June 2021
Greetings St. John’s!
I’ve been so glad to see so many of you at our outdoor worship services this Spring! And I’ll continue to be glad to see you again as more of you feel comfortable joining us for worship as we move inside to the multipurpose room and to the grove. Information and guidance seems to change so frequently, that we’re doing our best to provide the best worship we can for the most people. We’re moving inside on May 23rd. Singing is allowed, masks are required indoors for those who aren’t actively leading worship (when leading worship, masks may be removed for the sake of clarity). We’re moving to the grove on June 20th, with a similar set up to last year. We’ll have worship in the multipurpose room when the weather is bad. The move from the grove to the multipurpose room is the same set-up as it was when I first started at Spinnerstown almost seven years ago. As Autumn approaches, as more members of the community get vaccinated, and as the situation changes, we’re looking and hoping for a return to the Sanctuary.
I want to give you an overview of why we’re going down this path. Our primary concern is accessibility in worship. As Dr. Tim Babinchak, a member of St. John’s Lutheran Church in Phoenixville and the retired head of infectious diseases at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital (and a consultant in the development of the vaccines), said at one of the Synod’s most recent COVID response meetings: There’s no way to completely eliminate the risk of COVID-19. Our perspective and our mission is different from the perspective and the mission of restaurants, schools, airlines, and manufacturers. We’re making choices to minimize the risks that our vulnerable parishioners and community are facing.
And as Dr. Babinchak says - it comes down to a “reasonableness" doctrine: “Because nothing is 100%, because we cannot protect everybody, what can we reasonably do that protects as best as we can those who are vulnerable, but also allow for the reasonable expectations of daily living?” We think that these places and practices are reasonable for the vulnerable.
You can see that video here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXQf8_M29qs
In my personal nightly devotions and prayers, I’ve been turning to St. Paul’s Letters to the Corinthian Church. Of course you all have heard that President Biden has declared that all vaccinated people are able to go around without masks. And we’re all hungry for a return to “normalcy”, at least I am. It’s with those desires that I encounter St. Paul arguing that just because something is permitted, doesn’t mean it’s advisable (1 Corinthians 6). I’m not trying to boss you around in how you go in public, but I can talk about how we live as a congregation and how we welcome people into the congregation. The decisions we make as individuals are distinct from the decisions we make together as a congregation.
We know that there are people in our congregation and our community who don’t have access to the vaccine (children under 12), who might be harmed by the vaccine (people with severe allergies and other considerable health complications), and people who are otherwise afraid of getting the vaccine. In 1 Corinthians 9, St. Paul says “to the weak, I became weak, that I might gain the weak.” (1 Corinthians 9) Just as Christ came for us in our weakness, so too do we welcome the weak. Even though we are made strong in the face of the evils of this virus - we can make space for the weak. To account for their struggles, and to not put an additional burden or fear on them. And then to give them Jesus - so that they may hear and believe in daily life, and in a complicated world.
For indeed as Luther put it - “A Christian is perfectly free, Lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.” Love your neighbor. Hear and share the good news. It is for us all.
Greetings St. John’s!
I’ve been so glad to see so many of you at our outdoor worship services this Spring! And I’ll continue to be glad to see you again as more of you feel comfortable joining us for worship as we move inside to the multipurpose room and to the grove. Information and guidance seems to change so frequently, that we’re doing our best to provide the best worship we can for the most people. We’re moving inside on May 23rd. Singing is allowed, masks are required indoors for those who aren’t actively leading worship (when leading worship, masks may be removed for the sake of clarity). We’re moving to the grove on June 20th, with a similar set up to last year. We’ll have worship in the multipurpose room when the weather is bad. The move from the grove to the multipurpose room is the same set-up as it was when I first started at Spinnerstown almost seven years ago. As Autumn approaches, as more members of the community get vaccinated, and as the situation changes, we’re looking and hoping for a return to the Sanctuary.
