It’s easy, in the face of atrocities, to want to look the other way. That’s what went through my mind today as I stared at skull upon skull stacked 18 levels high at the Killing Fields Memorial Site, or as I listened to the audio descriptions of torture as I walked through Tuol Sleng Prison, the Genocide Museum. It would …
It’s the last week of March. This year, for me, that means that I begin the process of relieving my yard of the detritus that gathered over the winter and recycling all of the items that have been stored in my garage, waiting for a day that was nice enough to haul them to the city recycling bins. But I …
I was on Medicaid. There, I admitted it. It’s not an easy thing to do for me. Even when I was on it, and I would go to the doctor, I handed the card to the person at the admittance desk with a furtive glance around to see if anyone saw me. And every time, I wanted to blurt out my …
My senior year of seminary I gave up cynicism for Lent. My life, at that point, was literally out of my control. Approved for ordination, my placement was in the hands of the Conference of Bishops, which held a draft of all the eligible candidates to decide where we would end up going, geographically. It would have been easy to …
Travel in Uganda is all part of the experience. And our journey from Adjumani back to Entebbe was indeed quite the experience. Our original plan was to take the bus — it would have been far cheaper, albeit less comfortable, and we wanted to be good stewards of our funds. Unfortunately, we went to book it too late in the …
I awoke in the morning feeling as though a 50,000-pound weight was suspended over my body, held up by a thread and giving me scant room with which to maneuver. I literally crawled out of bed feeling as though I had to avoid this weight that was hanging over me. The reality is, the weight of the emotion with which …
I will be honest. When Denise and John suggested that I join them on this trip — OK, it also may have been me inviting myself — I was a bit concerned that the focus would be pastoral. Yes, I am a pastor, but to be honest, I am aware of the heavy burden Africa bears because of colonial missionary work …
Connections and relationships are vital when engaged in meaningful community development. Sudanese Lutheran Community Development, the organization with which I am volunteering, began when my friend Denise’s bishop approached her about building a relationship with some Sudanese Lost Boys about 15 years ago. When Denise and her husband John go into something, they go big or go home. Or in this …
Perspective is an interesting thing. On my first day at Olwa 1 Refugee Camp, I went to what I thought was the designated latrine. I had to hold my breath when I went in and found it to be, well, primitive. After using it for a couple of days, one of the women saw me coming out of it and pointed …
I’ve preached on the woman at the well dozens and dozens of times. It is one of my all-time favorite Bible stories, where Jesus encounters a woman getting water at the well in the heat of the day and extends to her love and acceptance when so many had rejected her. But it never held the same power as today. …
I returned to my room tonight, exhausted from an emotionally draining day, greeting the news that there is electricity but that there will be no Wi-Fi for the immediate future with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I like to be connected. I’m a wired sort of person, and I will claim that. I enjoy being able to text my …
I am a Lutheran pastor who is currently in Adjumani Uganda, working with Sudanese Lutheran Community Development in refugee camps. Our organization supports community-based organizers in the camps that help us address specific needs and issues. I am here with two other people for two weeks doing Trauma Healing Training with pastors and lay leaders (pictured above) in the camp and also …
I woke up today after an unsettled sleep. The events of the past week, and especially the past day, played heavily on my heart and soul and the power failure in the middle of the night played on my CPAP machine. The combination left me far from rested. The good news, though, was that it is Sunday, and we had …
Our plans for the day shifted. Denise and I had prepared to focus on the women today and Monday, but the arrival of the food truck changed all that. The truck arrives once a month, providing the food that will sustain the village until the truck returns. When the truck arrives, the refugees unload the 50 kilogram bags and stack them. They …
Today began with a trip to the Office of the Prime Minister, where we planned to get permission to enter the camps. Well, it was supposed to begin that way, but our van ran out of gas before getting three blocks from our hotel. I said a prayer of thanks that our driver’s failure to check for gas was noticed …
I knew in August 1988, when I left Africa after six months of traveling and being an occasional student (a phrase I took VERY literally) at the University of Zimbabwe, that I would be back. I am a bit surprised that it took almost 30 years but unsurprised that I return with Denise Scheer and John Musick. Denise was my roommate …
My dog disappeared for a few days this week. Marti is beagle terrier cross, with the energy of a terrier and the intelligence and roaming instincts of a beagle. She’s a sweet little dog who is terribly anxious, because she was abused before I got her from the Humane Society in Willmar, Minn. (my hometown — where my first dog, …
May our eyes see the humanity of all people, worthy of dignity and respect, especially those who are clouded in the shadows of an unfair world. May our ears hear the cries of the oppressed, marginalized and forgotten and those being left behind, drowned out by the din of intolerance May our lips speak truth to power with boldness, grace …
I have a conundrum. Everyone who knows me is aware that I am a dyed-in-the-wool progressive. I wrote my first political letter in 1969. I was 5. It was to Richard Nixon, suggesting that the Vietnam War was not a good idea and perhaps we should get out of it. A self-starting child, I addressed it on my own, to …
2016 is a year a lot of people will be happy to have in the rear-view mirror. With so many glad to see this year end, it seems a fitting time to quit looking back and start looking forward, and one of the ways I do that every year is through New Year’s resolutions. I am a big believer in …
Dec. 7, 2016, was my 25th anniversary. Not of my marriage — that ended after 14 years. It’s the anniversary of when my family began. When I met Steve, we had a whirlwind romance. After just over two months of dating, we decided to get married. I was 28 and had kissed enough frogs to know that this strong, sensitive …
The whole story started 10 years ago, at about this very time. I was at a meeting for Churches United for the Homeless, where I was serving my first year on the board. The executive director was bemoaning the fact that First Link, the organization in charge of distributing gifts to people at Christmas, had made some changes in their program. …
I knew he would win. I’ve known it since last fall when I heard two stories on NPR in the same week. One was on the use of language in the power of persuasion — a rhetorical feat Trump has mastered. The other story focused on how people turn to authoritative power when they are uncertain or scared. After hearing those …
“When you move, you get the endorphins going, and you have more energy, more life. And that is where the healing begins.” Those words, spoken by Johnny Eagle, the Wellness director for the Standing Rock Indian Reservation, not only echoed the important healing taking place in the camp at Standing Rock for the mental well-being of its participants, who deal …
It’s the second worst text a parent can get from a child who is traveling alone abroad. “Mom, my wallet was stolen. I don’t have anything. No documents, no credit cards, no money.” When I backpacked through Europe in college and then around the world when I was 24, I didn’t have the option of letting my parents know what was happening. …
I was 23 when I was raped in 1987. I was also serving as a hospital chaplain as part of my clinical pastoral education for seminary. I remember — as the police responded and as the hospital staff tended to my bruised and battered body — how everyone kept saying, “And she’s a chaplain,” as if there was a “type” to be raped …