The following blogs are a chronicle of Pastor Bob’s advice and insights to the congregation during his tenure ( and while this website has been in existence) with St. John’s.

I had a moment like that tonight.

I was reading a lecture by Dr. Edward H. Schroeder, a Lutheran pastor with some solid credentials. Speaking to leaders in my own home synod, the Southwestern Minnesota Synod, back in 2001, he addresses the question of homosexuality in a way I found fresh and challenging.

But the dots his lecture connected for me were almost grace notes to his main theme.

I’ve always resonated deeply with the Lutheran notion of simul justus et peccator – that we are all at once both saint and sinner.

I’ve also identified strongly with the unnamed father who begs Jesus, “I believe – help my unbelief!”

But those two dots have always just done their own thing, keeping pretty much to themselves. Enter Dr. Schroeder.

Towards the end of his second lecture, Dr. Schroeder notes:

One of the Reformers’ favored Bible texts for sin was Paul’s succinct sentence: “Whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.” Sinful is any thought, word, deed, that doesn’t proceed from faith. And the radical opposite is also true: Un-sinful, yes “righteous,” is any thought, word, or deed that does proceed from faith in Christ.

Challenging stuff, and good Lutheran theology. We’re nothing if not radicals.

He then goes on to say:

Faith and un-faith are both present within us–sometimes barely seconds apart in our lives or even overlapping. The words of the frenzied father [Mark 9:24] are the confession of us all: “Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.”

Did you catch that? Did you see the line?

If we follow Paul, “I believe” = righteousness, saintliness. “Unbelief” = fallenness, sinfulness. The distraught man, in all his wonderful honesty, might just as well have said, “I’m a saint, Lord – help my sinfulness!” For that’s what he was – saint and sinner, faith and un-faith, all rolled up into one human soul and clinging to Jesus’ goodness. Simul justus et peccator.

Paul’s words are the bright line that connects those two touchstone dots of my faith. And I never knew it until tonight.

Maybe you’ve noticed that in the three years you’ve known me. It’s a common affliction of pastors, liking the sound of our own voices. And one we come by honestly – after all, we’re called to be public speakers:  teaching classes, reading Scripture and reciting sermons hundreds of times each year. The first challenge is to become comfortable talking; the bigger challenge is learning again the blessedness of just shutting up.

But pastors are far from the only ones prone to wicked cases of logorrhea. The taciturn Midwestern farmer is becoming an icon of the past – nowadays we blog, we text, we e-mail from our Crackberries, we have Unlimited Weekends and Evenings on our cell phones. Words pour out from our devices, our keyboards, our lips. We really like to talk.

I find that the more I talk, the harder it is to listen. The better I get at standing in front of a class, the worse I become at really hearing what others have to say. The more I exercise my tongue and lips, the more I let my ears go to pot. The gift of Blarney is more and more common, it seems, but the gift of a deep presence and a listening heart are increasingly rare. These things are not unrelated.

The apostle James wrote: “…let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger…”. It’s a reminder to all of us with a knack for running on at the mouth, that in the case of speech it’s more blessed to receive than to give. Loving someone well, the way Jesus loves them, means being entirely open to them. Opening yourself to another person means, among other things, placing a greater value on their words than your own. It means relearning the lost art of listening.

In our longing for God to speak a word to us in prayer, we never even notice how completely he is available to us, listening to every word that comes burbling out of our mouth. In receiving our every prayer without once interrupting us, God models for us the kind of listening we should practice with each other…and we don’t even realize it!

St. John’s is entering a process in which a lot of words are going to necessarily be batted around. You’re going to be called upon as individuals and as a congregation to speak of your priorities and your values, your dreams and your hopes, your giftedness and your brokenness, your challenges and your opportunities, your own needs and the needs of your community. The words you choose to speak will shape not only the call process, but the entire life of this congregation for years to come. Words are necessary right now! Only, choose them wisely – turn the spigot down, so the most important things can be said, while letting the rest go.

And prayerfully work to live out James’ advice, listening at every opportunity you get, and only rarely breaking in to speak your own mind. Be even slower to let tempers flare than you are to pipe up, because, as James observes, “your anger does not produce God’s righteousness.”