I want to give you an overview of why we’re going down this path. Our primary concern is accessibility in worship. As Dr. Tim Babinchak, a member of St. John’s Lutheran Church in Phoenixville and the retired head of infectious diseases at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital (and a consultant in the development of the vaccines), said at one of the Synod’s most recent COVID response meetings: There’s no way to completely eliminate the risk of COVID-19. Our perspective and our mission is different from the perspective and the mission of restaurants, schools, airlines, and manufacturers. We’re making choices to minimize the risks that our vulnerable parishioners and community are facing.
And as Dr. Babinchak says - it comes down to a “reasonableness" doctrine: “Because nothing is 100%, because we cannot protect everybody, what can we reasonably do that protects as best as we can those who are vulnerable, but also allow for the reasonable expectations of daily living?” We think that these places and practices are reasonable for the vulnerable.
You can see that video here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXQf8_M29qs
In my personal nightly devotions and prayers, I’ve been turning to St. Paul’s Letters to the Corinthian Church. Of course you all have heard that President Biden has declared that all vaccinated people are able to go around without masks. And we’re all hungry for a return to “normalcy”, at least I am. It’s with those desires that I encounter St. Paul arguing that just because something is permitted, doesn’t mean it’s advisable (1 Corinthians 6). I’m not trying to boss you around in how you go in public, but I can talk about how we live as a congregation and how we welcome people into the congregation. The decisions we make as individuals are distinct from the decisions we make together as a congregation.
We know that there are people in our congregation and our community who don’t have access to the vaccine (children under 12), who might be harmed by the vaccine (people with severe allergies and other considerable health complications), and people who are otherwise afraid of getting the vaccine. In 1 Corinthians 9, St. Paul says “to the weak, I became weak, that I might gain the weak.” (1 Corinthians 9) Just as Christ came for us in our weakness, so too do we welcome the weak. Even though we are made strong in the face of the evils of this virus - we can make space for the weak. To account for their struggles, and to not put an additional burden or fear on them. And then to give them Jesus - so that they may hear and believe in daily life, and in a complicated world.
For indeed as Luther put it - “A Christian is perfectly free, Lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.” Love your neighbor. Hear and share the good news. It is for us all.
May 2021 - Pets, Love, and God
This past Christmas, our neighbors got a new puppy named Leelo. Leelo loves attention and has no shortage of it these past several months. But she is getting awfully weirded out now that the boys are in school, and the parents are going to work more regularly, and she doesn’t have five people to play with all the time forever. She hates her crate. She loves making new friends. She’s growing very quickly. And because she’s growing so quickly, she’s discovered other new things. Much to my surprise this past weekend, she discovered that she can jump over the fence and leave her personal “markings” in my backyard.
Leelo is of course a good dog (all dogs are), and at least a slightly naughty puppy.
It’s a rather curious thing, isn’t it? We bring pets into our families. We love them, and our lives are enriched by them. But the food is expensive, so are the inevitable trips to the vet. We train them. We pamper them. We clean the messes - both the ones they show guilt for, and the ones they joyfully and unrepentantly make. But we also outlive them. It’s a grief that is baked into the system. But the joy of love always seems to outweigh the pain of loss. Even a loss deeply felt. And that’s just the way things go, right?
God has a tremendous love for us. God has put incredible craftwork, affection, wisdom, grace, and hope into us. God has sent us the prophets to train us and curb our shortcomings. God has provided us countless gifts. And yet you and I, sinners that we are, have made far worse mistakes than even the worst dog. And we sin. And we die. And God outlives us.
But here is where God is unlike us. God certainly agrees that love outweighs pain. But God does not allow for death to be “just the way things go.” God’s love is stronger than our death. He has sent us Jesus Christ. Jesus is not a trainer - though he has certainly given us some fine training. Jesus is not a veterinarian - though there is certainly healing in his name. Trainers can only have so much influence on a dog’s behavior. Veterinarians cannot stave off death forever. Jesus is more than either of those things - for us, and for dogs.
Jesus Christ is the resurrection and the life. And he has come to tell us, and to show us, and to embody for us the way, the truth, and the life. And this is out of love. We are loved by God even more than we love our pets who (as Martin Luther once observed of his own dog Tölpel) may “sleep well, for in the resurrection [they] will have a golden tail.”
