Rev. Stacey Nalean-Carlson – Good Shepherd Lutheran Church    Decorah, Iowa

There are travels we choose, and there are travels laid upon us—journeys for which we could not prepare, paths we could not have predicted. It’s the difference between a named Peter and John freely going to the temple to pray and an unnamed man, defined by his disability, being carried by others, and laid at the gate to beg. It’s the difference between the illusion of independence and the reality of complete dependence, between thinking you’re fine and knowing your need for healing. It’s the difference between packing up and taking off with intention, never questioning your return, and waking up one day in a different place without ever taking a single step, uncertain you’ll ever return home.

As a student at Luther, it was the difference, for me, between a J-Term trip to England during my junior year and the news of my brother’s death my senior year. The travel to England was chosen. I wanted to learn. I wanted to grow and be stretched. The journey of grief was one I never would have chosen. Without packing my suitcase or stepping on an airplane, I woke up the morning after that devastating news in a different place—a landscape I did not choose, an altered universe where I couldn’t begin to fathom how the world just kept on turning. It was the difference between being an audience member—observing tragedy on the theater’s stage—and being an actor in a production for which the script was still being written. It began as a tragedy. Would it end that way too?

Maybe the journey you could not have predicted began in the doctor’s office with words now etched on your memory. It was a diagnosis that defined your itinerary. Or maybe it was a rupture in a relationship—a relationship you expected would endure—that set you on a path you never would have chosen. 

Today the COVID alert level is again Red, and again we are wearing masks in worship. Throughout this worldwide pandemic—when our opportunities for chosen travel have been so diminished—who among us hasn’t traveled to an entirely new place without taking a single step, this surreal world where deaths are numbered in the millions, but collective mourning has been detoured by deep divisions? How will this ongoing journey shape us? Who will we become as we continue on this path?

I want to ask these same questions of the characters—named and unnamed—in our reading from Acts this morning. Unnamed man, carried to the gate but denied entry to the place of prayer, who are you? How long were you heard, but never fully seen? And what will the journey look like for you after this encounter with the power of Jesus? 

Witnesses to this healing encounter, where will you go now? You, who averted your eyes for so long, who remained at a distance and threw charity from arm’s length, where will the risen Christ lead you? 

Peter and John, with the privilege of name and uncontested agency, who will you be- come as your travels continue, as the Author of Life, whom God raised from the dead, continues to show you a world in need of healing?

People of God, pilgrims on the way, where will God draw our attention as we continue travels chosen and unchosen? Where will our baptismal journey lead us?

My first call as a pastor was to a two-point parish in Adams, North Dakota, population 200. Aidan and Keaton were both born and baptized there. For Keaton’s baptism, we sang what was to us a new song as a gathered community: I’m going on a journey and I’m starting today. My head is wet and I’m on my way … Wherever I go, God’s been there too. God’s love has touched me and will carry me through. 

Barely a year later, I accepted a new call in West Union, Iowa. The leaving was incredibly painful, even though I was choosing it. In both my letter of farewell to the people of Adams and my letter of acceptance to the people of West Union, I shared the song that was sustaining me on the journey: Wherever I go, God’s been there too. God’s love has touched me and will carry me through. 

When our family of four arrived in West Union, worshiping for the first time in this new community, feeling homesick for all that we had left behind to travel to a new life in a new place, we were surprised to hear “our song” sung in worship that day. The congregation had learned it as a way of welcoming us, of honoring our journey. What a healing moment it was to have a new community of faith sing for me the words I knew to be true but could not sing through my tears that day. Wherever we go, God’s been there too. 

As we sang just before the reading, Courage comes with Jesus by our side no matter whether our travels cross oceans between continents or cross divisions between people, take us physically far from home or spiritually far from all that home represents, land us in a new place on the map or in a new perspective on the maps of our complicated minds. Courage comes with Jesus by our side through the travels we choose and through the travels laid upon us.

Sometimes the healing afforded by a baptismal journey with Jesus by our side will be obvious. Like the man raised up at the Beautiful Gate that day, our healing will be a thing of beauty. Unburdened, set free to love wholeheartedly, we will use our freedom to work for the liberation of all creation. And sometimes we will wait, and pray, and wait, and weep all the way to the journey’s end, dependent on the gathered community to carry us, to see us, to sing of God’s faithfulness when we cannot sing for ourselves. 

