Tag Archives: ELCA

Matthew 3:1–12 • December 7, 2025 • Max & Garrison

This sermon was offered to St. Paul Lutheran Church in Garrison, ND & Our Savior’s Lutheran Church in Max, ND on Sunday, December 7, 2025. In addition to worshiping together and celebrating the sacrament of Holy Communion, we also installed two synod-authorized ministers to serve these fantastic congregations on the North Dakota prairie!

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ. Amen.

First, thank you for welcoming me into your congregations today. It is good—truly good—to be with the people of God in Max and in Garrison. Today, we celebrate not only the season of Advent but the installation of two synod-authorized ministers who will serve among you. God has been at work in and through this place for generations. God is at work here now. And God will continue to work through these communities of faith long after any one of us is gone. Thanks be to God.

As your bishop, I have the joy of worshiping in a different congregation almost every week of the year. And every place I go—large or small, city or country—I see the same thing: faithful people offering the gifts God has already given them—your hands, your voices, your time, your generosity. The ministry of Our Savior’s and St. Paul’s is possible because of you.

And the ministry of our church is possible because of you across the nearly 160 congregations of the Western North Dakota Synod.

Ministry is possible because of you in congregations and ministries across the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

And ministry is possible because of you in global relationships that we have like Lutheran World Relief and the Lutheran World Federation, organizations that connect us together with nearly 100 million Lutheran Christians around the world.

All because of you. Or, maybe I should say, because of what God is doing through you.

And, you and I do not do any of this alone. We never have. We never will.

Every year on this second Sunday in Advent, John the Baptist steps out of the wilderness and into our lives again. And every year, he reminds us that following Jesus isn’t a passive hobby. It is a way of life that calls for honesty—deep honesty about ourselves, our world, and the gap between what is and what God longs for.

And let’s be honest: the world of 2025 feels different than it did last year or ten years ago or during our grandparents’ time in this world.

I don’t know if it’s just me, but it feels like the anxieties we carry are heavier today. Division and suspicion of our neighbors are louder.

Rural places feel the strain of change—economic pressures, declining populations, uncertain futures.

Churches everywhere are navigating new realities.

People are tired.

Into that world—our world, in December 2025—John’s voice comes to us yet again: Repent.

Not “feel bad.”

Not “beat yourself up.”

Not “prove you’re worthy.”

To “repent” is a word that literally means to turn.

To face a new direction.

To see differently.

To change because God is already changing us.

Repentance is not shame-based.
Repentance is possibility-based.
Repentance is a holy invitation to say, “Lord, reshape me. Make me new. Turn me again toward your kingdom.”

I think most of you already know this from my story, but in case you don’t. I didn’t grow up Lutheran. And I certainly didn’t grow up imagining I would one day wear a bishop’s cross and preach in places like Max and Garrison.

My early adult life was music and travel, late nights and smoky bars. I had big dreams and even bigger hair.

I believed in God because my mother told me I should. But I had not yet met a community that helped me understand what “repentance” really meant. Repentance for me was something that I was never going to actually be able to accomplish.

When I eventually wandered into an ELCA congregation, what surprised me most wasn’t the liturgy or the preaching. It was the welcome. The freedom to ask questions. The patient teaching. The grace. The laughter.

The sense that faith could be an honest journey of ups and downs.

And when a community welcomes you as you are, you find yourself…turning. Changing.

Repenting in the truest sense. Becoming a different person than you were before.

What I began to learn is that repentance is less about guilt and more about growth.

Less about shame and more about transformation.

Less about looking backward and more about God turning us forward.

Advent remains one of my favorite seasons—not because of the lights or the music or the countdown to Christmas, but because Advent refuses to let us settle for the world as it is.

Advent tells the truth.
Advent names the hunger in us.
Advent invites us to imagine a world shaped not by fear, but by hope.
Not by scarcity, but by promise.
Not by anger, but by the peace of Christ.

And in this moment—a moment that can feel polarized, anxious, or complicated by many of us—Advent, in fact, might be the most countercultural thing the church does.

John the Baptist shows up every year on the second Sunday of Advent because we need him.

We need the reminder that God’s people are always being reshaped and reoriented, and renewed.

Sisters and brothers, it is good—so good—to be with you today. Thank you for your ministry. Thank you for your partnership. Thank you for the ways you embody the gospel on these prairies.

The kingdom of heaven has come near.
Christ is drawing close.
God is turning this world toward hope.

So let us turn too.

Repent.
Prepare the way of the Lord.

And give thanks—always—in the eternal truth that God meets us in our turning with unconditional mercy, grace, and peace. Thanks be to God. Amen.


John 15:1-11 • Grace Lutheran, Driscoll • 11.02.2025

This sermon was shared during the Holy Closure worship service for Grace Lutheran Church in Driscoll, ND, a congregation that was planted in July 1905.

Sisters and brothers, friends in Christ, grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ, the one in whom we abide. Amen.

