I have a bit of a hobby. It isn’t something I can take with me on a plane or work on while I’m waiting to go into a meeting. As a matter of fact, the less I have to move it around, the better. I am a pipe organ enthusiast. I don’t mean I just like to play the pipe organ. I love the craftsmanship of the organ. How each pipe is created, how the mechanical actions are built, how a wind system is engineered to provide pressurized air to blow through tubes to create sound.

For several years I’ve been working on an organ in my home. Most of the work has been moving all the pipes from their original locations in churches to my garage and then into my basement, where they will be set up to play. Some of the work has been tedious. Each pipe sits above a valve that allows air to pass through when an electrical signal passes through one of several hundred tiny wires. I’ve had to solder each of those connections – about 1,200 so far.

On Monday, Lowell, Brian, and I went to the home of another organ enthusiast. He put his organ together in 1976 and after decades of tinkering, playing, and entertaining, he fell ill and died. His wife wanted the organ to go to someone who would put it to use, so we were there to preserve it.

The picture a lot of people have of pipe organs is a façade of pipes of the same shape, lined up next to each other. But behind the façade is a forest of other pipes of different shapes, materials, and sizes. Lowell was excited to see up close how some of them made sound by putting air through a reed before being resonated through a longer tube. And that small changes in the shape and make up of a specific set of pipes might shape the sound so they can be used another way.

Some of them sound great playing a melody all by themselves, while others are more suited to play together as a group to support a full congregation singing. As years have gone by, some of them have been dented and gnarled. Sometimes the pipe can still go on playing, and sometimes the other pipes just have to fill in where that pipe can’t sing any more.

A few years ago I was helping to design an organ for another church and we hoped to put all those variations on display so that people could see all the color and shapes. When the graphic artist sent us the final drawing of what it would look like, the pastor exclaimed, “this is the kingdom of God – all of these different pipes working together, performing their individual roles for a common purpose.” This is my favorite way to think of the organ, and also the way I see what we do at Lord of Life. We all have our different gifts, we've all been made a different way, we're different colors and shapes, we work through our dings and our scrapes, and we all work together for the common good.

Musically yours,

John

This coming weekend, I hope to pull out the yard rake for the first time this season. I’ll begin by cleaning up the lawn and flower beds following a wet and windy winter. The usual mix of twigs and leaves are nestled among discarded dry cleaning receipts blown from who knows where, disintegrating mailers that made their way from the front porch into the bushes, and abandoned chunks of sidewalk chalk from last summer.

Scraping and scratching at the yard, digging in the soil and working around trees and bushes, I am always reminded how disconnected I’ve been from the earth all winter. It has been months since I felt the cool touch of grass. The lifeless leaves and cold, damp soil welcome me back and reconnect me to the ground.

In addition to being disconnected from the earth, it is all too easy to be severed from people. Most of our neighbors don’t interact much in the winter as we run from our cars to the mailbox before scurrying into the house.

Throughout the week, I pay at the pump, drive through the ATM, and zip through the drive-thru – all without encountering another human. Even though we are “connected” more than ever with phones and computers, we can easily go a whole day without ever engaging a person in person.

When we become so immersed in our own stuff, we miss what is happening around us. Our vision is narrowed to our lives, our goals, our dreams and has no room for others and their concerns and celebrations. But we need each other. We are created to be connected.

Connect Four^TM has been in heavy rotation in our home for many years. The strategy, counting, and scheming add up to hours of laughter and togetherness for our family. If you aren’t familiar with the game, the goal is to “connect” four of your checkers in any direction, while preventing your opponent from doing the same.

All too often, one of our kids whoops up on me, because I am lost in my own strategizing. Paying attention only to my plans and carefully making steps to connect my four, makes me unaware as someone else quietly plots and drops four red checkers in for the win.

This April finds me craving connections. The season of Lent and the days of Holy Week beg us to reconnect and the coming weeks deliver! Connectivity is central to what God is up to in the life of Jesus and the purpose of the Church. Worship connects us as our voices are bound together in song. Prayer connects us when the Spirit of God weaves us together as we say, “Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.” In creation, we are linked to our Creator.

Make time to connect during these weeks. We meet Jesus and one another as we gather around palms, a wash basin, bread and wine, the cross, and the empty tomb. When we connect, we all win.

In peace and hope,
Pastor Lowell Michelson

Usually when I write one of these articles, I focus on something about music or art. But there was a little bit of Pastor Corey's sermon that stuck with me on Sunday and I thought I might write about the path my mind took with it this week. His message was full of assurance that despite some terrible things that happen in our world, God is there to walk along the path with us. If you didn't get to hear the sermon, or if you need a reminder, you can check it out on our website under the "Listen" heading. Toward the middle of the reflection, he reminded us of the free will we were given at creation. This called back to Pastor Lowell's message the week before, in which we heard about the abundance of temptation in our lives. It all swirled around in my head to made me think, "what is my role in all of it? What is my responsibility when bad things are going on around us? What can I do better?"

