Category: Life Issues

Kaitlin Jandereski

Author’s Note: This poem was not a personal experience, but simply a poem written for my poetry class in college because life matters—even in the womb. Why? Because Jesus makes it matter and that makes all the difference.

My sister’s toddler. His blonde curls, wide-eyed baby blues,
visited me today.
With a bitter taste in my mouth, I rested my head in my hands,
my sister’s toddler was the same age as mine — that my Sadie would’ve been.
Little knuckles around his plastic red handles, riding his tricycle; I left him,
went off to the kitchen, wanting to forget “what-could’ve-been” memories,
Brewed an IPA, I drank,
just alcoholic enough to warm the pink toes
Sadie once had, the jumps of her squirming somersaults, the wiggling fingers
of her tiny hands I never felt.
I sat back in my chair, back to the bricks I was thrown upon, back to the rape in my bed,
back to the pregnant bump I did not want to see,
I could not see. Back in a pallid room with a homesick heart;
not wanting an abortion, but wanting life’s normalcy.
There’s her arm.
Get it, the doctor said.
Her arm?
It was a she?
Crucifying cramps electrocuted my whole body,
pain nobody told me I’d bear.
She.
It was a she.
A scar-faced jack-in-the-box,
interrupting my scheduled appointment in loud, black blood-cossetted tears.
She.
My little she.
Sadie,
that’s what her name will be —
Named during her eight-week old funeral,
unrehearsed, on a sterile grave.
If only I knew then that
it was a she.
My choices, my rights,
they were given to me,
But my dear Sadie’s rights
. . . Now, where were they?

Kaitlin Jandereski is a member of Our Savior Lutheran Church in Bad Axe, Michigan.

Emma Speers

Okay, so for one thing, I didn’t think life was going to get so complex so quickly. Another thing no one warned me about (or maybe I just didn’t listen) was that this adult responsibility thing was going to happen so abruptly. But, the moving sidewalk that seemingly was set to “fast-forward” started as soon as my senior year started, and it hasn’t let up since.

That first semester was a mess of rushing, stress, lack of sleep, big decision making, deadlines, and more stress, and I began to feel as if I had lost a part of me. The moving sidewalk seemed to slow a bit during Christmas break, and it gave me time to reflect on the craziness of that first semester, and I wanted to find a way to control it. When the spring semester started up, I began to realize that the same thing was going to happen. I was going to get so tired and run down that I was just going to be this grumpy, stressed-out person who was too weary and worn out to worry about things that used to matter a lot to her. I noticed that I seemed to lose my sense of compassion for others, followed by creativity, and then what seemed to be the things that made me, me.

After I realized that this is what happened, and that I needed to prevent it somehow, someway, I set to work to devise a system. I thought about ways to change the way I worked, how many hours I slept, how many things I committed to at a time. You name it, I thought of a reason, and a way to change it. But even after all of this reflecting and planning, the sidewalk seemed to take off again, and my whole system fell apart. It went kaput before the first week was done. Again, stress took over, and I began to worry about choosing the right college, what to major in, who I was as a person, and everything in between. The time was coming to commit, and I didn’t feel ready for any of it. I became even more of a wound-up mess than I had been the first semester. You see, I had forgotten one very important thing, the thing I had been taught about since before I knew how to listen: the comfort of the Gospel.

It wasn’t the adult responsibilities or the big decisions that were the problem. What it was is that I felt it was my place to stress it all! God has had it all planned out since before I was born. He has it all taken care of, and it isn’t my job to control all of it. He has given me wonderful, beautiful words that tell me just this, and each week He continues to feed me, and give me what I need to make it through life-one day at a time. There is nothing that has happened or will happen to me that God doesn’t know about, or can’t handle. He gives us times during which we may struggle and fail, so that we see our need for His present Word. For the times when we don’t trust Him, or we fall into sin, His words of Gospel are there to wash over us, and comfort us, and the sacraments – God’s means of grace – are there to apply forgiveness. He is present in His Word and the people He has given us as gifts. He also gives us times of the year to dig deeper into His Word, and immerse ourselves in it. Lent is one of these times. We are given this time to reflect on the great sacrifice made by God, for us poor sinners. We hear of the unconditional love of Christ and the path He was willing to take to free us from our bonds of sin. We are told to repent of our sins, and leave them at the cross, because we need a savior who will pay our debt, and that Savior is Christ.