This beautiful sanctuary, this table of grace, this community of travelers on the way are here for you. Jesus is here for you, in word and water, bread and wine. Wherever the journey takes you, whatever the healing you seek, you are not alone. God’s love carries us through. Courage comes from Jesus by our side. 

Amen. 

Rev. Dr. Rolf Svanoe

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church    Decorah, Iowa

Acts 2:1-21 

Last week we began our travel series through the book of Acts with the story of Jesus’ Ascension. The disciples were looking up into heaven and wondering what was going to happen next. Jesus had promised them the Holy Spirit and told them that the Spirit would give them power to witness to the new things God was doing. One thing was for sure. The disciples were not in charge. All they could do was wait. 

The formal title to the book of Acts is, “The Acts of the Apostles.” That title gives the impression the Apostles were in charge, that they had a plan, laid out some strategic goals and pursued those goals until their mission was accomplished. But that is not at all what happened. The book should really be called, “The Acts of the Holy Spirit.” The Spirit was in charge. The Spirit gave power and direction, and throughout the book of Acts the followers of Jesus were often struggling to catch up to the Spirit. That’s what happened in the Pentecost story as the Spirit overwhelmed the followers of Jesus, and they began to speak in other languages.

Have you ever tried to learn a new language? It’s not easy. Right now, I’m trying to learn some Norwegian before our trip to Norway in July. It can be exhausting trying to learn and speak a different language. It made me wish for one of those gadgets they have on Star Trek, a badge you wear on your shirt that functions as a Universal Translator. Now, today we have Google Translate on our smartphones, or a translate button on our Facebook wall. These are all ways to help foster connection and understanding between people.

In our Pentecost story, the Spirit functions as a Universal Translator. People from all over the Roman Empire heard the disciples in their own native languages. It was an amazing miracle that left many confused and bewildered. “What does this mean?” they asked. Do you remember the story of the Tower of Babel from the book of Genesis? That story is meant to explain the origin of different languages. When people can’t understand each other, distrust and conflict can quickly develop, which can lead nations to go to war. Jump now to the book of Acts and the day of Pentecost. The Holy Spirit is given to help eliminate the barriers of language that divide us and bring people together. 

But there is another miracle in the story of Pentecost. Peter was struggling to make sense of what was happening, and he found inspiration in the Old Testament prophet Joel. “In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy.” God is not stingy. God doesn’t have favorites. God is generous and pours out the Spirit on everyone. The Spirit creates a new community where everyone is included, young and old, rich and poor, both men and women. God blows past all our human categories of who is in and who is out, who is loved and who is rejected, who is deserving and who is not. Everyone is given the Spirit. The Spirit is poured out on us so that we would know the love of God that brings us all together. The Spirit points us to Christ and the good news that on the cross we are forgiven and made new. This is the work of the Spirit bringing us together across oceans and cultures, across races and gender and age, and making us one. That’s what the church is called to be, a community where the things that divide us are overcome, and all are welcomed and valued. 

Good Shepherd’s Racial Justice Statement points us in that direction. In a day when too many Christians buy into the heresy of White Christian Nationalism, the church needs to speak a loud and clear, “No!” This is not why God gave us the Holy Spirit. God wants us to see the world the way God sees it. God so loved the world – all of it. God wants us to develop a global perspective that sees everyone living on this planet as someone created in God’s image and loved by God. And one of the best ways for the church to develop that perspective is to travel. The Spirit led the early church to travel, and it changed the church and the world. 

Last week I mentioned Rick Steves, the popular travel show host on PBS. I quoted from a show he produced during the pandemic called “Why We Travel.” Here is some of what he said. “Whether religious or not, travelers can learn from the holy books of the great monotheistic faiths, each the story of refugees and nomads, of pilgrims and travelers. In the [Hebrew Bible], the people of Israel wandered in the wilderness. In the [New Testament], Jesus’ disciples left home and set out to share the Good News. In the Koran, Mohammed said, ‘Don’t tell me how educated you are, tell me how much you’ve traveled.’ These holy scriptures are the stories of travelers … People traveled to find something bigger. Pilgrims trek today, some to get close to God, others to better understand themselves … Why do I see humanity as one? Because I’ve traveled. Why am I curious? Because I’ve traveled. In spite of my privilege, why do I care? Be- cause I’ve traveled. Why am I grateful and why do I want to contribute? Because I’ve traveled … By traveling thoughtfully, we connect … Travelers connect with different cultures, different people … Travel forces us to bend and to flex, it makes us more tolerant and inspires us to celebrate diversity.” For Rick, travel is much more than entertainment. When done thoughtfully, travel can be a spiritual act that can connect us to God and to others in deeper ways. 

