“Generosity is contagious!”

This refrain kept popping up as our church council gathered recently and spent time reviewing the joys of the last year, before jumping into the exciting things ahead for 2026. Across everything we witnessed and participated in over the last twelve months – worship, serving, finances, prayers, caring for one another, living, sharing, and celebrating, generosity was a holy and active contagion among us!

Even if you didn’t personally step into some of these areas, our collective community – of which you are a part – certainly did. I name you as part of the joy of generosity that dwells among us.

You helped make worship moments happen. Not only showing up, reading Scripture, leading prayers, offering music, or serving communion, but also greeting those who came through the doors by offering a word of welcome, refreshing the coffee, helping people find a seat, clicking slides, zooming cameras, baking bread, pouring wine, tidying up the sanctuary, and vacuuming following the bustle of services.

You helped haul trees in for Advent decorating, hang wreaths and garland, string lights, and stage Nativity sets in a variety of locations and then, with virtually no warning, six weeks later you stuck around after worship or came back after brunch to pack up trees, lights, Nativity scenes, greenery, and other Christmas decorations.

You dropped off hundreds of canned goods to replenish empty food pantry shelves. You donated new and gently used tennis shoes and boots for those in need of reliable footwear. You added extra gloves and hats to your shopping list so we could smother our Tree of Warmth and then share winter essentials with those in need of a little extra snuggle. You purchased toys and gift cards so no child would have to go without on Christmas morning.

You went above and beyond with your financial generosity so we could not only meet our mission spending plan goals, but also embrace an additional opportunity to repave the parking lot and install a new sound system.

You dropped off gift cards for grocery stores and gas stations so we could help people in need when they swing by unexpectedly in moments of personal crisis or acute need.

You created cozy bedrooms and served delicious and nutritious meals for Family Promise guests who called Lord of Life home while experiencing a season of being unhoused.

You sat with someone who needed to talk. You visited someone in the hospital. You drove someone to a doctor’s appointment, gave a lift to worship, and picked up a friend for a book or Bible study. You called a friend you haven’t seen at church for a while and texted someone “God’s Peace be with you!” during worship.

I could go on and on with the beautiful ways that this sacred virus of generosity has infected our lives and is spreading in our communities.

Our theme for worship, learning, and serving moments this year comes from Micah 6:8:

“He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?”

Thank you for the countless ways your heart, mind, words, prayers, hands, and feet are in motion for God’s work among us. I hope that our generosity and joy continue to spread hope to people and places we cannot imagine!

Come, Lord Jesus, come!
Pastor Lowell Michelson

Now that we’ve gotten through the hustle and bustle of Christmas, we enter the season of Epiphany. This is a time in the church year dedicated to "manifestation"—the revealing of Christ’s light to the world. It is a season when we celebrate the star that guided the Magi, the voice from heaven at Jesus’ baptism calling him "Beloved," and the promise that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. You heard this is our prayers and songs last Sunday.

But this week, the darkness feels overwhelmingly heavy.

On Wednesday morning, in the light of day, Renee Nicole Good—a 37-year-old mother, a poet, and a child of God—was shot and killed by an ICE agent in Minneapolis. She had just dropped her six-year-old son off at school. She was sitting in her car with her wife. She was not a "threat to national security" or a "domestic terrorist," as some fearful narratives have already tried to paint her. She was a woman who loved Jesus, who once led youth mission trips to Northern Ireland, and who wrote poetry about the beauty and messiness of life.

As we process the horror of this event, we cannot separate our theology from our reality. We cannot sing hymns about the light of the world while closing our eyes to the shadows of state violence stretching across our own streets.

In the lectionary, the joy of the Magi’s visit in Matthew 2 is immediately followed by terror. King Herod, hearing of a new "King of the Jews," feels his power threatened. He does not respond with curiosity or welcome; he responds with a "preemptive strike." He orders the slaughter of the innocents in Bethlehem.

Herod’s violence was born of fear—a fear that power is a zero-sum game, that the existence of the "other" is a threat to the "self."

When we hear the conflicting reports from Minneapolis—agents screaming contradictory orders, a mother trying to maneuver her car away from danger, and the lethal response of a government agent—we are witnessing the modern echo of that Herodian fear. It is a fear that sees a citizen, a neighbor, a mother, as an enemy to be eliminated rather than a life to be protected.

The Church and Criminal Justice: Hearing the Cries, issued by the ELCA, reminds us that "Justice is not an abstract concept... it is a matter of life and death." When law enforcement (or in this case, federal immigration agents) operates with a mindset of militarized fear rather than community protection, it is the innocent who suffer. Renee’s death is a tragic manifestation of a system that has become too quick to draw weapons and too slow to see humanity.

The narrative trying to spin her death—labeling her a "terrorist" for allegedly trying to flee a chaotic situation—is an attempt to strip her of the dignity we are afforded by our Baptism. It is a dehumanizing tactic used to justify the unjustifiable. As Lutherans, we are called to speak the truth in love, which means we must fiercely reject lies that demonize victims of violence.

