April 2026
There is a road outside Jerusalem, seven miles long, and two disciples are walking it in the wrong direction. Their friend is gone. Their hopes have been buried with him. They are leaving the city, moving away from the empty tomb, and distancing themselves from the wild rumors spreading through the streets. They walk, talk, and struggle to understand something that makes no sense at all. Then, a stranger falls into step beside them. They don't recognize him. That's one of the strangest things about resurrection — apparently, you don't always see it coming, even when it's walking right next to you.
April will be a busy month at Trinity. There’s a lot to celebrate, much to marvel at, and — on one very special Sunday — someone to call by name.
Called by Name
On April 26 — Good Shepherd Sunday — our confirmands will affirm their baptism and publicly declare their faith before this congregation and before God.
These young people have spent months grappling with difficult questions, studying ancient texts, and finding their way—hesitantly, sincerely, faithfully—toward something they can truly call their own. That isn’t a small achievement. That isn’t just a ceremony. It’s a life being shaped.
It is no coincidence that Confirmation falls on Good Shepherd Sunday this year. Jesus says in John 10: the shepherd calls his own sheep by name. By name. Not by category, not by cohort, not by confirmation class. By name. Each of these young people has been known, called, and claimed long before this day — in the waters of their baptism, in the prayers of their families, in the life of this community. April 26 is the day they say: yes. I know that voice. I will follow.
Trinity, I ask you to come and bear witness. Bring your own memories of the day you said yes — whenever that was, however, it was — and hold these young people in prayer as they step forward. This is one of the great gifts of being a congregation: we get to be present for each other at the moments that matter most.
April 2026 Confirmands
Mariah Will Mackenzy Ryland Claire Gavin Sawyer
Still Breathing
Confirmation Sunday falls right in the middle of an Easter preaching series I've been developing. Starting Easter 2 and continuing through Easter 7, we'll spend six Sundays pairing the Easter Gospel readings with the book of Acts — observing the risen Christ and the rising church tell the same story from two perspectives.
The Gospels reveal the risen Christ: appearing in locked rooms, walking mysterious roads, promising a Spirit who will remain with us. Acts shows us what results from this: a community formed, a sermon delivered, a crowd brought to its knees, a young man named Stephen dying with his eyes fixed on heaven, and a tentmaker standing in Athens telling philosophers about a God they've been worshiping without knowing His name.
Easter didn't just raise Jesus. It raised a people.
The series is called Still Breathing. Not "Risen" — though that's true. Not "Victorious" — though that's true, too. Still Breathing, because resurrection isn't past tense. It is happening now, in this congregation, on the ordinary Tuesday morning of your life. The Spirit that blew through that upper room at Pentecost is the same Spirit moving here. We — confirmands and long-timers and everyone in between — are still breathing that breath.
April 12 — Easter 2 "Behind Locked Doors"
John 20:19-31 & Acts 2:14a, 22-32. Thomas and his doubt. Peter and his astonishing courage. The risen Christ walks through every locked door we build.
April 19 — Easter 3 "Walking With a Stranger"
Luke 24:13-35 & Acts 2:14a, 36-41. The road to Emmaus. Christ known in the breaking of bread. Hearts burning before we even knew why.
April 26 — Easter 4 — Confirmation Sunday "Through the Gate"
John 10:1-10 & Acts 2:42-47. Good Shepherd Sunday. The early church's first community portrait — devoted, generous, compelling. The shepherd calls each one by name.
May 3 — Easter 5 "Don't Let Your Hearts Be Troubled"
John 14:1-14 & Acts 7:55-60. Stephen sees heaven open as he dies. Jesus promises: I go to prepare a place for you. The resurrection holds even in the hardest places.
May 10 — Easter 6 "The God You Almost Know"
John 14:15-21 & Acts 17:22-31. Paul in Athens finds an altar to an unknown god and says: let me introduce you. How do we name the God already present in people's lives?
May 17 — Easter 7 "Why Are You Standing There?"
John 17:1-11 & Acts 1:6-14. The Ascension. The disciples stare at the sky until the angels ask them why. Jesus prays for us. Then he sends us.