In short, and as far as you are able, live toward each other as God is already living toward you.

Do that, and I know that God will bring great things from this call process – and from this congregation!

I looked at the attached pictures and smiled – they’re photos from a pool party held by Mario Lemieux, owner of my wife’s beloved Pittsburgh Penguins. And there it is, sure enough: the Stanley Cup, championship trophy of the National Hockey League, floating and bobbing in the water while Mario’s friends and family giddily paddle around it.

This is hardly the most outrageous thing to happen to the Cup in its 100+ years of history. It is time-honored tradition for the team winning it to drink champagne straight out of the bowl. Children have been baptized in the Cup. Lucky dogs have wolfed their dinners out of it. It has been toted to the fanciest clubs and the greasiest spoons. It’s even been lost a few times (as it was Monday night – the Cup’s caretakers had trouble finding their way to Lemieux’s house, and eventually asked a local cop for directions).

The Stanley Cup is unique among the major league trophies, in that there’s only one Cup – the champions earn the right to claim the Cup for a year, but must surrender it when their reign comes to an end. So the Cup naturally travels from team to team and city to city as the balance in the league shifts. Last year Detroit, this year Pittsburgh; the cup’s always on the move.

The tradition has even developed that each member of the championship team is entitled to possession of the cup for one full day, to do with pretty much as he pleases. And so the Cup goes to barbeques and pool parties, turns up in churches and sports bars, and makes appearances just about every kind of place you can imagine. The 35-pound Cup has even been hauled across the ocean to boost the morale of U.S. troops serving overseas. It’s an ambassador of good will wherever it goes.

If you visit the Packers Hall of Fame, you can view Green Bay’s three Lombardi Trophies. But don’t plan on touching them – not unless you feel like getting hauled out of Lambeau Field in cuffs. The Lombardis are safe behind glass. Same goes for the Minnesota Twins’ two Commissioner’s Trophies. Or the Chicago Bulls’ six O’Brien Trophies. All safely locked up where no one can disturb them.

But the Stanley Cup travels. It swims. It’s been hoisted by NHL All-Stars and by all-star couch potatoes. The Cup’s covered with the fingerprints of the great and small. The other trophies are hidden away in their display cases, but the Stanley Cup lives among us. It’s incarnational.

“Incarnational.” That’s the word pastors use when they talk about God putting meat on bones, and being born a living, breathing human being named Jesus. It’s the word that describes a God who loves us so powerfully that he became like us in order to save us.

Many people believe in a trophy-case God. They imagine him lovely and powerful and noble and priceless… but also distant, sitting in heaven where he’s safe from the silliness and dirtiness and danger and poor taste that we creatures wallow in. Their God is a God with no fingerprints.

The Bible tells another story. Our God is incarnate. Our God’s got fingerprints, yes – and dirt and sweat and blood, too. Our God’s not ashamed to leap into Mario’s pool, or spend the evening with the crew at the Night Owl. Our God is just as pleased to be lifted up in your words of praise as he is when some Christian “all-star” hoists him up. Our God refuses to hide out in his heaven while we die here on Earth – he comes into our lives, just as they are, and by coming to us he saves us.

I’m learning to love hockey, because my wife loves hockey. But I already know I love hockey’s Cup – because I love the Lord whose face I see reflected in all its shiny rings.

THIS: The Bible in 90 Days

By the time you read this column, our study will have already commenced, but it’s not too late to join!

If you’ve ever wanted to read the entire Bible cover to cover, now is your chance to make it happen. I’m leading a study called “The Bible in 90 Days,” and it is exactly what it sounds like – a three-month reading plan that takes us from Genesis to Revelation.

Why 90 days? Because most people are able to make a three-month commitment and stick to it. Oddly, promising to read the Bible in a year’s time, the way most of us try to do it, is more often than not doomed to failure. All those days stretching out in front of us make it easy to procrastinate. And who knows where we’ll be in a year, anyhow? By promising only the months of May, June, and July, we’re setting ourselves up for success. And who can’t manage 12 pages a day, right?

I’m excited about this program, and what God can do through our reading of his Word. If you are, too, I hope you’ll contact me as soon as possible, so we can make arrangements for you to join us reading the Bible in 90 days.