Pastor Kaegler
This past Christmas, our neighbors got a new puppy named Leelo. Leelo loves attention and has no shortage of it these past several months. But she is getting awfully weirded out now that the boys are in school, and the parents are going to work more regularly, and she doesn’t have five people to play with all the time forever. She hates her crate. She loves making new friends. She’s growing very quickly. And because she’s growing so quickly, she’s discovered other new things. Much to my surprise this past weekend, she discovered that she can jump over the fence and leave her personal “markings” in my backyard.
Leelo is of course a good dog (all dogs are), and at least a slightly naughty puppy.
It’s a rather curious thing, isn’t it? We bring pets into our families. We love them, and our lives are enriched by them. But the food is expensive, so are the inevitable trips to the vet. We train them. We pamper them. We clean the messes - both the ones they show guilt for, and the ones they joyfully and unrepentantly make. But we also outlive them. It’s a grief that is baked into the system. But the joy of love always seems to outweigh the pain of loss. Even a loss deeply felt. And that’s just the way things go, right?
God has a tremendous love for us. God has put incredible craftwork, affection, wisdom, grace, and hope into us. God has sent us the prophets to train us and curb our shortcomings. God has provided us countless gifts. And yet you and I, sinners that we are, have made far worse mistakes than even the worst dog. And we sin. And we die. And God outlives us.
But here is where God is unlike us. God certainly agrees that love outweighs pain. But God does not allow for death to be “just the way things go.” God’s love is stronger than our death. He has sent us Jesus Christ. Jesus is not a trainer - though he has certainly given us some fine training. Jesus is not a veterinarian - though there is certainly healing in his name. Trainers can only have so much influence on a dog’s behavior. Veterinarians cannot stave off death forever. Jesus is more than either of those things - for us, and for dogs.
Jesus Christ is the resurrection and the life. And he has come to tell us, and to show us, and to embody for us the way, the truth, and the life. And this is out of love. We are loved by God even more than we love our pets who (as Martin Luther once observed of his own dog Tölpel) may “sleep well, for in the resurrection [they] will have a golden tail.”
Pastor Kaegler
Spring - April 2021
As I write this Spire article, the crocuses are finally blooming. Our house’s motion detectors are going off every few hours with assorted deer, and plenty of rabbits (appropriately nicknamed Dietrich Bonhopper, Katharina von Burrow-a, Abraham Hare-schel, or whatever other labored theologian-as-rabbit pun I can come up with on any given day). I’ve been hearing foxes yell, and the songbirds singing as well. It’s becoming a beautiful time of year.
As we look to the promises of Spring, I can’t help but think of the ancient, beloved communion hymn and prayer: “As the grains of wheat, once scattered on the hill were gathered into one to become our bread - so may all your people, from all the ends of earth, be gathered into one in you.”
The tune is modern - written by the liturgical scholar and historian Martin Marty. The lyrics, albeit translated, go back to the second century. Roughly eighteen hundred years of Christians have been singing those words, as they’ve come to God’s Table to share in the bread, and the wine, as much as the body and blood of Christ. The meal giving them the same promise, and the same strength given to us.
When I think of Communion, and when I think of the relationship between heaven and earth - I think of it in those terms and that scale (though it too, is a bit limited). Holy Communion, Christian life, and indeed the resurrection is never us alone. It comes with the past, and it anticipates the future. Springs have come, and springs will go. But the body of Christ - with us included - lives eternally. You and I, then, have friends and loved ones we have never met before. We will meet them. You and I have left people long ago, but they are not gone. We will be together again. You and I have people who can’t wait to meet us for the first time. We wait for them. And mercifully at this time of year, we do so in the sunshine.
Communion is a foretaste of the feast to come. Life, too, has a share in eternity. We can approach the world with confidence - not simply in our selves, but in our God whose eternal promise will gather believers for all time and in all due time.
In Christ,
Pastor Kaegler
As I write this Spire article, the crocuses are finally blooming. Our house’s motion detectors are going off every few hours with assorted deer, and plenty of rabbits (appropriately nicknamed Dietrich Bonhopper, Katharina von Burrow-a, Abraham Hare-schel, or whatever other labored theologian-as-rabbit pun I can come up with on any given day). I’ve been hearing foxes yell, and the songbirds singing as well. It’s becoming a beautiful time of year.