So, can I do this senior “thing” on my own? Am I old enough, or responsible enough? Nope! I never, ever will be. I’m going to always need Someone by my side to help me, guide me, forgive me, and save me. It’s a comforting thing to realize that you need Christ, and when you understand that He is the only one who could have gone to that cross on Good Friday, and die for your sins, the looming stresses are buried with Him. He also takes care of the little things in your life like college, and money, and finding time to sleep. So, as we continue in the season of Lent, we should be reminded that God’s Word is always there to call us back to Him to His love and care. Lent isn’t just there for 40 days; it is a way of life.

Emma Speers is a lifelong member at St. Paul (Blue Point) Lutheran Church in Altamont, Illinois. She is a homeschooled senior in high school. She loves ballet, art, music (especially piano and ukulele), large cups of Earl Gray tea, and her Australian shepherd, Chili.

Rev. Gaven Mize

“Don’t leave me,” Ann said to her husband. She had been sick for the better part of six months and had been in hospice care for the past week. Time was running out. Her cheeks had sunken in, her eyes had blackened, and her mouth was almost always dry.

“I won’t leave you. I’m right here,” said her husband. Harold had always loved her. He had loved her since he first saw her. He hated being in the Army because it so often took him away from her. He got out of the service as soon as he could and then he made a promise to her never to leave her. But, he knew that soon the promise would be broken whether he wanted it or not. As her breath slowed Harold began to cry. He barely even noticed when the pastor came. Harold faintly caught the last few lines from the pastor. “…may you see the Redeemer face to face, and enjoy the vision of God forever,” the pastor whispered. And soon after, the pastor told Harold he would be right outside. It was not very long after the pastor left that Ann did, too. She was gone. Harold was a quiet man. He was a man of distinction, honor, and he carried with him a strong and unshakable faith. But not right then. Right then he wanted to run down the hall screaming at the top of his lungs about just how unfair God had been to him. Was this a sin? Surely, he recalled a biblical figure or two who had questioned God. But, who cared at this point? God had taken away the love that He had given Harold. And Harold didn’t know much, but at that time he knew that God wasn’t a fair God. Harold and Ann had been together 55 years and now he was forced to leave her. God forced Harold to break his promise to his wife.

The next few days moved very slowly. Harold left most, if not all, of the funeral arrangements for the kids. He was numb and just wanted it to all be over: the funeral, his life, just all over. He then recalled Ann’s favorite flower and became somewhat reinvigorated and determined that his wife would be buried with pink and white snapdragons in her hands. He faintly remembered the door clicking closed and the car starting, but what he did recall was passing his pastor’s car parked in front of the coffee shop. Removing all traces of snapdragons from his mind, Harold whipped the car around and headed to get some coffee. Harold was going to get some answers.

Harold walked into the shop, sat down, and asked, “Why, preacher? Why would God take my wife? Why would He do this to me if He is so good, so just, so fair?”

Taken aback, the preacher answered, “To you, Harold? God didn’t do this to you. Death comes for us all. What He did was for Ann.” He continued, “This isn’t Ann’s first death. In her baptism she died the death of Christ as was raised to new life. Do you think that God would have her to remain dead in this death?” The pastor thought he had said the right words. He had gone to seminary and they had said that things like this might happen.

“God is not just. He is an unfair God,” Harold said.

“It is true Harold that God is not fair, but just He most certainly is,” the pastor said. “It is unfair that Christ became flesh and dwelt among us, it is unfair that He died for our sins on the cross, and it is certainly unfair that we have been ripped from the grasp of sin, death, and the devil in our baptisms. Those things are unfair, if we got what was fair we certainly would have rooms reserved in a very hot section of hell, separated from God for all time. But just, He is. He is just because He is the justifier. Christ is the one who took on Ann’s sins and the one who stands between death and life for her. He is her judge and innocent is her verdict.”

“I have to go,” said Harold. “I promised I wouldn’t leave Ann and I have been gone from her body too long. This is hard, preacher. Promise, you won’t leave me to suffer alone.”

The pastor looked up at Harold, “That promise is for God alone to keep. You have broken no promise today or the day Ann died. Christ has kept that promise for you and He will keep it when your day of dying comes. But, here, today I’ll be by your side, until the end, until the casket is lowered and after.”

The pastor visits Ann from time to time. But now when he comes with pink and white snapdragons, he also brings with him a cup of coffee and lays a Bible verse on the grave next to hers. Harold’s grave. Today that verse left on the hard tombstone reads: “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” In death and in life, no truer words can be spoken.

