Today’s blog post is from Robyn Sand Anderson, an artist in Redwood Falls, MN.

One evening, when my husband Jon was a young seminarian back in 1981, he encouraged me to be an artist, to pursue that path. (That was before he knew what that would mean.) Nonetheless, it turned out to be my path. I remember thinking at the time, “What good is painting a pretty picture?” I thought his calling was so meaningful; I wanted that, too. I feel like God has been showing me the answer to that question ever since.

Art Speaks Faith

Art, music, and dance are part of a universal language that speaks across culture, geography and time, without words. It is another voice, a visual language that can speak the faith in unique, new and creative ways. The arts are expressive, spiritual and have the power to evoke our emotions, tapping into something deep within us. Where language and culture can divide us, the arts have the power to connect us to each other and to the Creator who made all things.

As we approach the Lenten season once again, our minds turn inward. I find it a time of self-examination. I’ve never been one to give up a certain thing for Lent, mostly because I am terribly undisciplined and struggle to do anything on a regular basis. Instead, I tend to focus in on a word, a phrase or a piece of art. On Ash Wednesday, it is a visual experience for me. I watch the people go forward for the imposition of ashes. I hear the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  I see the ashes, the cross of dust. We know that this life is a gift; we know that sometimes it is hard. Sometimes we suffer. We walk forward in trust. It is humbling.

Today’s post is from Peg Schultz-Akerson, Pastor at Lutheran Church of the Master, Los Angeles, CA.

The Song of Simeon (Luke 2:29-32, also known as the Nunc Dimittis) continues to shine in these latter days of the season after Epiphany. Christians live “according to the word” made flesh in Jesus through whom “salvation is prepared in the presence of all peoples.” Jesus calls us to all peoples with the glorious promise: “When you welcome the stranger, you welcome me!” (Matthew 25:38-40)

How awesome and extraordinarily available is this promise in these days when more people are immigrants or refugees than since WWII. (See Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services.)

My eyes see this promised encounter with Christ every Sunday where I serve as Interim Pastor with the people of Lutheran Church of The Master, Los Angeles. Our church is blessed to be located in the Little Tehran neighborhood of West Los Angeles where Santa Monica Blvd is the busy stretch also known as Route 66.

Ours is an historic road and we do historically vital ministry as we welcome all who come to neighboring streets. Our church sign along the boulevard makes clear our “Welcome” in Persian, Arabic, Spanish and English. God loves you is also written in these four languages on our Facebook page, because it’s true. God loves us all.

Welcome!

 اهًلاوسهًلا (Arabic)

 خوش آمدید (Persian)

¡Bienvenidos! (Spanish)

God loves you!

 الله يحبك (Arabic)  
خدا شما را دوست دارد (Persian)  …
¡Dios les ama! (Spanish!)

Today’s post is by Leslie Scanlon, Pastor at Grace Lutheran in Chesapeake, VA.

It was a cold winter morning (normal by New England standards), there were a couple inches of snow piled up on the side of the streets and sidewalks, and I was lugging a little table, a plastic box of supplies, and a sign to the local commuter rail station.  That is where the people are; that is where the gospel—“remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return”—needs to be heard.

In 2014 I collaborated with two ecumenical colleagues in town to provide “Ashes to Go” at the train station.  We received a variety of reactions to our presence—avoidance, questions, intrigue, and thanks.  Most commuters did not take us up on receiving ashes and prayer, but the first time of anything new can be intimidating.  So we resolved to try this public witness again next year.

In 2015, the temperature was lower, the snow was higher, and more colleagues planned to join me, but ended up not making it.  I started again with my table, sign, and ashes at the train station with similar interactions.  However, later I moved over to the local university, where I was serving as the Protestant Campus Chaplain.  The Dean’s office provided me with hot beverages (coffee, cider, and hot chocolate) to hand out while also hawking my ashes, which was a great way to break the ice and start conversations with passersby.  Again though most did not end up wanting ashes or prayer, I had many staff and students thank me for being there since they did not think they were going to be otherwise able to participate in the ritual that day due to scheduling conflicts.

