy L. Adkins-Jones in Working Preacher from 25 August 2019. He is the senior pastor at Bethany Baptist Church in Newark, N.J. Working Preacher is sponsored by Luther Seminary and is a powerful resource!

Common Themes Among the Readings for Pentecost 11

Reflection: “Encountering God“

Where do we encounter God in our lives? That question surfaced recently in a conversation with Pastor Jen. The truth is, God can show up anywhere—while talking with a friend, sitting quietly in nature, or listening to music that stirs something deep inside. These moments often arrive unannounced, but they carry weight. They shift our perspective. They remind us that the sacred is not confined to sanctuaries or rituals—it’s woven into the fabric of daily life. C.S. Lewis captured this beautifully in his essay Is Theology Poetry, where he wrote, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” Faith, in this sense, is not just a lens—it’s illumination. It doesn’t merely help us see God; it helps us see the world more clearly. Christianity, for those who walk that path, shines light on every part of life, revealing both its beauty and its brokenness.

This week’s lectionary readings from Hebrews and Luke offer vivid examples of what happens when people encounter God. These stories don’t play it safe—they disrupt old boundaries and invite us into moments of reverent awe. In Luke, Jesus heals a woman on the Sabbath, challenging rigid religious norms and revealing how God’s kingdom breaks into ordinary life with liberating power. In Hebrews, the writer contrasts the trembling fear of Sinai with the joy of Mount Zion—a place filled with healing, justice, and divine presence. Both passages confront systems that resist change—whether it’s synagogue leaders or worshippers clinging to fear. They call us to embrace a deeper, more gracious reality. True worship doesn’t come from legalism or anxiety. It flows from bold, compassionate acts that reflect God’s kingdom here and now.

God moments often arrive often when we least expect them. We carry a spark of the divine within us, so the potential is always near. That’s why it’s essential to stay grounded in two practices: worship with other Christians and daily engagement with God’s Word. These habits don’t just sustain us—they prepare us. They keep us attuned to the Spirit’s movement, even in the mundane. One of my coaching mentors used to say, “You need to put yourself in a position to BE in position.” It took me a while to grasp what he meant. He was urging us to prepare—to do the work—so that when the moment came, we’d be ready. As Lutherans, we know we don’t earn salvation. God has already given it to us. That’s our great gift. But we still have a role to play in this journey. We live it out. We share the story. We stay open to the unexpected. In the days ahead, watch for those quiet, surprising moments when God shows up. And when they do, let them shape you. We’re part of a story that’s still unfolding. Let’s live it with courage, grace, and readiness.

Soli Deo Gloria!

Prayer Reflection: People Who Show the Way (Nouwen)

“God’s people ground me in the reality and wholeness of Christ and his church, holding me firm and safe in God’s loving embrace. God speaks regularly to us through people who talk to us about the things of God. Certain people become living signs that point us to God. Whether in life or in memory, the people God puts in our lives can help guide us and show us the way.” (Nouwen)

Source: Henri Nouwen Society

Inspired prayer: O God, in the voices and lives of those you place before us, we encounter your presence and are drawn into the mystery of Christ and his church. Through their witness, may we be guided ever deeper into your love, finding in them a sacred path to you. Amen.

A Musical Offering: “Here I Am Lord”

“Here I Am, Lord” is a beloved Christian hymn written by Dan Schutte in 1981, originally composed for the ordination Mass of a deacon while Schutte was studying theology at the Jesuit School of Theology in Berkeley. The lyrics draw deeply from Isaiah 6:8 (“Whom shall I send?”) and 1 Samuel 3 (“Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening”), blending divine calling with human response. The song also fits well with this week’s Isaiah reading (Isaiah 58: 9b-14). Uniquely, the hymn alternates between God’s voice in the verses and the worshipper’s reply in the refrain, creating a dynamic dialogue of vocation and surrender. Though rooted in Catholic renewal music following the Second Vatican Council, it quickly gained popularity across denominations and is now found in numerous Protestant hymnals. I first heard it while visiting a Methodist church and was captivated by it. In the ELW (ELCA), it is hymn number 574. The version offered here is a gorgeous jazz interpretation. Enjoy!

Source: Copilot Website

Faithful Conversations: Two Updates

Our regular gatherings for discussing the weekly lectionary are on a pause. Summer worship at ELC is at 8:30 in town and 10:15 at Hatfield by the lake. The 8:30 service will be streamed. Please stay in touch! We will resume in-person gatherings on 14 September at ELC following worship in the library (10:45-11:30).

📖 Ready to read the Bible in a year?
Starting this September, join our Bible 365 Challenge—a yearlong journey through Scripture for individuals, families, and groups. As Lutherans, we know God’s Word shapes our lives and deepens our faith. Luther once said, “The Bible is alive… it lays hold of me.” Whether you choose the print path or go digital, we’ll grow together—with daily readings, mutual support, and spiritual connection. Details are coming soon. Let’s dive in, walk together, and let the Word come alive in us!