As we look to the promises of Spring, I can’t help but think of the ancient, beloved communion hymn and prayer: “As the grains of wheat, once scattered on the hill were gathered into one to become our bread - so may all your people, from all the ends of earth, be gathered into one in you.”
The tune is modern - written by the liturgical scholar and historian Martin Marty. The lyrics, albeit translated, go back to the second century. Roughly eighteen hundred years of Christians have been singing those words, as they’ve come to God’s Table to share in the bread, and the wine, as much as the body and blood of Christ. The meal giving them the same promise, and the same strength given to us.
When I think of Communion, and when I think of the relationship between heaven and earth - I think of it in those terms and that scale (though it too, is a bit limited). Holy Communion, Christian life, and indeed the resurrection is never us alone. It comes with the past, and it anticipates the future. Springs have come, and springs will go. But the body of Christ - with us included - lives eternally. You and I, then, have friends and loved ones we have never met before. We will meet them. You and I have left people long ago, but they are not gone. We will be together again. You and I have people who can’t wait to meet us for the first time. We wait for them. And mercifully at this time of year, we do so in the sunshine.
Communion is a foretaste of the feast to come. Life, too, has a share in eternity. We can approach the world with confidence - not simply in our selves, but in our God whose eternal promise will gather believers for all time and in all due time.
In Christ,
Pastor Kaegler
March 2021 - Friendship, Kierkegaard, and Time
March 5th, 2021 is marked on my calendar as the one year anniversary of the last time I went out with a friend to a restaurant. It was myself and Pastor Tim Ness of St. Mark’s Lutheran Church of Clifton Heights. We went to Round Guy’s Brewing Company in Lansdale - and had pretzels and burgers. It was a business lunch - and we talked about a resolution we wanted to put forward to the Synod Assembly requesting firmer commitments to healthy maternity and paternity leave policies for pastors. Tim was expecting his first child - Adeline. He was as nervous and excited as anyone would be. We went on to talk about the potential lockdown and the merits of closing for a few weeks. But as we’re also friends, we wanted to catch up as friends. So after the shop talk, we had a couple of different beers, and walked around Lansdale chatting about what we wanted our futures to look like after the lockdown was done - no doubt - by that same Easter.
None of those plans panned out. Other things happened. Thinking back on our conversation reminds me of the philosopher and Lutheran hero (or maybe anti-hero) Søren Kierkegaard. I say this with all affection - Kierkegaard was a miserable weirdo, and a lovable one at that. I’ve learned a great deal from his writings. Everyone should read at least a little of his work. One of Kierkegaard’s most fruitful thoughts for me, is his observation that we navigate our day-to-day life with a faith that tomorrow will not only come, but it will come for us - but we seldom examine that faith. Kierkegaard once wrote in his Concluding Unscientific Postscript that no one RSVPs to an event saying “I shall certainly attend your party, but I must make an exception for the contingency that a roof tile happens to blow down and kill me; for in that case, I cannot attend.” We take it for granted that a roof tile won’t fall, and we will be there. But it can.
There are inevitable, sometimes seemingly arbitrary pains in life. Our joys are interrupted and injured by death, disease, discord, sin, sorrow and the like. Our faith is what navigates us between those things. And yet so often we put our faith in the wrong things. Sometimes that’s ourselves, our possessions. Other times we look at our country, or the principles we want to govern our country. Still other times we might put our faith in religion - a tempting one, that. But faith, authentic Christian faith, Lutheran faith, isn’t a faith in any of these things (not even religion!). It is a faith in Jesus Christ - not in us, our own things, or our own choices. It’s a confession that God is God and we are not. God lived and God lives - even having been killed on the cross by those who put their faith in any and everything else.
When we do it rightly - we put faith in our tomorrows on Jesus, nowhere else, and we follow. In following Jesus, we know that the inevitable things that confront us, that we have no control over, don’t have the final say in what we do or who we are. Our shortcomings and our lapses of judgment also don’t have a final say. We may live boldly as people summoned by Christ - who is the way, and the truth, and the light. A roof tile may fall - even so, come Lord Jesus. When our tomorrows run out, as someday they will, we will be met by the one who is, and who was, and who is to come. For indeed he calls us there, and meets us there.