THAT: Jail and Bail

Your pastor spent some time behind bars last month – as one of many MDA jailbirds. The Muscular Dystrophy Association raises money each year by “locking up” volunteers, and asking us to raise our “bail.” My bail was set at $1300 – enough to send two kids with muscular dystrophy to camp this summer.

Thanks to the generosity of my family, friends and the people of St. John’s, I came close – by the time my hour “in jail” was up, I had more than $800 donated or pledged. Three cheers to all of you who helped me get this far. You’re heroes, you know.

There’s still about $500 of bail left to raise, though, and I’d really like to meet it. I’m told that we jailbirds can keep on taking donations through the middle of May. So here’s what I’m asking:

If God has put it in your heart to someone who’s living with MD, I invite you to make a donation online at https://www.joinmda.org/stoughtonoregonmcfarlandlu09/Bob (my personal jailbird web site). Gifts of any amount are needed, and your contribution is tax deductible.

Thank you in advance for helping me make bail … and for making a difference in the lives of those affected by MD!

And I’m off!

Time to go enjoy that weather before it vanishes!

God bless,

Pastor Bob

What would happen if our proud denomination of 4.8 million members removed the inactive or disinterested members from their roster? Would 2 million people remain? 1.5 million? How many members would be under the age of 40? How big / strong / vibrant is our church today? What things are in place to ensure that the church is still the church for the next generation?

Are mainline, protestant churches destined to suffer the same fate as newspapers?

It’s certainly not out of the realm of possibility. We’re at a pivotal moment right now. It doesn’t have to end badly.

Hop over and check out his post, then share your thoughts – what opportunities does the church have in the next ten years? What challenges are we facing? Do you think mainline protestant churches like the ELCA will go the way of the newspaper? Why or why not?

The comment button awaits your click.

For most Americans, the changeover was a non-event – it didn’t affect cable or satellite viewers at all. But I decided over a year ago that I didn’t watch enough TV to justify the huge check I was writing each month. I pulled the plug.

(After a horrific, TV-free visit, my mom insisted my dad take me out to Best Buy and buy me an old fashioned dipole antenna. My rabbit ears got me some modest reception – enough to satisfy the parental news fix – but I discovered Evansville is too far from Madison for most stations to come in clearly.)

As the government-mandated DTV transition approached, I picked up the converter box my older TV required to be able to make sense of the newfangled signals. Voila! Beautiful, sharp, and more channels than I ever got before going digital. I can’t wait for my parents’ next visit.

As I watched the high school basketball tourney the other night, it occurred to me that my new setup is a good analogy for how God’s Word stirs up faith in us.

First, and most important, is the source. For my TV, this is the signal, broadcast from a tower in Madison. Without it, I’ve got nothing but a black screen. When it comes to faith, the source is God himself, sending his Word throughout the world. Without the Word (both the written Word of the Bible, and the living Word, Jesus Christ), our spiritual screens are dark.

The next link for my TV is the set of rabbit ears – I need my antenna to catch the signal, pulling it out of thin air for my viewing pleasure. God’s Word requires “antennas” of a certain kind, too – it needs to be received in order to do its work. An open and willing heart and a curious mind do the trick here. Just as I spread the silver V wide in order to get better reception, God opens us wide spiritually so we are ready to receive his Word.

Now comes the new toy – the converter box. I didn’t used to need this. My TV was able to make sense of the analog signals on its own. The new digital signals the antenna feeds it are gibberish to my “ancient” set, though. It needs an interpreter to take the raw signal and turn it into something useful. Our faith is that way, too. The written Word in the Bible is heady stuff, sometimes hard to make sense of. And scripture is full of occasions where Jesus the Word was misunderstood, even by the religious authorities and his closest friends. We need an interpreter, too.

In his goodness, God provides just the thing, in the person of the Holy Spirit. Lutherans have always entrusted the Bible to all of God’s people, regardless of how many doctorates they may or may not have hanging on their walls. It’s because we believe that God gives his Spirit to anyone willing to turn the pages of scripture. He makes sharp, vibrant, and colorful for us what was once unintelligible.