Rev. Gaven M. Mize serves as pastor at Augustana Lutheran Church, Hickory, North Carolina.

Tanya Saueressig-Nevin

The man in the white dress was coming around. He handed out gifts to the kneeling children while we, a mixed group of silver-haired saints, sticky-faced toddlers, working class stiffs, and menopausal moms looked on. Some ancient tune was played in the background. The notes brought peace I didn’t know I needed. He put the bread in my hand. I took it and ate. He gave me red wine. I took it and drank. Nothing had changed, but everything had. I got up, gave a slight bow, and as I walked away from the rail back to my seat I said, “THAT is why I joined a dead religion.”

Dead. That’s what I had always thought. That’s what I was always told. Any stodgy church that doesn’t have a rockin’ band is dead. Any church that isn’t growing is dead. Any church that limits the Holy Spirit is dead. Any church without a youth group is dead. Any church without a coffee shop is dead. Any church that’s older than fifty years is dead. Why on earth would I ever want to set foot in a rotting graveyard like that?

Creeds are for zombies–the dumb moans of spiritless shells. Confessions are for the walking dead–lifeless words that can’t cast heavenly spells. No, none of that 500-year-old Reformation garbage is for a “true believer.” The time for that has come and gone. We’ve evolved…don’t you know? In a “spirit filled” church, pastors must wear skinny jeans. They all do, you see. They tell funny jokes, give relevant references to the upcoming Star Wars film, and can life-coach like nobody’s business…from the stage.

Pastor has the Words of Life but never uses them. He doesn’t even know what to do with them, except throw out a nugget here or there. Mostly he keeps them shut in that book of red letters. Then, like the performer that he is, he skillfully turns the mirror on you and there you are: kind of happy about it because you love yourself most of all. Only it’s not the squeaky clean image everyone around you sees. No, it’s your blackened self. Your zombie self. Then he throws a sprinkling of magic words about a Jewish guy, and something about a cross, and tells you how to repay that holy man for what He’s done. He deserves your best, after all. Pastor tells you to have fun with that and slips away as the words fall to the floor and the band takes over the room. The lights go down. The fog machine winds up.

Music repeats the word “I” over and over so God knows you mean it. Tears, it seems, must stream down cheeks. Bodies must sway while hands touch the sky. It’s a sure sign you’re really into worship. Maybe if you cry enough that Jewish man will know you’re really scared and confused and that you don’t know what the heck you’re doing. Maybe then He’ll hear your prayers and tip towards your tears. But not for you. He didn’t tip toward you.

Plates must be passed and records must be checked for faithfulness. Don’t forget, your faith shows through cheerful giving. And if it doesn’t hurt a little, maybe you’re not committed. You can’t cheat God. He’s always watching. Put it in the basket. You’ll be blessed. Then that Jewish man will come closer to you.

Can you speak languages only angels understand? You must if you are a true believer. If you can’t speak in tongues, maybe you’re not one of us. Make it up, if you have to. Mumble something, anything. Just string together some slippery sounding words so the congregation thinks you can speak in tongues, and maybe they won’t notice that you can’t. The people will keep coming back. They will keep pressing their otherworldly hands on your body to make you one with them. Make you talk like them. Make you feel like you’re together. You’re all one big, Spirit-filled church. Everyone is close, so just whisper your prayers. They’ll see your mouth move. It will make them happy, and maybe then they’ll go away.

Give your time, your talents, your everything because Someone gave everything. Give your attention, your heart, your soul, your gifts, all you are and more. Pray more. There’s still twenty-three hours in the day. You can’t remember everything you forgot. Be diligent in prayer. Get it all out in fresh new words every time.

It’s how it was for me. I felt like I was stuck in the Matrix with Neo. What are those red letters in the Bible? How am I supposed to even know what they mean? I know they must mean something. How do I hear Him speak, see His face, feel Him near, know He loves, and even maybe forgives the monster I see staring back at me from the mirror? Is God even real? Is any of this Christian stuff real?

The fog machines. The angels overhead and demons at my back. The weight was too heavy for me. Skinny jeans and skits, money and music, slain in the Spirit all around, but I wouldn’t fall down. The swirling water a symbol of grace. A Saltine cracker a symbol of a Jewish carpenter I imagined I once knew. A thimbleful of grape juice. A symbol of Jesus’ blood once spilled. Is He even real? Is any of this real? I just wanted it to stop.