And so we live by faith, even though things change and the best laid plans come short. But we live, and we wait, and we make joy with what we have. Because one way or another, a time also came for Adeline to be born (and she is, as expected, adorable), and God willing a time will come when I buy Pastor Tim another round. Let us live our time in faith for the sake of joy and the well-being of our neighbors - come what may.
In Christ,
Pastor Kaegler
March 5th, 2021 is marked on my calendar as the one year anniversary of the last time I went out with a friend to a restaurant. It was myself and Pastor Tim Ness of St. Mark’s Lutheran Church of Clifton Heights. We went to Round Guy’s Brewing Company in Lansdale - and had pretzels and burgers. It was a business lunch - and we talked about a resolution we wanted to put forward to the Synod Assembly requesting firmer commitments to healthy maternity and paternity leave policies for pastors. Tim was expecting his first child - Adeline. He was as nervous and excited as anyone would be. We went on to talk about the potential lockdown and the merits of closing for a few weeks. But as we’re also friends, we wanted to catch up as friends. So after the shop talk, we had a couple of different beers, and walked around Lansdale chatting about what we wanted our futures to look like after the lockdown was done - no doubt - by that same Easter.
None of those plans panned out. Other things happened. Thinking back on our conversation reminds me of the philosopher and Lutheran hero (or maybe anti-hero) Søren Kierkegaard. I say this with all affection - Kierkegaard was a miserable weirdo, and a lovable one at that. I’ve learned a great deal from his writings. Everyone should read at least a little of his work. One of Kierkegaard’s most fruitful thoughts for me, is his observation that we navigate our day-to-day life with a faith that tomorrow will not only come, but it will come for us - but we seldom examine that faith. Kierkegaard once wrote in his Concluding Unscientific Postscript that no one RSVPs to an event saying “I shall certainly attend your party, but I must make an exception for the contingency that a roof tile happens to blow down and kill me; for in that case, I cannot attend.” We take it for granted that a roof tile won’t fall, and we will be there. But it can.
There are inevitable, sometimes seemingly arbitrary pains in life. Our joys are interrupted and injured by death, disease, discord, sin, sorrow and the like. Our faith is what navigates us between those things. And yet so often we put our faith in the wrong things. Sometimes that’s ourselves, our possessions. Other times we look at our country, or the principles we want to govern our country. Still other times we might put our faith in religion - a tempting one, that. But faith, authentic Christian faith, Lutheran faith, isn’t a faith in any of these things (not even religion!). It is a faith in Jesus Christ - not in us, our own things, or our own choices. It’s a confession that God is God and we are not. God lived and God lives - even having been killed on the cross by those who put their faith in any and everything else.
When we do it rightly - we put faith in our tomorrows on Jesus, nowhere else, and we follow. In following Jesus, we know that the inevitable things that confront us, that we have no control over, don’t have the final say in what we do or who we are. Our shortcomings and our lapses of judgment also don’t have a final say. We may live boldly as people summoned by Christ - who is the way, and the truth, and the light. A roof tile may fall - even so, come Lord Jesus. When our tomorrows run out, as someday they will, we will be met by the one who is, and who was, and who is to come. For indeed he calls us there, and meets us there.
And so we live by faith, even though things change and the best laid plans come short. But we live, and we wait, and we make joy with what we have. Because one way or another, a time also came for Adeline to be born (and she is, as expected, adorable), and God willing a time will come when I buy Pastor Tim another round. Let us live our time in faith for the sake of joy and the well-being of our neighbors - come what may.
In Christ,
Pastor Kaegler
Elizabeth Fedde - February 2021
Every now and then I open our hymnal to the Church Calendar (pages 14-17). I like doing so because it reminds me that you and I are all part of a bigger story - even though our chapters are yet to be finished. As I looked over it today, I found that February 25th of this year will mark the 100th anniversary of Elizabeth Fedde’s death, when she claimed the promise made to her in baptism.
