Category Archives: Feature Articles

ADVENT: COME, LORD JESUS by Aleese Baldwin, Final Year MDiv Student

As families gather around meal tables, I’ve often heard a common meal prayer recited from memory: “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, and let these gifts to us be blessed.” But when was the last time that we actually stopped to think about just what we are asking God in this little prayer before our meal?  “Come, Lord Jesus”? Are we really asking, really ready, and really open to Jesus sitting down at our tables with us? Are we really asking, really ready, and really open to Jesus coming into the messiness of the world?  “Come, Lord Jesus”? Here? Now? Really?

Looking around the world it isn’t hard to spot instances of injustice, suffering, corruption, pain and fear. Indeed some days, we – along with all those who suffer – can only manage to cry out to God, “How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1)  And yet it is in the midst of this reality that we continue to pray, “Come, Lord Jesus”? Do we really believe that God has anything to do with this world anymore?  Based on what hope or promise do we have to boldly ask God to come to us?

As December begins, the church shifts in its liturgical cycle to the season of Advent: a season of waiting, of watching, of longing.  Last year, while serving an internship at both St. Luke’s Hospital and St. Stephen’s Lutheran Church in Cedar Rapids, IA, I found myself in this season of Advent throughout the year.  I found myself sitting, waiting and longing with…

a teenager admitted for the fourth time to an inpatient behavioral health unit after attempting suicide with no outside help or support,
a husband of a patient in the Critical Care Unit who held his now deceased wife
with all that he had left in him,
and parents as they held their stillborn twins in their arms.

As a committed theologian of the cross, I wanted so desperately to proclaim the good news that God was present with them even in the midst of their pain. And to some extent I believe that I did. And yet at the same time, I could not help but wait, watch, and long with each of these groups of people for the hope of new life…a hope of a reality free from pain, suffering and injustice.  As people of the cross and resurrection, we boldly confess that God is present with us in every moment of our lives.  And yet we can’t help but wait, watch and long for the presence of hope of God that has yet to be fully revealed to us.

Looking at the brokenness of our world, we cannot boldly proclaim that God’s kingdom is fully among us; it just can’t be.  Justice has not come to all people.  Peace has not been obtained.  The kingdom has not dawned. Christ has not returned.  And in the season of Advent, this little Lord Jesus has not yet come.

So daring to believe that God still cares for all that God has created and that God desires to give life to all people, we boldly pray, “Come, Lord Jesus.”  Come, Lord Jesus, into a world that desperately needs your life, your love…your hope. We need your peace, Lord Jesus. We can’t do it on our own.  Come, Lord Jesus, into our hearts, into our lives, into our communities…into this broken world.
As we pray this Advent season, we all come from our own journeys, marked with our joys, sorrows, successes and challenges. But from wherever we come, we join with all the saints, waiting with eager longing while we watch for the fulfillment of God’s kingdom in our midst. But just maybe…maybe the waiting, watching and longing for Christ to come has just as much hope, promise and good news as the knowledge that God is present with us now. Maybe…just maybe, in the waiting, we have hope that one day, the world will no longer experience pain, injustice, violence and suffering.  In the waiting, we hold onto the Gospel promise that something better is really yet to come.

And that…that sounds like a promise worth holding onto.  A promise that is worth our continued prayers of “Come, Lord Jesus…”


As representatives of the ELCA journey to South Sudan to break ground for a Lutheran Center in Juba, they join representatives who are already witnessing to hope of peace and reconciliation in a war-torn area. Of those working in South Sudan is Bishop Samuel Peni, bishop of the Nzara Diocese in the Episcopalian Church of South Sudan (ECS). As a part of his travel to the U.S, Bishop Peni joined Wartburg students and faculty on Nov. 2 during a luncheon sponsored by the Center for Global Theologies to share his perspective on the intersection of the ECS and the current situation of South Sudan. A 2009 graduate of Wartburg Theological Seminary, he noted that his study here helped enhance his ability to live out his call in the ECS. While at Wartburg, he knew full well that he would be returning to a country ravaged by violence. But what he did not know, however, is that the level and character of the violence in South Sudan would change in the time that he was studying in the U.S.