I had passed by a little building with stained glass windows and a sign about a potluck a hundred times, never paying any attention.. The letters LC-MS were on the sign. What is an LC-MS anyway? Some kind of cult, probably. But I might look it up. Can’t hurt to try.

A week later we went in. I remember sniffing the air suspiciously. Little old ladies with polyester jackets were everywhere. The off-key organ made me cringe. Kids were crying at inopportune times. The coffee was burnt. The songs…well, I didn’t know them. Why did everyone stand up, then sit down, then stand up, then pray, then go up front, then come back and sit down, and on and on. I had no idea what was going on. This was not what I expected. But in a way, it was. And I loved it.

We were told about that Jewish guy. His name is Jesus. He is the Red Letters–the Word. We were told who we are to Him. That yes, we are blackened sinners, but He loves us anyway. He knew we were the walking dead heading towards a cliff, so He got on a cross to rescue us. He died, took away our sins, rose from the dead, and then He was gone. But, He’s came back. And we are His saints, because He said we are–not because of what we do or say or think or feel. We are saints because He is who He said He is and He did what He said He’d do for us. We heard the man in the white dress reading the Words of Life–all of them, all the time. He told us what they mean. They are about Jesus. All of them, and now we are alive as a consequence. We receive the bread and receive the wine, and Jesus is there, Body and Blood, because He said He is. We are forgiven. We are free because He said we are free.

We do not have to wonder. We don’t need to muster up tears, fake whispers to angels, or cast out demons from our past. We don’t have to pray away our sins we can’t even recall, or give ’til it hurts, or writhe on the floor in prophetic ecstasy, or visions, or dreams, or anything at all. Jesus gave Himself to us, and that’s everything.

So what do we have to do now–my husband and I and our children? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The Word says our work is to believe in Him and He does the rest. ALL of it. He saved us in baptism. He washed away our death because He was there in death for us. The Words of Life tell us. He saves us in the bread and wine–His Body and His Blood that brings new life. The Words of Life tell us. He comes to us through that book as it’s read and preached to us. Every scarlet word between the covers tells us He was there and He is here now, and He will be there at the end.

The man in the white dress comes around. He hands out God’s gifts to His kneeling children. Our pastor puts God’s body in our waiting hands. We take it and eat. Jesus is there. Our pastor gives us sweet red wine. We take it and drink. Jesus is there. Forgiveness. Forgiven and free. For real. The pastor speaks the Word that tells us this is true. Then we get up. We give a slight bow out of respect for the Holy of Holies, and as we walk back to our seat, I say to myself, “THAT is why I joined a dead religion.”

Tanya Saueressig-Nevin is a member at Lord of Life Lutheran Church, Chesterfield, Missouri.

Rev. Timothy Winterstein

In the movie Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, Greg Gaines has made it through three years of high school without being associated with any single group. He’s not a jock, but he gives the basketball players in their letter jackets high-fives as he passes. He’s not a goth, but they nod at him from behind their leather and metal and eyeliner when he goes into school. He’s not a nerd or a geek, but they respect him for his nerdy tendencies. This ability to keep himself from being singled out as different, he thinks, is the key to surviving high school.

When I was in high school, I was not Greg Gaines. My high school identity was formed by the fact that I was a Christian. I fought for our Christian club to have official school recognition; I prayed in public with other Christians; I went to concerts with Christian bands and tried to demonstrate that they were just as cool as what everyone else was listening to (some were and some were definitely not) and I picked abortion for essays and debate class way too often. But even though my high school identity was shaped by the “right” group and the “right” issues, it wasn’t an identity that could sustain me. People didn’t admire me or hate me for my stand on things; they just groaned whenever I had to state publicly what my essay or story was going to be about. I was pegged as part of a group, period.

Maybe you can relate to me, or maybe you can relate to Greg Gaines. Maybe you’ve worked hard to form and shape your own identity; what other people think you are is the mask you’ve created for them to see. Or maybe your identity has been formed by others: You did something you regret, and everyone has pegged you as this or that, part of this group or of that group. Or maybe it’s a combination of both.

For three years Greg Gaines managed to keep his identity from being shaped and formed by any single high school group. But in his senior year, Greg’s mom forces him to become friends with Rachel, a girl who has just been diagnosed with cancer. At first, neither she nor he wants to be friends, because they both know it’s artificial. Not only that, but as soon as he starts to visit Rachel, things begin to happen so that, one after another, he no longer has good relationships with the jocks, or the goths, or the nerds. His self-made identity can’t sustain him, and it takes that breakdown of his ability to move among the groups in his high school to teach him that there is something more important than simply surviving.