It’s probably not a familiar name for many of you. Certainly not a name we learn in the history books. But her footprint is far bigger than many of us would imagine. Elizabeth Fedde was born in rural Norway, on Christmas day of 1850. In an almost classical “Norwegian” image, she was the daughter of a retired sea captain who became a farmer to spend more time at home, and take care of his wife. But her mother died while she was still young, and it fell on her to care for her father. Her father died when she was in her early 20s. There wouldn’t have been much left for her. The land wasn’t great, and it would have been passed on to her male siblings anyway. But she listened to her community, and the egging on of the Holy Spirit, and something happened as she felt a call to become a deaconess - a lay-minister, who at that time and place would have usually been called for the care of body and soul.
Led by faith, she accepted a position at the Deaconess House in Kristiania (today Oslo), where she studied nursing, ethics, and social welfare. She went all over Norway - developing healthcare systems and caring for communities until her 32nd birthday, when she received a fateful letter from Gabriel Fedde, her brother-in-law, a merchant and lay-pastor in New York City. Gabriel wrote to her “…you can come at once, if you dare, can, and will… I only repeat that Norwegians cry for help.”
Shipping is a difficult industry in the modern period, and it was even more challenging back then. And it turns out, healthcare was complicated then as well. Norwegian sailors were stuck in New York in extreme poverty, illness, and spiritual despair. The Norwegian Church in New York (which is in a different building now) and Consulate was overwhelmed and couldn’t care for all of them. But Gabriel thought Elizabeth could.
Elizabeth took the dare. She left Norway (and her suitor/boyfriend) for Brooklyn. As soon as she hit the ground she organized a relief organization. She cared for people who others couldn’t - in body, and in soul through pastoral care and her relief organization became a hospital within a few years. Soon she wrote back to Norway, and organized many more deaconesses to come to Brooklyn and created a vibrant atmosphere that changed New York for years - and saved the lives of countless sailors. That alone is quite a legacy for a young woman from rural Norway - but she was sent to deal with even more.
It turns out that there were more and more Norwegians settling in America, but they found New York to be a bit expensive. As they moved further west, they had less infrastructure to help them out. There weren’t so many religious organizations beyond their congregations, and there weren’t hospitals. So Elizabeth moved to Minneapolis in 1888, and found herself creating a new deaconess community in America - before starting another hospital - and then two more in Chicago and Grand Forks - before feeling a call to return home. After a whirlwind 13 years of ministry in America, she set others up to succeed after her, resigned, and returned on a boat to Norway - where she married her old beau, compiled her memoirs and diaries, and lived a simple, but joy-filled life until February 25, 1921. And she still worked to heal the sick, and advocate for healthcare in the home she could call her own.
What started as a 9-bed hospital for troubled Norwegian sailors continues to exist today as the NYU Langone Hospital - a 450 bed teaching hospital in the heart of Brooklyn with an ER that treats about 80,000 people every year. And I suspect only a handful are Norwegian these days. Chicago’s Advocate Lutheran General Hospital, and Minneapolis’ Fairview Hospitals also trace their origins to her work.
There are faithful healers in our world. Folks who set out not just to heal bodies, but souls and communities. Medicine is a huge part of that challenge - but our community’s spirit also needs healing. As we receive our vaccines - we’d do well to keep Elizabeth Fedde in mind. Take care of your spirit through the Word, and your congregation. And take heart, because in loving faith and kindness, the odds are you’re making a bigger difference in peoples’ lives than you think. In short order, the world can become a kinder place. Be part of that.
-Pastor Kaegler
Every now and then I open our hymnal to the Church Calendar (pages 14-17). I like doing so because it reminds me that you and I are all part of a bigger story - even though our chapters are yet to be finished. As I looked over it today, I found that February 25th of this year will mark the 100th anniversary of Elizabeth Fedde’s death, when she claimed the promise made to her in baptism.