Six weeks. Two voices — the Gospel and Acts — telling the same story from different perspectives. The risen Christ and the risen community. What happened at the tomb, and what continues to happen because of it.
We are the people on that road — carrying our questions, doubts, grief, and wonder. And the stranger keeps falling into step beside us. The stranger always does.
Come. Walk with us this Easter season. And on April 26, come especially to hear some of our own called by name.
January 16, 2026
A Word for Heavy Hearts
Dear Beloved in Christ,
Many of us have been watching what's unfolding in Minneapolis with heavy hearts. A woman was killed. Federal agents are operating throughout the Twin Cities. Protests have filled the streets. Violence has met violence. Families are afraid. Our governor has delivered urgent addresses. The president has issued threats.
Some of our children live there. Some of our grandchildren attend school there. Some of us have friends or family members who are immigrants. Some of us work in the cities. Some of us haven't been to Minneapolis in years, yet still feel the tremor of what's happening just three hours north.
We don't all see this the same way, and that's okay. We belong to each other not because we agree on politics but because we are baptized. Christ has claimed us. That doesn't make the disagreements any less real—but it does mean our unity runs deeper than CNN or Fox News, deeper than red or blue, and deeper than fear or rage.
Here's what I want you to know: You are allowed to feel what you feel. Fear is real. Anger is real. Grief is real. Confusion is real. If you're worried about people you love in the cities, that worry matters. If you're concerned about law and order and safety, those concerns matter. If you're heartbroken about a mother shot dead, that heartbreak matters. If you think immigration needs to be addressed, you're not wrong to think about it. And if you think what's happening is unjust, you're not wrong to say so.
What the Gospel offers us is not easy answers. The Gospel doesn't resolve our policy disagreements or make our anxiety disappear. But it does give us something to stand on when the ground feels unsteady. I offer the following scripture and prayers for you and anyone who might need something to rest in.
Scripture for when fear rises:
"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea." — Psalm 46:1-2
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid." — John 14:27
A Prayer:
God of mercy and justice, we bring before you a city in turmoil, a state in pain, and hearts that don't know how to handle all they're feeling. We pray for Renee Good's children, who will grow up without their mother. We pray for those afraid tonight in Minneapolis. We pray for law enforcement—local and federal—that wisdom and restraint would prevail. We pray for our leaders to seek the good of all people. We pray for ourselves not to let fear drive us into bitterness or despair. We do not know how this ends, Lord. But we know who holds the ending. Give us courage. Give us hope. Give us the strength to love our neighbors—all of them—even when it's hard. In Jesus' name. Amen.
Something to hold onto: When the Apostle Paul was in prison—genuinely uncertain whether he would live or die—he wrote to the church in Philippi: "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:4-7)
Paul didn't write "don't worry" because everything was fine. He wrote it because the Lord is near—even when Rome is in charge, the future is unclear, and death is possible.
The peace Paul talks about isn't the kind found in good news reports or political victories. It's a peace that surpasses understanding—meaning it endures even when things don't make sense. It guards your heart. It holds you steady.
You are held. Christ has you. When you wake up anxious at 3am, he's there. When you see the news and your stomach drops, he's there. When you don't know what to pray, the Spirit prays for you with sighs too deep for words.
This will not last forever. God's kingdom is coming. In the meantime, we do what we've always done: we pray, love our neighbors, tell the truth, and trust that the God who raised Jesus from the dead is still at work—even now, even here, even in Minneapolis.
Grace and peace,
Pastor Mark
December 2025
Light Dawns on a Weary World
Dear Friends in Christ,
As we enter this Advent season, I find myself humming the words of that beautiful hymn, "Long before the night was born, long before the world was made, Love Eternal, God Incarnate, light of heaven cannot fade." These words remind us that even before our weariness began, God's answer was already on the way.
If we're honest with one another, we know what it means to live in a weary world. We see it in the eyes of neighbors struggling to make ends meet, in families navigating difficult diagnoses, in young people anxious about the future, and in our own mirrors on those mornings when we wonder if we have what it takes to face another day. The prophet Isaiah knew this weariness too when he wrote to a people in exile, far from home, wondering if God had forgotten them.