The fact is, each of our identities, whether self-made or imposed on us from outside, is as fragile as life. None of them will survive, and there is only one way to avoid an identity crisis-an identity that cannot be broken because it doesn’t belong to us. It’s an identity that depends on one thing and one thing only: Jesus Christ and His death and resurrection for you. That identity is your baptismal identity, the holy Name that marks you for all eternity. “In the morning when you get up,” Luther says, “make the sign of the holy cross and say” the Name. Because no matter whether today will be good or bad, you belong to the God of the universe. “In the evening when you go to bed,” do the same. Because no matter whether today was good or bad, your sins are forgiven and Christ remains your Savior and Lord. And He is always faithful, always righteous, always the Savior of every individual of every group in every place. People may hate you or love you; your mistakes may go viral; your friends may change because you bear Christ’s Name. This is the only identity in the world that cannot fail or be changed, because it’s not yours. It’s Christ’s. And He gives it to you, marked as you are with His cross in the water by the Word. Indeed: “go joyfully to your work,” and “go to sleep…in good cheer.” You are Christ’s and He is yours.

Rev. Timothy Winterstein serves as pastor at Faith Lutheran Church, Wenatchee, Washington.

Rev. Christopher Raffa

“This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” – Genesis 2:23

God’s Word is a creating Word. It is a Word of blessing which, thanks to the faithfulness of God, never ceases to have effect. It also lays itself open-like the One who has no place to lay His head in this world-to misjudgment and distortion and is greeted with ingratitude by human beings. The ancient account of Genesis 1 and 2 is not foremost about individual characters-the man Adam and his wife Eve-but is the history of every human being; it is the history of every man and woman. Although it’s an old story, it’s a new story-our story. “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them. God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and have dominion.'” And, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden.” This indeed, is God’s first word to human beings.

We often view these well known passages as commandments. That may be true, but in actuality this is a word that gives permission. In the beginning there wasn’t the chaos of an undefined nature-not the “thou shall not” of morality, but the Word that gives permission. It is a promise valid for all, a gift: the granting of room to live-of room for work and common humanity: “You may take and eat of everything.” We receive this gift of life together with the granting of room and time to live in such a way that we are addressed at the same time with the words “You may eat of everything.”

Marriage is the granting of room to live. At the same time it is a granting of room to live in time. Such a gift is not stagnant; it can and must be given shape. Marital life must be contoured, molded. So the idea of human beings as “architects” of where they live is important. However, we ourselves do not build the “house” of the world and our own lives; we are only, so to speak, “interior designers.” That’s because it’s not us who speak the first word. Rather, we are spoken to, and it comes from outside of us. Yes, we as human beings can respond since we are the ones who are being addressed by such a word. We respond by receiving the gift and praising the Giver of all good things. The praise of God doesn’t take place simply in one’s heart, or even less, in some sort of abstract personal encounter with God. Rather it comes about in our sense of awe as the world we encounter is opened up for us by Him who created it. Furthermore it comes in our wonder at the sight of our fellow creatures, especially in that jubilant fellowship of man and wife, as spoken by Adam to Eve, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.”

This fellowship is more significant, more beautiful, than any life lived unto self. It shows itself in mutual conversation, in mutual acknowledgement, and as the New Testament teaches us, in mutual submission (Philippians 2:3; Ephesians 5:21), in love where each one obliges the other. No doubt the biblical phrase “mutual submission,” is completely misunderstood and misapplied in our day. In all reality, this mutual submission, where love obliges the other is the secret of the adaptability and vitality of a good marriage. When a marriage allows time and room for living this makes possible a balance between nearness and distance. In mutual submission there comes into play a unity for which man and woman have come into existence. “Thus they are no longer two, but one flesh.” This is reinforced by Jesus (Mark 10:8) and is consistent with St. Paul, “The wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does; likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does” (1 Corinthians 7:4). The importance of being one flesh cannot be stressed enough. Marriage is not a kind of harnessing together of two individuals, a ball and chain or any other lighthearted jokes we like to use about marriage these days. No, it is a third, new entity-one flesh, one distinct and substantial whole. In this “one flesh” lies the “great mystery” of Ephesians 5:32.