It’s probably not a familiar name for many of you. Certainly not a name we learn in the history books. But her footprint is far bigger than many of us would imagine. Elizabeth Fedde was born in rural Norway, on Christmas day of 1850. In an almost classical “Norwegian” image, she was the daughter of a retired sea captain who became a farmer to spend more time at home, and take care of his wife. But her mother died while she was still young, and it fell on her to care for her father. Her father died when she was in her early 20s. There wouldn’t have been much left for her. The land wasn’t great, and it would have been passed on to her male siblings anyway. But she listened to her community, and the egging on of the Holy Spirit, and something happened as she felt a call to become a deaconess - a lay-minister, who at that time and place would have usually been called for the care of body and soul.
Led by faith, she accepted a position at the Deaconess House in Kristiania (today Oslo), where she studied nursing, ethics, and social welfare. She went all over Norway - developing healthcare systems and caring for communities until her 32nd birthday, when she received a fateful letter from Gabriel Fedde, her brother-in-law, a merchant and lay-pastor in New York City. Gabriel wrote to her “…you can come at once, if you dare, can, and will… I only repeat that Norwegians cry for help.”
Shipping is a difficult industry in the modern period, and it was even more challenging back then. And it turns out, healthcare was complicated then as well. Norwegian sailors were stuck in New York in extreme poverty, illness, and spiritual despair. The Norwegian Church in New York (which is in a different building now) and Consulate was overwhelmed and couldn’t care for all of them. But Gabriel thought Elizabeth could.
Elizabeth took the dare. She left Norway (and her suitor/boyfriend) for Brooklyn. As soon as she hit the ground she organized a relief organization. She cared for people who others couldn’t - in body, and in soul through pastoral care and her relief organization became a hospital within a few years. Soon she wrote back to Norway, and organized many more deaconesses to come to Brooklyn and created a vibrant atmosphere that changed New York for years - and saved the lives of countless sailors. That alone is quite a legacy for a young woman from rural Norway - but she was sent to deal with even more.
It turns out that there were more and more Norwegians settling in America, but they found New York to be a bit expensive. As they moved further west, they had less infrastructure to help them out. There weren’t so many religious organizations beyond their congregations, and there weren’t hospitals. So Elizabeth moved to Minneapolis in 1888, and found herself creating a new deaconess community in America - before starting another hospital - and then two more in Chicago and Grand Forks - before feeling a call to return home. After a whirlwind 13 years of ministry in America, she set others up to succeed after her, resigned, and returned on a boat to Norway - where she married her old beau, compiled her memoirs and diaries, and lived a simple, but joy-filled life until February 25, 1921. And she still worked to heal the sick, and advocate for healthcare in the home she could call her own.
What started as a 9-bed hospital for troubled Norwegian sailors continues to exist today as the NYU Langone Hospital - a 450 bed teaching hospital in the heart of Brooklyn with an ER that treats about 80,000 people every year. And I suspect only a handful are Norwegian these days. Chicago’s Advocate Lutheran General Hospital, and Minneapolis’ Fairview Hospitals also trace their origins to her work.
There are faithful healers in our world. Folks who set out not just to heal bodies, but souls and communities. Medicine is a huge part of that challenge - but our community’s spirit also needs healing. As we receive our vaccines - we’d do well to keep Elizabeth Fedde in mind. Take care of your spirit through the Word, and your congregation. And take heart, because in loving faith and kindness, the odds are you’re making a bigger difference in peoples’ lives than you think. In short order, the world can become a kinder place. Be part of that.
-Pastor Kaegler
January 2021
It’s finally ended.
While it seems as though every year in recent memory has made its own pitch for being the worst, 2020 has certainly made a strong case for itself in our lives. Frankly, I really hope it takes the cake. But one of the blessings and curses about time is that it’s beyond our control. As the Teacher writes in the Book of Ecclesiastes “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…” We have been given 2020. We leave it to the ages and trust that it never returns.
There are lessons we have learned from 2020 - about resilience and the gift of solitude, but we have also learned the cost of loneliness, isolation, and intransigence among people who could make our lives easier. We’ve learned about our loved ones - both from afar and in quarantine. We’ve tightened our belts. We’ve found ways to support our neighbors. We’ve been clueless, too. We’ve tried to worship. We’ve lost loved ones without being able to properly say good-bye. And Lord knows we’ve learned more about Zoom and YouTube than we had known before. There’s so much we’ve learned, but how do we make sense of it?