Now that I’ve got the signal, the antenna, and the converter all working together for me, I can enjoy television again, better than ever and free of charge!

As excited as I am about that, it’s nothing compared to what God can do when we start receiving his Word in wide-open hearts, and let his Spirit teach us what it means.

No matter what the geeks (including your pastor-geek) say, DTV won’t change the world.

God’s Word, on the other hand…just stayed tuned, and see for yourself!

What’s compelling about this story is the grief that permeates it. Elisha walks with his master to the very end, despite being ordered no less than three times to stay behind. He understands that every minute, every step is precious now, and he doesn’t intend to give up a single one.

Even more wrenching are the constant reminders of his coming loss. At every stop along their journey, bands of so-called prophets seem to harass young Elisha, saying, “Do you know that today the Lord will take your master away from you?” They’re curious, excited, and heartless in their persistence. All Elisha can do is answer, “Yes, I know; be silent.” In my secret heart, I can’t help imagining Elisha lifting his middle finger as he speaks – “Yes, already! I know what’s happening. Why don’t you try shutting up for a change?” The only thing harder than losing a loved one is knowing that the world doesn’t care – or worse yet, finds your drama entertaining.

At the Jordan, after Elijah is swirled away from him, Elisha tears his clothes in anguish. This reading began with and ends with the grief of losing someone dear.

But in the middle of all this pain is a moment of ecstasy – as the old prophet departs, his protégé catches a glimpse of the chariots of heaven, a vision of God’s power and majesty to encourage him. And he is filled with a double-dose of his master’s spirit – God’s Spirit, really – so that he can carry out Elijah’s legacy with hope and great power. Among the anguish, God grants Elisha the touch of grace he needs to go on.

We’re human, and the human experience is one of loss – always losing, always saying our goodbyes. Perhaps you’re walking with your own Elijah at this very moment, knowing that soon you will be parted from each other. Or else you’re standing next to Elisha, your clothes ripped in two, wondering what on earth to do now.

When we’re caught up in the midst of loss, when we’re filled with anger and sorrow like Elijah, we can be sure that God is there, too. He’ll provide us the moment of grace we need so badly.

And, just as it was for Elisha, so it will be for us – enough.

But even having a good idea what I’m hungry for, Scotty’s is always a little overwhelming. See, I suffer from what I like to call “menu paralysis” – my brain seems to get overloaded by all the choices, and the bigger the menu and the more unfamiliar the items, the more stuck I get. Scotty’s, for the record, has a ginormous menu.

I do much better at buffets, strangely enough. There, all the options are laid out, steaming or chilling before my eyes. Some smell great; others look gross. I’m physically moving from one “menu item” to the next as I carry my plate around the room – no paralysis there.

Here at St. John’s, we’ve got a full menu of events, activities, groups, and ministries to be involved in. Not only are there a ton of options, but many of them are pretty obscure, or even unsettling, to most folks. (What the heck’s a Befriender, anyway? What sort of creepy initiation rites must an Altar Guild have? Honest now – doesn’t having the word “committee” as a main ingredient just sort of make your palms sweat?)

Just like God gives everyone at Scotty’s a hungry stomach, God gives everyone at St. John’s talents to use and a hunger to do so. But it’s easy to get paralyzed by the menu.

So we’re going to have a buffet.

On February 22 after worship, we’re going to set it all out for you to browse, graze, and otherwise take in, buffet-style. We’re giving each of our groups a small table and asking them to show and share with us who they are and what they do. If you’d like a scoop of quilting in your life, you’ll just sign your name. Think singing in the choir sounds tasty? There it is – help yourself!

Oh, and there will also be real food. St. John’s is famous for our omelet breakfasts, you know.

We’re calling our little shindig FAiTh SUNDAY. You may know the day before Lent begins as Mardi Gras – that’s French for “Fat Tuesday” – because it’s traditionally the last great feast before the six long weeks of fasting. We’re holding our buffet of ministries and omelets the Sunday before Mardi Gras, because we want you to gorge yourself on all of the wonderful opportunities to be involved, to share and grow your faith!

Please belly up to our buffet, see for yourself what God has for you here at St. John’s, and enjoy the feast!

Blessings,

Pastor Bob Schaefer