Love obliges the other and mutually acknowledges; this fellowship precedes any and all individualizing and has its basis in God’s Word: “It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a helper.” Here man is granted the privilege of hearing an unambiguous word that pulls him from the whirlpool of multiple possibilities and places him on solid ground. It is the word and will of God that man not be alone. God does not want a soloist; He wants man from the very beginning and to all eternity to be a fellow human being. Don’t misunderstand me, this relates not only to marriage but also to unmarried people as well. For now, we will leave unexplored that mutual life of unmarried people. We must assert that the fellowship of man and woman does not originate in an act of the human will; it precedes that act and only then grants it room to be free (Ephesians 2:10).

Thus, if a man and woman wish a Christian marriage service, then they are publicly confessing that they do not attribute their fellowship to themselves, do not owe it to their own action and cannot themselves afford it any guarantee. The public confession as a confession of poverty lies at the heart of the service of worship in the marriage service. It is extremely important that it is a confession, rather than the signing of a contract or the public announcement of such a contract. The man and woman standing before the altar of God and His people are professing allegiance to God’s holy and steadfast order of marriage. And this order is not primarily law, but a gift. Confessing their uniting together as a gift from God, they are now confessing it as something they themselves have not ordained, nor will they ever control it. So, what counts is recognizing and acknowledging the word and will of God: He has brought us together and has given and spoken us together. We cannot see marriage as fundamentally a result of our own will, much less a simple contract which could later be dissolved by mutual agreement.

‘From the beginning of creation, “God made them male and female.” “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate” (Mark 10:6-9). This quality of the marriage union-that it is not under the control of the married couple-means that it is entered into wholeheartedly and without reservation, and of course means that there can be no term set to the duration of the marriage; “till death do us part.” Be mindful however, this doesn’t mean or imply a limitation placed on freedom, but rather quite the opposite. It is the bedrock of the ultimate development of freedom: its pinnacle.

Rev. Christopher Raffa is the associate pastor of Pilgrim Evangelical Lutheran Church in West Bend, Wisconsin. You can email him at revcraffa@att.net.

Rev. Gaven Mize

On October 17th I married my best friend. Ashlee Saleeby became Ashlee Mize forever. It was surprisingly easy to make happen. Ashlee and I went to the Register of Deeds, waited about 15 minutes, and left with a piece of paper for the presiding pastor and witnesses to sign and we were done. Not very romantic, is it? And so it is with the state. Still, as I left the plain yellow-colored municipal building with my future bride I couldn’t help but think, “Okay, now we are ready. Now we can start forever.” But, I was wrong. There was still more to do. We had to be joined together at the Altar of God’s own Son to exchange our final vows.

So, we needed a liturgy. It was tedious, but meaningful work, yet still not very romantic. Truth be told, I wasn’t really going for romantic; I was just wanting to marry the woman whom I knew I wanted to married the day I met her. So, I asked a bunch of my friends to help me with the liturgy and it was pretty self-explanatory until it came to the hymn. And that is where the romance came in, but not the romance that we have been forced to swallow in sometimes poorly crafted, yet over-budgeted romantic comedies. This was the romance that captured the rib of Adam.

And so there we were. My beloved Ashlee held one side of the hymn and I held the other and we began to sing.

“O, Jesus Christ! how bright and fair, The state of holy marriage where,
Thy blessing rich is given, What gracious gifts Thou dost bestow,
What streams of blessing ever flow, Down from Thy holy heaven,
When they, True stay, To Thee ever, Leave Thee never, Whose troth plighted,
In one life have been united.” (O, Jesus Christ How Bright and Fair, Paul Gerhardt)

Ashlee, my rib, was a reminder to me of Eve being taken out of the side of Adam. From the side of man came woman, as from the pierced side of Christ flowed His bride, the Church. That church was built on the blood and water that flowed from the riven side of our Savior. Christ, our Savior, would now make two into one, for us to be in the church together, to receive the gifts together, to herald the incarnation and passion together, to die to sin and be risen in our baptisms together. The two would become one flesh.

Perhaps there isn’t much romance in the Nicholas Sparks kind of way in God knocking out Adam and taking His rib to create his wife. And there certainly doesn’t seem to be any romance in God being nailed to a crippled cross and having the Church ripped from His side. In this hymn, Gerhardt reminds us of what romance actually is:

“…Jewel, All hail! Husband’s treasure! House’s pleasure! Crown of honour! On His throne God thinketh on her.”