We must also name the context of this tragedy. While Renee was a U.S. citizen, she was killed during an immigration enforcement operation. Our immigrant neighbors live under this shadow of fear daily. The ELCA has long stood for the welcome of the stranger and the protection of the vulnerable. When the tactics of enforcement become so aggressive that they claim the lives of bystanders and citizens in broad daylight, we must ask: What has our silence cost us?

Epiphany is not just about looking at the light; it is about being the light.

If we are to be the church of the Epiphany in 2026, we cannot look away from the video footage or the grief of a wife screaming for her partner. We must let the light reveal the hard truths about police and federal agency violence in our communities.

We pray for Renee’s wife, Becca, and her three children, now left to navigate a world without their mother. We pray for the city of Minneapolis, once again grieving a life stolen on its streets.

But we must do more than pray. We must act. We must demand the transparency and accountability that our faith requires. We must stand with the "Holy Innocents" of our day—those vulnerable to the machinery of power and fear.

Light reveals. May this tragedy reveal the urgent need for justice, so that no more families are left weeping in Ramah, refusing to be comforted because their children are no more.

Yours in the Light,
John Johns

“A Charlie Brown Christmas” turns 60 this year! How can that be? It seems like just yesterday when my family gathered around the TV to watch this favorite, animated classic. For those of us who are older, we remember the time when you had to watch a program at a specific time and day. If you missed it, you would have to wait another year.

I admit, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” wasn’t always my favorite. I preferred the more exciting shows like “Frosty the Snowman” or “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” It was the action and suspense of these stories that hooked me, even after watching them repeatedly every year and knowing that everything turns out alright when the abominable snowman was chasing Rudolph and his friends or when Karen rides on Frosty’s back to escape the evil magician. This isn’t surprising in our world of more exciting technology and algorithms that are designed to keep you looking for the next best thing.

It's only as an adult that I appreciate the essence and heart of this classic show. Charlie Brown’s despair over the commercialization of Christmas and his journey towards discovering the true meaning of Christmas. As we celebrate the 60^th year, I found out about the overlooked moment when Linus drops his blanket while he is reciting the Christmas story in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 2:8-14). Did you notice this when you watched it?

As the angel proclaims to the shepherds to “fear not,” Linus drops the thing that always makes him feel secure and safe. In that moment, he realizes that he can let go of his worldly security, his blanket. The good news of the birth of Jesus, our Savior, allows him to simply drop the false security he has been grasping so tightly and to learn to trust and rely on Jesus instead.

This world can be a scary place and most of us find ourselves grasping onto something temporal to bring us security. It’s hard for us to “fear not.” What are you holding onto that doesn’t allow you the freedom to live fully in Christ’s promises and love? Money? Reliance on someone else? Fear of getting out of your comfort zone? Fear of what others might think of you? Fear of the unknown?

While I still love the idea of a special once-a-year viewing of “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” the message resonates throughout the year. Amid our insecurities and fear, this classic can be a beautiful reminder to seek true peace and security in the one solid truth, Jesus was born to be our Savior and Light always. This is an exciting story! Keep tuning in!

Christmas peace to you always,
Angie Seiller, Director of Faith Formation

“Behold! The young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.” — God is with us.

We have almost made it. Only two more weeks of preparation, celebration, and anticipation. Only a few more days of Christmas carols on the radio. Only a few more days.

While many people are filled with anticipation and joy during this season, it is also a season of heaviness for others.

· Heaviness of grief: awaiting the first Christmas without our loved one.
· Heaviness of anxiety and worry: awaiting the arrival of family with whom we have strained relationships.
· Heaviness of exhaustion: awaiting the end of the expectations placed on us by family, society… ourselves.

While this is certainly a season of hope, comfort, and joy, let us not forget the heaviness of the season. The days before the first Christmas, Mary was heavy with child. She was weighed down by the full-term child, growing and pushing within her. She was heavy with exhaustion, riding a donkey for days to the ancestral home of a man with whom she was engaged. Heavy with the stretching, kicking, growing Immanuel within her very body — waiting to come forth — exhausting and pressing Mary from within.

I am not sure what heaviness may be within your spirit. I don’t know what is pressing you from within, exhausting you, stretching, kicking, and pushing upon you. Grief feels heavier this time of year. Losses are more tender. Emotions are on the surface.

I don’t know the specific things pressing upon you — but I know Immanuel, God with us, is about to come forth. Immanuel, God with us, is about to enter this world for YOU. A world where the heaviness and stretching of grief are very real. A world where anxiety and fear can weigh us down like a full-term baby. A world where the pains are as real and intense as the labor pains Mary endured in a barn.

But Immanuel, God with us… is WITH US.

Beloved Child of God, as you carry the heaviness of the world with you this season, as your grief and pain feel all-consuming, may you know the hope and promise of Immanuel are yours. May your friends, family, and Lord of Life community comfort you and bring you peace amid the labor pains of life. May you know Immanuel, God with us is here — for you.

Prayer:
Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and come. With your abundant grace and might, free us from the sin that hinders our faith. May we eagerly receive your promises, for you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

Pastor Tracy Paschke-Johannes

The summer before Tera and I were married, we bought a marimba together.