In 2016, after moving back to Virginia, sunrise on Ash Wednesday was warmer (not that my Southern blood allowed me to really appreciate it).  The congregation I serve in Chesapeake, Virginia does not have a centralized gathering spot for commuters, so I simply stood outside the church, again with my little table, ashes, hand warmers, and sign.  Some parishioners stood with me to pray with those who stopped by, and more stopped since they would not be able to make either of our worship services that day.
Providing “Ashes to Go” is not going to bring droves of new members through your door.  It is about meeting people where they are, showing that God is present in the hustle and bustle of daily life, and preaching the gospel even if people look at your sideways while you do.

To learn more or “share your site” visit http://ashestogo.org or check out the movement on Facebook (www.facebook.com/Ashes-to-Go-320854664624542/).

Today’s post is from John Weit, Program Director for Music in the ELCA.

On Feb. 19, many congregations will sing “Oh, Praise the Gracious Power” (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, #651) in response to the readings from Paul about Christ as our foundation (1 Cor. 3:10-11, 16-23) and Jesus command to love our enemies (Mt. 5:38-48).

Through the stanzas of Thomas Troeger’s hymn we give repeated praise to Christ described as “persistent truth,” “inclusive love,” “word of faith” and “tide of grace.” The beginning stanzas go on to show that Christ “gathers…strangers,” “eases…prejudice,” “claims us” and reveals “visions of a world at peace.” The assembly bids a common refrain: “We praise you Christ! Your cross has made us one!” The assembly sings the constant reminder that it is through the cross that Christ does these things. These words set to music and put on our lips are one way we respond with praise and engrain it in our hearts.

The hymn text and tune were both written in 1984 and many Lutherans began to learn it when it was included in “With One Voice” in 1995. The tune, CHRISTPRAISE RAY, is by composer Carol Doran, who has collaborated with Thomas Troeger on several hymns. Paul Westermeyer notes in the “Hymnal Companion to Evangelical Lutheran Worship” that the tune represents a cross in the melody as the first line descends and the second line ascends. At the beginning of each stanza we sing “Oh Praise” with an ascending melody, then at each refrain we ascend to sing “We praise,” then again to “you Christ” and one more time to a climatic note for “your cross.” Musically, the cross of Christ stands at the center of not only the text, but also the music.

If this hymn is not a part of your repertoire, I highly encourage learning it! The “Musicians Guide to Evangelical Lutheran Worship” aptly suggests that the assembly may simply learn the refrain first with a choir or soloists singing the verses. Then having the assembly sing the verses on subsequent occasions. Once the assembly knows the hymn, it could be sung in alternatum (assigning different stanzas to different voices, such as higher voices, lower voices, pulpit side, font side).

Today’s blog post is from Richard Graham, Bishop of the Metropolitan Washington, D.C. Synod.

The year after I graduated from college I had a Fulbright Fellowship to study in France. I was a student that year at the Faculty of Protestant Theology of the University of Strasbourg. Far away from home, I spent the year in classes with people who knew they wanted to be Lutheran pastors. Over the course of that time I realized I wanted to be one as well.

I was blessed with great worship experiences that year away. The beautiful cathedral of Strasbourg was warm and welcoming when I visited. I worshiped nearly every Sunday at St. Thomas, a medieval parish church that became Lutheran early in the Reformation and where Albert Schweitzer had played his earliest Bach-revival organ concerts. Most of my friends in Strasbourg spoke Alsatian, a German dialect I never mastered. But the public worship was in French, which I understood well enough to know I was hearing the gospel powerfully preached and prayed and sung by people who treated me with great kindness.

I also worshiped that year with the English-language community that gathered once a month. Strasbourg was the home of the Council of Europe, a big deal in those days. There were diplomats in town from Britain and Ireland, along with people there to do business, students like me and the occasional tourist. We met in the chapel of a local Roman Catholic religious order. Laypeople preached or one of my theology professors, who had studied in New York. We prayed and sang, and then chatted and drank coffee, in the language that was closest to my heart. People were very kind to me there too.

There was something powerful that year about worshiping in ways that required me to pay close attention. My French was never good enough for me to let my mind wander. And it was powerful, too, to worship in the language that let me relax. I hope this experience has made me more sensitive to the refugees and immigrants who come to this city, where so many worship in English somewhere in the morning, then gather to praise God in the afternoon in the language they brought from home.

And I hope that the welcome I received wherever I worshiped that year in Strasbourg is a welcome that everyone can feel in any of the churches for which I’m responsible. I pray that this is so.