As my bride and I held the pages of that hymn it struck me: As surely as Christ is reigning over the binding of Ashlee and me into one, so does He watch over His own Bride, the church. And the wonder of all wonders is that we are His own treasure and pleasure. We are His jewel that was polished by His own blood. We are the house where we are fed His Body and Blood for His good pleasure. We, as despicable and dirty as our wedding dress may be, have been washed clean by the very one who binds us to Himself: Jesus, the Christ, our groom.

So, there we stood, my now wife and I, as the shadow of Christ and His bride darkened around us and the reflection of the union of God and man. And then out of nowhere it was my turn to speak: “With this ring I marry you, my worldly goods I give to you, and with my body I honor you.” I spoke those words with the confidence of the one who placed them on my lips, the one who first honored us with His body: crucified, resurrected, and now seated at the right hand of the Father. And the next day as I sat with my wife during the Divine Service and walked up to the Altar to receive His Body and Blood for the forgiveness of our sins with my wife I knew Ashlee and I had been grafted to a greater vine than ourselves, long ago in our baptism. God’s “I do” is still proclaimed from our foreheads. Then the “romance” was clear; we were meant to love each other as we have been loved by Christ, who gave His life for us.

Rev. Gaven M. Mize serves as pastor at Augustana Lutheran Church, Hickory, North Carolina.

Lydia Perling

Sometimes pastors have the tendency to treat mental illnesses as sin or personal failing, instead of treating them as illnesses. There is a stigma against mental illness that makes it into a personal failing. As soon as you tell someone you’re depressed or have anxiety they start telling you to just be happy. I’ve heard things like “You just need to have a better outlook.” and “Just smile more and it’ll all be okay.” And while that’s nice, it’s not helpful.

We come to you looking for comfort and safety, looking for the forgiveness of sins and the comfort of Christ to get us through life. And we need you to give us that. As pastors you are called to pray for healing and to guide us through life. And when you tell us that the anxiety we have is sinful, the church becomes an unsafe place for us. We are going to question whether the church’s teaching and Christ’s forgiveness are for us, and we might even leave the church. When you tell people that their illnesses are their fault and that they just need to stop being ill, you aren’t telling them about the great physician, Jesus.

God can and will heal us the same way He heals those with physical illness. Your help is giving us the tools to keep going, the reminder that Jesus is taking care of us, and that even when we doubt Him, He has still saved us.

Yes, mental illnesses happen because we live in a sinful world, but they aren’t sin in the same way that physical illnesses aren’t sin. Pastors can help break the stigma and comfort us in the same way they help physically ill people.

Hear our illness and help us.

Lydia Perling is a member at St. Paul Des Pres, St Louis, Missouri.

Rev. Eric Brown

“For God is my witness, how I yearn for you all with the affection of Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 1:8

Hi. We’ve probably never met in person. Maybe we’ve bumped across each other in social media or somewhere else on the Internet before — and you’re reading what I’ve written now — which really is sort of cool from my perspective. Still, chances are we don’t really know each other. And yet, we’re able to share thoughts, ideas, talk about sin and forgiveness and all the things that Christ Jesus has done for us.

Technology, it’s a wonderful thing. It can make us seem closer than ever before. I moved recently from Oklahoma to Illinois, but I still chat with a lot of my Oklahoma friends everyday; Thomas Lemke and I can still do a podcast (Gospeled Boldly, here at Higher Things, you should listen) even though we are almost 1000 miles apart. And over Skype, I’ve seen his son, my godson. He was born after I moved but I still get to see him.

The Church has always used technology: Paul’s epistles were high tech back in the day. His epistles (just the Greek way of saying “letters”) were the best way he had to communicate. Even as he is stuck in prison in Rome, Paul was able to proclaim the love of Christ Jesus to folks all over the place.

Yet, even though there was that distant communication that Paul and the Philippians cherished, have you ever noted how the Paul’s epistles tend to end? Here’s the end of Philippians (4:21-23): “Greet every saint in Christ Jesus. The brothers who are with me greet you. All the saints greet you, especially those of Caesar’s household. The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.” Even while he’s wrapped up in the technology of the day, Paul isn’t alone. The Philippians aren’t alone. Rather, they are in community.

One of the fantastic truths of the Christian faith is that Christ Jesus came in the flesh, in a body. Jesus is a real human being. Jesus didn’t chose to just beam feel-good-spirit-waves at us; when He came to save us He came down from heaven to be with us. Up close. He saw Peter face to face. He ate with James. He laughed with John.