One my mentors always responds to a question like “how are you doing?” by saying “I’m grateful.” The world around her might be collapsing, everything in her recent life might be terrible, nothing is making sense, and still, she will reply with a smile and say, “I’m grateful.” She has had a significant impact on my faith journey.

Now, on the other hand, if you are even a little bit like me, whenever someone asks you “How are you doing?” or “How’s it going?” or “What’s new with you?” your response is similar to mine, “okay” or “fine” or “not much.”

Before I met Patricia, rarely, if ever, did I respond with “I’m grateful.”

Today, we gather together, on All Saint’s Sunday of all days, we carry many feelings with us during this time of worship – sadness, grief, a sense of loss, memories past.

I hope we can also be together in this time, resting in the sacredness of this day – and say that we are “grateful.”

A couple days ago, I was struggling to find the words that the Holy Spirit wanted me to share today. I touched base with Pr. Mark to see if the church was open. He let me use his keys by the way.

I was feeling pulled to simply come and sit in this holy place and pray for a while.

As I sat and thought about all of the stories contained within these walls, all of the hymns sung from hymnals like the ones in front of you today, all of the cups of coffee shared over crazy conversation in the basement, all of the meals served to care for families grieving the death of a loved one or celebrating a milestone of faith like a baptism, all of the ways that God’s children who have called this part of the North Dakota prairie their faith home have been fed and nourished because God decided to inspire a few folks more than a century ago to plant a Lutheran church in Driscoll, North Dakota.

As I prayed and thought about all of those things, I couldn’t help but be grateful.

So today, if you ask me how I’m doing, I’ll simply say “I’m grateful.”

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus says to us, “Abide in me as I abide in you.”

I’ve always loved the word abide in holy scripture.

It speaks so deeply to our identity as people of faith who follow Jesus. In every way, our life together in Christ Jesus begins, ends, and eternally unfolds as we abide.

Abide literally means “To remain. To continue. To stay.”

God is constantly meeting us where we are, in the places we are living right now, transforming us, and making us new with each new day.

God abiding in us.

Jesus abiding in us.

Scripture abiding in us.

And you and I abiding in each other.

With all of this abiding going on, I’m grateful.

I’m grateful for the people who have called Grace Lutheran Church their home for worship for well over 100 years.

We may remember times when this sanctuary was packed to overflowing – so full that an addition had to be built to hold everyone. Our worship life together may change locations after today, and the sanctuary may not have been packed to overflowing in recent years, but the truth is that the memories shared among generations of people who have gathered in this place for worship will live on eternally.

As we abide in Christ and Christ abides in us, I’m grateful.

I’m grateful for the compassion and care which has been a hallmark of this sacred community’s mission and ministry since the first cornerstone was laid in July 1905. A cornerstone not made with bricks and mortar, but within a gathered community of God’s people meeting in locations all across this community for the first several decades of its ministry and mission.

Grace Lutheran has always been a community that has less to do with a physical building and way more to do with people of faith reaching out and caring for anyone who needed to be cared for with the quiet, steady hand of Christ’s love.

As we abide in Christ and Christ abides in us, I’m grateful.

I’m grateful for the ways that God has worked through you to raise young people in the faith through bible camps, mission trips, Sunday school and confirmation. And for lifelong learning that you have challenged one another with during bible studies, conversations, and debate over theology and daily life.

As we abide in Christ and Christ abides in us, I’m grateful.

I’m grateful for the many ways you have helped form and shape leaders to serve across this church. Leaders with names like Olson, Hagerty, Ruggles, Stevens, Baker, Schauer, and Neuharth.

And for the many ways you shared the financial gifts God has entrusted you to steward beyond the walls of this building – through generous mission support to our synod, care for church ministries like Camp of the Cross and Lutheran Social Services, and support of hunger and disaster ministries that have saved the lives of God’s children around the world.

As we abide in Christ and Christ abides in us, I’m grateful.

Today, sisters and brothers in Christ, as we mark the holy closure of Grace Lutheran Church, we acknowledge and name the grief that comes with this day.

It’s hard to say goodbye to a place where so much life and love has been shared.

It’s okay to mourn.

It’s quite faithful to mourn.

It’s also important to not forget that the vine is still alive. And the fruit of Grace Lutheran Church will continue to grow beyond this day.

The ministries and mission that started and happened in and through this holy place will keep bearing fruit – in the lives you’ve touched, in the leaders you’ve nurtured, in the young people you’ve formed, and in the love of Christ that continues to abide in you.

I’m grateful for Grace Lutheran Church – for every faithful heart, every servant hand, every moment of grace shared in and through this place. As we release this congregation to God’s eternal care, we trust that the One who has been faithful to this congregation from its beginning will remain faithful still.

For the vine still grows. Christ still abides. And the joy that Jesus promised – “that your joy may be complete” – still finds its way into the world, through you.

How am I doing today you ask?
         I’m grateful.

How are you doing today?

I’m grateful.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.