It is not surprising that the Holy Spirit led the early church to travel. The book of Acts is full of travel stories with Paul’s three missionary journeys. The early church traveled not only to different places on the map, but also to different places culturally and spiritually. Travel opened them up to new experiences and new understandings of who God was and how God was working in the world, breaking down barriers that separate people from each other. As we continue our journey through the book of Acts, we are going to see that happen again and again.  

All kinds of barriers exist in this world, most of them of our human making. God continues to give us the Spirit to help break down those barriers and come together in mutual under- standing and love. What barriers is the Spirit encouraging you to break down this week?

Christy Vrtis

Sunday, May 29, 2022

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church  Decorah, Iowa

Growing up, my family traveled—a lot. Most school vacations, we would pack our old Subaru hatchback to overflowing and hit the road, exploring National Parks, Mountain Resorts, Canadian water parks, and the very tip of the Florida Keys. Every trip was about the same: see as much as possible—mostly through the car window—as quickly, and cheaply, as we could. Take one day for an “experience” like skiing in the Rockies, or hiking in the Grand Canyon, and then back in the car. Travel, as a kid, was about seeing things that I’d read about or heard about or seen in movies—and reading as many books in the car as I possibly could!

When I went to college, travel was on the top of my agenda, but a different kind of travel. At that point, I craved the romance of travel: the allure of discovering tiny, beautiful corn- ers of the world and meeting fascinating people who were “different” from me, and may- be falling in love with a dreamy Italian man! 

At the end of my Sophomore year of college, I went on Concordia Moorhead’s version of J-term. For the month of May, I travelled in Europe and the UK with 10 of my fellow theatre majors and two professors. We immersed ourselves in theatre and explored the culture and history of each new place. This trip was life-changing. Not only did I experi- ence watching and absorbing more than thirty theatrical productions in five different countries and in several different languages, I also experienced the most profound spiri- tual moments of my life.

On a train from Venice to Paris, a man jumped from the platform and by the time the train stopped, his body lay under my sleeping car. We were not allowed to leave our seats while emergency personnel provided care and, hours later, extracted the man’s body. I sat in my window seat trying desperately to avoid looking at the feet directly below me for hours. I have never prayed more in my life. I was overwhelmed with grief and disbelief and fear and sadness for the man—his life, the loss of his life—and hoped that God was with him and with his loved ones, and that maybe, now, the man’s spirit was at peace.

And then we got to Paris and went to Notre Dame. The moment I walked into the im- mense, cold, dark cathedral I was overcome with the presence of God and the vast depth of human experience reverberating within those stone walls. The suffering and joy and tears spilt in that place over time mixed with my own, and I stood in awe and wonder and comfort in that space for hours.

I’ve experienced something similar in each spiritual location I’ve visited throughout the world, regardless of the type of faith the place or space represents. For me, It is a pro- found connection to the presence of God in my life, but also the connection to humanity, to real people like me trying to live their lives as best they can, with their joys and sor- rows, triumphs and loss. 

Travel, for me, comes down to a few key things: exploration, connection, reflection, and, ultimately, seeing the world—and the people and things that inhabit the world—from a new perspective. And the understanding, confirmed and re-confirmed in each place, that there is something bigger that connects us all, whether we call it God or Allah or the “uni- verse”.

In the first year common course at Luther College, where I teach, I often include the works of the Sufi poet Rumi in my sections. Rumi writes about longing for connection to each other and to the “origin,” of trying, always trying, to get back to the sacred or the divine, to get back to God. And the ability of travel, both physical and spiritual, to bring power and love into your life. 

One of the poems that I teach is called “The Guest House.” Rumi writes:

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, 

Some momentary awareness comes

As an unexpected visitor. 

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,

Who violently sweep your house

Empty of its furniture,

Still, treat each guest honorably;

He may be clearing you out

For some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

Meet them at the door laughing,

And invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

Because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.

I feel this longing and desire for connection that Rumi writes about–acutely and often. I call it getting ‘itchy feet, and every time I do, I know it is time to get back on the road.