I love the phrase "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing." I'm pretty sure it was written to apply specifically to me. I consider myself a jack of all trades and truly a master of none. I know just enough to be able to muddle my way through home renovations, art projects, audio/video wiring, and sometimes even blog posts about theological topics. I tend to be pretty fearless to start a project, and YouTube is a great resource when I get stuck. I'm usually elbow deep in something messy before I realize I don't know what I'm doing. I knew enough to get myself started, but I didn't realize I was going to get hung up on some details that a "professional" would have easily anticipated. I knew a little bit, but I didn't know enough to know what I didn't know.

This applies to more than just projects and tasks. We glean a little information from the news, from TV, from past experiences, from our parents and family. We see other people and we apply the little bit of knowledge we have to help us draw conclusions about them before we've gotten to know them. We judge them. Sometimes we fear them. We put them in a box labeled "other" so that we can stay safely on the side of the fence labeled "us," which protects us from the other side of the fence labeled "them." 

I grew up Roman Catholic, so I was steeped in the idea of original sin, which, in the Roman Catholic tradition, has pervaded since Adam and Eve disobeyed God and ate the apple from the tree of knowledge. Here's what they don't do a great job explaining: the sin that cast us from Eden wasn't eating the apple. It was taking this knowledge that we thought would make us equal with God. The truth is, it was just enough knowledge to make us dangerous. Ignorance really is bliss and instead of keeping our minds open and blissful, we have the audacity to think we know enough to set ourselves apart from other people. We draw our lines in the sand and cast judgement on a person we see or on a group of people we've never even seen in person. This mindset affects us personally, as a community, as a country, and as a world. 

Some might say that the solution would be that we gain a lot more knowledge before we draw conclusions. I think the solution I'm going to try for myself is to not draw conclusions at all. If I can approach people, groups, and situations with the honest assessment that I don't know what I don't know, I'd bet I can alleviate a lot of the judgement and frustration that comes with thinking I know something because I have a little information. Maybe this is a better position from which to get through all the other things happening in the world.

In blissful ignorance,

John Johns

Our sermon series on Sunday mornings during Lent is entitled “Abundance.” We talk about God’s abundance, but what is it, and what happens when God’s abundance intersects the tough places of life? This Lent, Jesus walks with us and teaches us about Temptation & Consolation, Protection & Provision, Growth & Destruction, Welcome & Departure, Want & Need.

Ironically, while reading commentary on the abundance of God in preparation for my sermons, I am also reading a book for personal enjoyment entitled “The Minimalist Home.” It has been interesting to ponder a God of abundance, alongside our consumerist society, and the principles of minimalism. How, can, or should these three realms ever intersect?

When we look at God through the lens of Christ’s self-sacrifice, death, and resurrection, we see a God who gives up everything to show us how much God loves us. God has an abundance of love to give, but the way God showed that to us was to give up everything. It seems counterintuitive, but then again, Jesus is always reversing what was expected of the Messiah. What can we learn from Christ’s example of how to live abundantly?

Our consumerist-based society is driven by a very different philosophy, the more you accumulate, the more successful you have become, and/or the happier you will be. Marketers are always trying to point out to us what is missing from our lives, or how we are flawed, and then magically, they have the exact product that will make us whole once again. It is hard to live in this type of society especially when we read the words of Jesus in Matthew 6:19-21: “Don’t hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or—worse!—stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it’s safe from moth and rust and burglars. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being” (The Message Translation).

While not specifically Christian, the principles of minimalism can help us reframe our need to be fulfilled by “stuff” and help us to focus on the abundance of the love of God. Joshua Becker says, “Minimalism isn’t about removing things you love. It’s about removing the things that distract you from the things you love” (The Minimalist Home, p.7).

During this season of Lent, where there is a tradition of “giving things up for Lent,” and with our bi-annual Rummage Sale around the corner, I encourage you to examine your relationship with fulfilling your needs with shopping for things, rather than leaning on Christ for our fulfillment. God provides, to all people, the things we truly need in our lives: love, forgiveness, hope, and life everlasting.

God Bless,

Corey

Is “Lutheran spirituality” an oxymoron? When we consider Martin Luther and the early reformers, we think of great theologians, prolific writers and musicians. We are well aware of Luther’s earthy language and direct communication. But spirituality? Luther as mystic? Not so much. And yet, Luther was a deeply spiritual person who also cared for the spiritual well-being of his parishioners.

Luther was a monk before he was a college professor and reformer. By his own account he out-monked everyone in his monastery. He took his vows seriously. He longed for God. He wrestled with God. He argued with God. Well before he came to an understanding of grace, Luther nevertheless knew that his life was found in God. He was spiritual and religious.