Indeed, even as great as technology is, as great (or lousy) as blog posts and podcasts are, as wonderful Epistles are, Christ still comes to you in a physical, tangible way in the service — in His Supper. He comes to you bodily. And here’s the neat thing: He comes to you (plural), to your church, your congregation. Paul greets the saints in Philippi with the brothers who are with him. Our physical Lord Jesus places us in physical congregations, and calls and gathers us together with other people.

I’m glad you’re reading this post, even though I’ve probably never met you in person. But there’s something even better. Jesus comes to you in His Supper, and not just you by yourself, but you in a congregation, with other, real people. Enjoy His gifts along with those fellow saints. You get to eat the Supper with them. You get to sing with them. You get to say hi to them face to face. Enjoy the community that God has called you into.

Eric Brown is pastor at Trinity Lutheran Church, Herscher, Illinois.

Karina Pellegrini

At the age of 18, I, like any other young adult, was ready to take on the world. I had planned on college, and after that a career. I had aspirations that ranged from teaching to a becoming a deaconess; I really just wanted to serve the Lord in all of my work. I vividly remember my parents hugging me while I proudly held up stacks of acceptance letters to colleges around the country. I had planned on moving out. I wanted a taste of the independence that my friends all seemed to have. My laptop sat open, Pinterest boards filled up with apartment renovation ideas and dorm room decorations. I had it all figured out. But there was a life that my parents didn’t know about: a sinful, darker and deceptive life. What I hadn’t planned on was being caught. The last thing on my mind was parenthood.

I can’t think of a gentle way to describe the shock that goes through the mind of a young woman when she discovers she’s pregnant. For me, it was a mixture of fear and shame and guilt; those feelings were dramatically increased when I realized that at some point, everyone around me would see my sin. The secret was out. I couldn’t continue to lie to everyone around me. People from all parts of my life would soon know what I had done. And I would have to answer for those prying and sin-exposing questions for the rest of my life. Unlike every other situation where I was caught doing something wrong as a teen, this was something I couldn’t escape from or talk my way out of.

I remember in particular, as I sat in shock and stared at that blue plus sign, I felt so alone, and sinful beyond repair. I feared rejection and abandonment. I wondered if there could be redemption for my soul. In shame and humility, I reluctantly confided in my dad. The sinful lies I had worked so hard to cover up were finally being exposed. I knew I deserved nothing but punishment and rebuke for my actions. Yet, even through all of this, my father’s words of wisdom and grace cut through the overpowering sense of helplessness.

He said, “Your God is with you. Even in your sin, He loves you. Your remorse and fear indicate His law is at work in your heart and His forgiveness is immediate. In Christ, forgiveness is yours, freely given. God’s love for you in Christ is timeless. He will never abandon or forsake you, no matter what you do to deny His will for you. Christ made the sacrifice for your sin. You are washed clean by His blood and right now, right here, you are white as snow. You are sinless. You are renewed and reborn. So let’s focus on tomorrow, the new you in Christ redeemed by his abundant grace.”

So what about now? What about today, now that I am a single mom, but one redeemed and renewed by Christ’s love and forgiveness? Well, life is harder–much harder than I could have ever imagined when I shortsightedly planned my college and career while living two distinctly different lives. I’m now often uncomfortable in social situations, scared of the judging eyes and the possibility of unwanted comments from people who raise their eyebrows at me. I experience emotions I didn’t know were possible to feel on a daily basis. I feel them with an intensity that leaves me feeling hollowed out. Sinful regret comes in waves everyday when I encounter people and things that remind me of my sin. My body is no longer the body of a young teenager. It has been ravaged by pregnancy. My mind does not possess the carefree attitude or innocence it once held. I am riddled with anxiety, depression, and guilt. Along with this, I have lost the perspective of self. The first thought when I wake and the last thought when I sleep is of my son: his safety, his wellbeing, and my powerful love for him. Some days he can remind me of my past, but he will always remain a constant reminder of God’s grace, mercy, and forgiveness in my life.

I speak from experience when I say that being a single teen mother is not easy. But through an unplanned pregnancy and motherhood, the Lord has shown me that even my best attempts to condemn myself are futile. He takes my sin and never stops blessing me. He wraps me in Christ’s forgiveness and love, in absolution and grace that I cannot escape. In the middle of my sin, guilt, and shame, my God, who is faithful to His baptismal promises, guided me to repentance and showered me with countless blessings–gifts that are freely given to my parched soul. From my sin burst forth a flood of grace, the biggest blessing in my life. Through God’s only Son, I was given my son.

Karina Pellegrini is a member at Messiah Lutheran Church in Marysville, Washington.