I think what it comes down to is that a blessed life doesn’t mean an easy life. A blessed life means a life where the way of God is revealed in contrast to the way of sin. As I’ve led worship services and funeral services in ways I’ve never anticipated, as I’ve been disappointed by myself and the world around me, as I’ve attended protests and have done everything in my power to do so safely, as I’ve been yelled at and shamed for wearing mask - I have known God’s presence. I’ve seen myself as a sinner in need of grace, and I’ve prayed that lasting good has been done in word and deed. Which is also to say I’ve doubted myself, but I’ve trusted the real and present God.
And I believe that God has been present in this. Which isn’t to say that faith has kept me from catching Covid-19 or has prevented bad things from happening to me (this error is what Jesus describes as “putting God to the test” when Satan tells him to put himself in harm’s way in order to prove God’s love). It’s to say that I’ve seen the love of God at work in our life together. God doesn’t keep us out of our messes, God gets us out of messes - as the Psalmist famously writes: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. For you are with me, your rod and your staff comfort me.” And God will be here in 2021 as well.
And so as we look into 2021, with vaccines and reopening, let us learn from 2020. Let us not take one another for granted. Let us value one another’s lives. Let us put our wants behind the needs of people we might not always know we’re effecting. Let us honor day-to-day work done by those who are on the front line of the public health crisis. And above all, let us know that God has come in Christ - to overturn the power of sin and welcome us into the way of eternal life in these days. Let us follow Jesus into 2021 and learn from him. Because there’s always more to learn, and growth to be had.
Amen.
Pastor Kaegler
It’s finally ended.
While it seems as though every year in recent memory has made its own pitch for being the worst, 2020 has certainly made a strong case for itself in our lives. Frankly, I really hope it takes the cake. But one of the blessings and curses about time is that it’s beyond our control. As the Teacher writes in the Book of Ecclesiastes “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…” We have been given 2020. We leave it to the ages and trust that it never returns.
There are lessons we have learned from 2020 - about resilience and the gift of solitude, but we have also learned the cost of loneliness, isolation, and intransigence among people who could make our lives easier. We’ve learned about our loved ones - both from afar and in quarantine. We’ve tightened our belts. We’ve found ways to support our neighbors. We’ve been clueless, too. We’ve tried to worship. We’ve lost loved ones without being able to properly say good-bye. And Lord knows we’ve learned more about Zoom and YouTube than we had known before. There’s so much we’ve learned, but how do we make sense of it?
I think what it comes down to is that a blessed life doesn’t mean an easy life. A blessed life means a life where the way of God is revealed in contrast to the way of sin. As I’ve led worship services and funeral services in ways I’ve never anticipated, as I’ve been disappointed by myself and the world around me, as I’ve attended protests and have done everything in my power to do so safely, as I’ve been yelled at and shamed for wearing mask - I have known God’s presence. I’ve seen myself as a sinner in need of grace, and I’ve prayed that lasting good has been done in word and deed. Which is also to say I’ve doubted myself, but I’ve trusted the real and present God.
And I believe that God has been present in this. Which isn’t to say that faith has kept me from catching Covid-19 or has prevented bad things from happening to me (this error is what Jesus describes as “putting God to the test” when Satan tells him to put himself in harm’s way in order to prove God’s love). It’s to say that I’ve seen the love of God at work in our life together. God doesn’t keep us out of our messes, God gets us out of messes - as the Psalmist famously writes: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. For you are with me, your rod and your staff comfort me.” And God will be here in 2021 as well.
And so as we look into 2021, with vaccines and reopening, let us learn from 2020. Let us not take one another for granted. Let us value one another’s lives. Let us put our wants behind the needs of people we might not always know we’re effecting. Let us honor day-to-day work done by those who are on the front line of the public health crisis. And above all, let us know that God has come in Christ - to overturn the power of sin and welcome us into the way of eternal life in these days. Let us follow Jesus into 2021 and learn from him. Because there’s always more to learn, and growth to be had.
Amen.
Pastor Kaegler