As Bishop Peni spoke of continued dissension and conflict in his home country, he continually returned to themes of power, religion and tribal differences. Though Sudan has a long history of violence resulting from various power struggles, the region has most recently been negatively affected by two civil wars. Following a brief period of peace after the first civil war, the second civil war began after President of the Republic of Sudan, Gaafar Nimeiry, declared Sudan an Islamic state in 1983. The civil war continued until 2005 when the Comprehensive Peace Agreement was signed in Nairobi. Though this document was signed, Bishop Peni attested to the continued violence even after 2005. By July 2011, South Sudan declared its independence from the Republic of Sudan.

However, since South Sudan gained its independence, conflict surrounding the availability of oil resources and tribal differences has continued. During the civil war, the Sudan’s People’s Liberation Army/Movement committed violence against many villages in an attempt to disarm rebellions. As a result, inter-ethnic fighting has intensified. Bishop Peni spoke to this reality, noting that people often look at each other first in light of their tribal association.

In an attempt to help foster an environment of peace and reconciliation among tribes, Bishop Peni helped organize leaders of different church bodies to work together against the effects of continued violence and discrimination in their country. He took this group of leaders to Rwanda where they learned about the effects of the Rwandan genocide and how Rwanda has healed from its past and embraced new beginnings. From there, these leaders engaged in conversation and training, helping them embrace a future of peace and reconciliation in South Sudan.

Now, Bishop Peni notes that he, along with other church leaders, are integral in the effort to unite tribes and influence government on the county and state levels. Bishop Peni explained that while the church’s connection with legislative bodies has changed over time, that he and other church leaders have been invited to offer prayer at government meetings. In doing this, Peni stated that this gives him – and other church leaders – an opportunity to state their voice in the midst of discussion.

As the church continues its work in South Sudan, Bishop Peni stressed the need for theological education of church leaders, asking numerous times for students, pastors and professors to come to South Sudan to teach. He spoke very highly of his education at both Wartburg Theological Seminary and of his short time at the University of Dubuque Theology Seminary and stated that the future of the ECS is intrinsically related to its continued education. Additionally, he stressed the ECS’s continued role in systems of government to advocate for peace and reconciliation. Finally, Peni noted that the ECS has a good working relationship with the Catholic Church, helping to foster more relationships in pursuit of peace. With a connection of both education and work for justice, Peni witnessed to a hope for a new day in South Sudan.

As Bishop Peni continues his work, he noted that he must often consider his and his family’s safety. He noted that often needs to sleep in different homes throughout the journey of a trip in South Sudan to protect himself. He spoke of how his bodyguards protect him so that he can continue to do his work, and he shared that his family is temporarily living in Uganda based on the volatile situation in South Sudan. But even in light of this, Peni spoke with hope concerning his work and the work of the ECS. He openly asked for prayer and for people to learn the story of the Sudanese, imploring us to embrace a vision of peace and reconciliation for all peoples as a part of God’s good creation. As people united in Christ, we join Bishop Peni’s quest for peace and give voice to the continued story of struggle in South Sudan.

BROADENING INCLUSIVE LANGUAGE IN WORSHIP by Thomas Schattauer, WTS Professor of Liturgics and Dean of the Chapel

Comment at Morning Prayer, Loehe Chapel
Feast of Michael and All Angels
September 29, 2015

“I want to address briefly a matter of concern about inclusivity in our community and in our worship. It has to do with the booklet we have been using for our singing of morning prayer the last few weeks [Marty Haugen’s Come Let Us Sing for Joy]. As you know, there are a couple places where it divides the singing between “women” and “men.” We need to think about that language as we seek to become ever more inclusive—for two reasons. First, it does not accurately describe what we are trying to do, which is to divide ourselves into “higher” and “lower” voices in our singing. When we use the labels “women” and “men” to accomplish that, where do young children fit into that picture, or women who sing low and men who sing high? Second, not everyone lives in a world that divides so neatly into men and women. Where, for example, will people among us who are transgender as well as transgender friends, colleagues, and neighbors find themselves in these binary categories? Where do they fit into the picture?