But then comes the promise that changes everything: "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined" (Isaiah 9:2).
This Advent, our theme "A Weary World Rejoices" isn't about pretending away our exhaustion or plastering on false cheer. Rather, it's about daring to believe that our weariness is not the end of the story. Into our fatigue, God speaks the same word spoken to shepherds keeping watch by night: "Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people" (Luke 2:10).
The light that dawns in this season is not a distant, cold star. It is Emmanuel—God with us—wrapped in swaddling clothes, crying in a manger, entering fully into our weary world. Jesus didn't come to scold us for being tired. He came because He saw us "harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd" (Matthew 9:36), and His heart broke with compassion.
Throughout this Advent season at Trinity, we'll be exploring what it means to find hope when the world feels heavy. We'll light our candles and sing our carols, yes, but we'll also create space to be honest about where we're struggling. Because that's where Jesus meets us—not in our pretense of having it all together, but in our authentic need.
Jesus Himself knew weariness. He fell asleep in boats during storms. He sought out quiet places to pray. He wept at the death of His friend Lazarus. And on the cross, He took upon Himself all the weight of our weary world—every burden, every sorrow, every sin—so that we might finally rest.
"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest," Jesus invites us in Matthew 11:28. This is not just a nice sentiment; it is the very heart of Christmas. God saw that we could not carry it all anymore, so He carried it for us.
As we prepare our homes and hearts this season, I encourage you to be gentle with yourself. You don't have to do it all. You don't have to be all things to all people. The world is weary, yes—but a weary world rejoices because the light has come, and the light is enough.
This December, may we be people who bear witness to this light in small, faithful ways: a kind word to a cashier who looks exhausted, a meal for a family going through hard times, a listening ear for someone who needs to be heard, or simply the gift of our presence at worship, bringing our whole selves—weariness and all—before the God who receives us with love.
The night may be long, beloved, but light is dawning. The Savior is coming. And our weary world will rejoice.
In the hope of Advent,
Pastor Mark
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it." John 1:5
November 2025
A Season of Gratitude
"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever." - Psalm 107:1
As we enter this season of thanksgiving, my heart overflows with gratitude to God for the incredible gift of this call to Trinity Lutheran. Three months ago, I stood before you with a mixture of excitement and holy anticipation, wondering what God had in store for us. Today, I can say with profound joy and thanksgiving: this feels like home.
There's something remarkable that happens when the Holy Spirit brings a pastor and congregation together. It's not simply a matter of matching résumés or filling a position. It's a divine appointment, a sacred joining of hearts and purpose. In these first three months, I've experienced that truth in countless ways—in your warm welcomes, in our shared worship, in conversations over coffee, and in the everyday rhythms of ministry we're building together.
The Apostle Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 5:18, "Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." I find myself returning to these words often, recognizing that gratitude isn't just appropriate for the easy moments, but is woven into the very fabric of our life together in Christ. I'm thankful not only for the joys we've already shared, but for the challenges we'll face together, knowing that God has brought us together for such a time as this.
When I think about what "home" means, I think of belonging, of being known and loved, of shared purpose
and mutual care. In these months, you've shown me what it means to be the body of Christ—welcoming, compassionate, faithful, and ready to follow where the Spirit leads. You've made room for me and my family, not just in the parsonage, but in your hearts and lives.
I'm convinced that the Holy Spirit has indeed brought us together for a purpose that extends beyond what any of us can fully see right now. There's kingdom work to be done, neighbors to love, faith to nurture, and hope to share. As we move forward together, I'm grateful that we don't do this work in our own strength, but in the power of the Spirit who has united us.
This November, as we gather around tables laden with blessings and count our many gifts, I want you to know: you are among the things I thank God for most. Thank you for answering God's call to this place, for your faithfulness through seasons of transition, and for embracing this new chapter with open hearts.
May we continue to be a people marked by gratitude, united by the Spirit, and sent forth in love.
In Christ's service and with deep thanksgiving,
~Pastor Mark
October 2025