March 30, 2007

Dear Partners in Ministry,

I have always appreciated Holy Week falling in the midst of a busy time—Lent is concluding, spring events are ramping up, graduations, weddings, and summer events loom. Now, for a week, we are immersed in the central events of our faith. A good Sabbath from the other busy-ness of our lives and our work. 

It’s been a while since my last e-letter, and you don’t need one more thing to read in a busy time. But I was moved by an event last Sunday and reminded that I don’t say thank you for this privilege of partnering with you in ministry often enough. 

'There’s a church here in the street doing church.'
Occasionally church activities get press. Much more often, the work and witness of the people of God gets no ink, but impinge upon lives nonetheless. You often hear me speak of the privilege of partnering with you all as I serve in this office; I get to see your faithful work and witness often. A recent example of that privilege: 

Saturday night, March 24, returning from a chamber orchestra concert, one of those few Saturdays where I expect to actually worship the next morning with Gerry at the church where we’re members (Christ on Capitol Hill). Phone message waiting. 

Sean Whelan, recent seminarian, is serving as pastor at North Immanuel Lutheran Church on St. Paul’s north end. The message went something like “We’re three blocks from the house where the three murders happened last week, and some of the family have been here in the past. Doesn’t seem right to simply have church as usual. I’ve suggested to the congregation president that we begin worship here, but then all process to the house for the rest of the service. Any chance you’re free and could come with us?” (I’m never sure coincidences are simply that—I’m hardly ever free on a Sunday morning!—but it was clear this was where I was to be.) 

As the service began, Sean explained what would happen. We’d worship up until the reading of the gospel, then process three blocks to the house. I said it was just like going to visit someone who had suffered loss, just being with them, trusting that God could use our presence. Weather cooperated, and we gathered in the street in front of the cordoned-off home. The gospel was read. The antiphon verse from the day’s psalm was repeated at the church and again at the home: “Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy.” There were prayers, singing, meditation, silence. 

Sean, still vested, stood on the curb and led worship. Neighbors began to come out of their homes. In a silent moment, I heard one who had joined us calling someone else on a cell phone, “Come now. There’s a church here in the street doing church.” The tension and pain of the recent events were visible in their tears as they stood around the edges, holding each other. In the passing of the peace, we learned that the murdered woman’s sister and daughter were among those who gathered with us. Sean has been with them again during this week, and helped lead the funeral. 

As we walked back to the church one member said “Too bad Channel 5 wasn’t there so that we’d get some publicity for the church!” I said I thought it was better this way—no publicity stunt, just witness and caring, and he quickly agreed. Those people, in pain though they were, hadn’t gone to church that morning, so the church, being the church, went to them. 

And that’s just one example of what I mean when I said I am privileged to be with you in so many ways, in so many times, when you as God’s faithful people simply live out your work and witness as the church! 

Peter Rogness