“Spirituality” covers a lot of things. Church historian and writer Martin Marty once said: “‘Spirituality’ is the code word used to convey everything from profound quests to warm tingles between the toes.”

As a parish pastor I often heard people declare that they were spiritual and not religious. I was suspicious that this was an excuse for not coming to church, but I now think there is more to it than that. We are created to search for meaning. Mary Jane Haemig, a professor at Luther Seminary, St. Paul, Minn., wrote: “Today people hear many words but long for authentic words and authentic relationships. They ask whether they can trust what they hear and whether they can trust that anyone will hear what they say. This longing for authentic communication is part of the longing for relationship. The church can help people identify that this longing includes a longing for God.”

[The cover story of the most recent issue of Living Lutheran magazine] is about prayer. Even in an increasingly secular society, prayer in some form is practiced by most Americans. What happens when we pray? Why do we pray? How should we pray? Is prayer just a lot of words spoken into emptiness? Is prayer efficacious?

Luther wasn’t too worried about these questions. He was more concerned that people actually did pray, that they were in communication with God who hears prayer, commands us to pray and gives us the words we need through the Spirit. He could be pretty blunt: “You must learn to call. Do not sit by yourself or lie on a couch, hanging and shaking your head. Do not destroy yourself with your own thoughts by worrying. Do not strive and struggle to free yourself, and do not brood on your wretchedness, suffering and misery. Say to yourself: ‘Come on, you lazy bum; down on your knees, and lift your eyes and hands toward heaven!’”

For Luther, God was real, and this real God wants real people to be in real communication with God. We are not to fret about elegant phrases or creative and original prayers. We shouldn’t worry about folding hands or raising hands or standing or kneeling. It’s not about technique. Prayer is about relationship with God. God has created us for God’s self and we are not whole apart from this relationship.

And it is here that this Lutheran began to understand and resist and, finally, imperfectly come to know and trust God more deeply. There is a little stubbornness in me. I like to be in charge. I want to set the terms of engagement. I will decide when God can come in. But here is the truth: God is already and always present.

Luther wrote: “The entire divine nature is wholly and entirely in all creatures, more deeply, more inwardly, more present than the creature is to itself.” That kind of makes resistance pointless.

Prayer is an invitation into divine love. Prayer is God seeking us. In God’s seeking, in God’s speaking and listening we find ourselves.

A monthly message from the presiding bishop of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, published in the March 2019 issue of Living Lutheran (LivingLutheran.org). Photo: Kerry Erington

This weekend marks twenty-five years of playing music with my bandmates in the Echelon band. Before I went to seminary, I was a musician and, even now, I still have occasion a few times each year to connect with these long-time friends to play for conventions and retreats.

This anniversary might not sound like a big deal to you, but a quarter of a century is a long time to stick it out with the same group of singers, songwriters, and instrumentalists. Musicians are notoriously temperamental, opinionated, creative types who fuss when they don’t get their own way. Life on the road and “artistic differences” often force individuals to go their own way. Somehow, the four of us have been able to remain grounded and creative together.

The Beatles, arguably one of the greatest bands of all time, only could endure each other for eight years. Nirvana, in their short seven years together, experienced some personnel changes. Rock super group, Blind Faith, made up of all-star musicians Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood, Ginger Baker, and Ric Grech, survived only one year, before egos tore it apart. Life in community is hard.

The name Echelon comes from the V formation which geese utilize when they migrate. As they fly, the flock drafts behind the front bird who creates an updraft for the other birds. When the lead bird gets tired, it rotates back in the flock and another takes the lead. Using this rotational model, these geese can fly seventy times further than if it were a single bird attempting to make the journey solo. It helps that the geese in the back offer their honks of encouragement as they soar. If a bird becomes sick or injured, a bird or two drops out of the formation and accompanies that bird, until it is well enough to travel again or dies.

What a metaphor for the community of Christ! Working together, we can accomplish so much more than if we try to do it all alone. We take turns leading and guiding. We pause to help those who are hurting and accompany others in moments of illness and death. Do the noises we make offer criticism or encouragement?

As Christians, we give thanks that Jesus took the wind on our behalf in his suffering and death, which now opens up the opportunities for forgiveness, reconciliation, and new life. We cling to the promises of God as the Spirit invites us to follow, wherever our journey leads.

This week, as we gather for our Ash Wednesday liturgy, some of the first words that we’ll hear will be the refrain of God’s loving migration promise from Joel 2:13:

“Return to the Lord, your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.”

Return. Come back. Fly home. Follow me. God doesn’t send us off on a journey all alone, but leads us to a place of hope and renewal. Let’s stick together!

Looking forward,

Pastor Lowell