A quick story: Rev. Paul Setterholm was a missionary in Japan following World War II (1952-1975) and needed a way to lead hymns when conducting worship. In an era when pianos and keyboards weren’t readily available, especially in some of the rural areas, Paul would drive from place to place, transporting his 4 octave instrument (think big xylophone with more resonance) and family in their little car, to share the good news of Jesus in a landscape still reeling from the devastation of war.

In each location, Pastor Setterholm would not only preach a sermon and preside over Holy Communion, but would also be the musician along with his wife and children. Huddling around the six foot long instrument, there was plenty of room for a variety of mallets to play multiple melody and harmony parts for congregational songs.

Many years later, I was in several bands with Paul’s son, Joel, while we both lived in Minneapolis. When visiting his parents in the area, Joel’s dad would often play for us. I marveled at the beauty of the rosewood keys and the deep rich tone pouring from the instrument and heard story after story about this incredible instrument played around the world!

Toward the end of Paul’s life, I had the opportunity to purchase the marimba. Even though we weren’t sharing bank accounts, yet, I knew that I had to consult my future bride if I wanted to entertain the idea of any additional percussion instruments being brought into our soon-to-be home. Not to mention spending a hefty amount of money while we were trying to save up for a wedding.

Fast-forward 30 years. The instrument now lives in our home and continues to bring joy to many as it approaches its 90th birthday. Our youngest child is a percussionist, too, and has spent years playing and studying percussion, including hours and hours of scales on the 1938 Deagan marimba. The same rich tone I first heard in North Minneapolis now resonates in West Chester.

My good friend Joel died Thanksgiving weekend following several years of living with cancer. While his physical presence is gone, his intelligent humor, expansive compassion, musical legacy, and yearning for justice and peace in the name of Jesus will continue to loom large in our lives and home. 

Legacy is a powerful thing. Our lives are a beautiful collection of those we meet. Each conversation, meal, walk, and moments of collaboration make an imprint in our lives and faith.

As we approach the threshold of a new year, I invite you to give thanks for those who have impacted your life and faith. If they are still living, take a moment to visit, call, text, or write and share a word of gratitude for their impact on your life. At the same time, consider how God is using you—in a myriad of ways—to pass on the gifts of faith. Your compassionate and courageous words, bold and loving actions, generous financial contributions, and grace-laced prayers have the power to bring transformation and renewal.

“Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.
Where there is hatred let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy.”
- Saint Francis of Assisi

You might not see it or feel it, but that doesn’t mean that the promises of Jesus don’t resonate through your life to bring hope and joy to the world.

Come, Lord Jesus, come!
Pastor Lowell

“Stir up our hearts, Lord God, to prepare the way of your only Son…”

Every week in the four Sundays of Advent, our Prayer of the Day in worship begins “Stir up:”

“Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and Come.”
“Stir up our hearts, Lord God.”
“Stir up the wills of all.”
“Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and come.”

During one of my first Advent seasons as a pastor, my senior pastor told me how ancient these prayers were and that they had apparently remained relatively unchanged for 1000 years or more. I was fascinated as I considered how these prayers were connecting us to people of past times and spaces.

I imagined my prairie ancestors–1880s Scandinavian settlers–in their newly constructed square white clapboard churches, steeple cradling a bell on the North Dakota prairie. Winter wind's personality intruding through closed windows and doors, piling snow at the feet of people with names like Mons and Martha Rasmussen–who prayed "stir up our hearts, O Lord,” as their beloved relatives in Fitar, Norway shared the same words–though they would never share the same pew again.

"Stir up our hearts, O Lord" prayed my missionary grandfather in the Pele language of Liberia in 1946. Praying the words in a mud brick church built only a year before. “Stir up our hearts” they prayed, as they gazed upon a carved mahogany Christ family nativity. Baby Jesus with wooly hair resting in the manger while my two-week old infant mother slept, wrapped in bands of cloth, laying on my grandmother's chest.

"Stir up our hearts, O Lord" spoken today by you and I in mundane suburbs, live-streams taking our words to living rooms of people across town or across the country. Listeners unaware the words they hear hold a millennia of repetition.

Words of prayer that, God willing, will be heard by babies no person alive today will ever live long enough to meet. Babies, who will be baptized centuries from now when the chapters of our lives have been written and we have joined the company of saints… “Stir up our hearts, O Lord.”

May our hearts be stirred by the hope and promise of the coming Emmanuel–Word made flesh. May we be filled with the same Advent joy and hope as the Scandinavian immigrants who longed for the coming Christ child in a new land. May it bring peace as deep as it did to those Liberian babies who rested in their mothers' arms while my grandfather spoke. May it stir in those who hear us speak these words, so they may continue to pass along the faith first given to us.

Let us pray: Stir up our hearts, Lord, so we may share your love with generations yet unborn. Thank you for the saints whose hearts were stirred and made your love known to us. AMEN.

Praying with you,
Pastor Tracy Paschke-Johannes