So, let’s try to shift our thinking a bit and start to use labels that more accurately describe what we are trying to accomplish and include the full range of gender identity among us. When we wish to divide into higher and lower voices, let’s say it exactly like that. As long as we continue to use this resource, we can at least make that shift in our minds and together translate it with a meaning that seeks to include each and every one.”

BREAKING THE CYCLE OF POVERTY…THROUGH HANDMADE PRODUCTS by Koren Lindley, Final Year Diaconal Ministry Student

Imagine not having the financial means to feed your own children.  Imagine feeling you have no other choice than to work long days in a sweatshop or to turn to prostitution to gain enough income to provide at all for them.  Imagine feeding your child pies made out of clay because that is all you have.  For most of us in the United States, this is not our reality, but for women in many other countries this is a daily struggle.  Not only are they not able to feed and provide for their children, but they are living in gang and drug-infested neighborhoods.  They are caught up in a cycle of poverty that one must live in to completely comprehend.

In March, 2015, while on her husband’s pastoral internship, Wendy Daiker, a Wartburg Theological Seminary spouse, felt a call to help women.  Initially, Wendy felt these women were local to the Iowa town where she was living, but she soon learned that God was calling her to a much broader community.  This was affirmed when Wendy’s husband, Joe, connected her to a friend who was a Compassionate Entrepreneur for Trades of Hope.  Wendy quickly realized that God was calling her to help women through Trades of Hope on a global scale.  It was then that Wendy became a Compassionate Entrepreneur for Trades of Hope.

Trades of Hope was started in 2010 and was created to empower women worldwide and to create jobs for them.  According to the Trades of Hope Fall 2015 catalog, “We want every mother to be able to break the cycle of poverty-for herself and her children.  Parents who are working can provide basic necessities, support, and protection for families.”  Trades of Hope does this by marketing the handmade products of artisans through a home party model.  Compassionate Entrepreneurs (CEs) bring the products (jewelry, handbags, home décor, etc.) into homes and share both the products and the stories of the artisans who have made the products.  Products are sold and the artisans are given a fair wage for their work, a wage that helps them support themselves and their families.  Currently, Trades of Hope represents 28 groups of artisans (over 6500 artisans!) in 16 countries.

The artisans are mainly women and their stories are as varied as their fingerprints.  Some are trying to create a better life for their family.  Others were rescued from the sex trade industry or have diseases such as AIDS or leprosy.  Still others have aged out of orphanages and have nowhere to go.  They are women who do not want charity, but do want an opportunity to better their lives.  These artisans are given new hope and confidence that they can break the cycle of poverty through their handmade goods and with the accompaniment of Trades of Hope.  Wendy’s favorite part of being a Compassionate Entrepreneur is “knowing that what I do empowers other people and makes a difference.”

You can learn more about Trades of Hope by visiting Wendy’s Trades of Hope website or by liking her Facebook page “Wendy Daiker Trades of Hope.”


Serving as a pastor for twelve years in rural villages of Namibia, Naambo has now begun a two-year Masters of Theology at Wartburg Seminary in Dubuque, IA. One might be surprised at the deep connection between these two places, but Naambo’s presence on campus is a testament to deeply-rooted relationships between Wartburg Seminary and Lutherans in Namibia. When she considered doing a Masters of Theology, other Namibian pastors encouraged her to come to Wartburg. “They convince you to come here! It’s the best [they say]! I don’t know how they know it’s the best seminary, because they only know Wartburg!” Naambo laughs.

Beyond prompting from other pastors, how did Naambo’s journey lead her to Dubuque? We must return to her childhood. She is the oldest of five and grew up in the Lutheran church. Her grandparents on both sides and her parents are Lutheran. “When I grew up, my parents were usually churchgoers, especially my mom,” Naambo remembers. “She sang in the choir. When I was little I followed her and started singing [in the choir, too]. It shaped me to who I am now.”

While Naambo went to church and Sunday school throughout childhood, it was difficult for her because she was not accepted by society in general. Naambo was born with albinism. In a crowd of Namibians, she stands out because her skin and hair are light-colored. Albinism is characterized by little pigment, or color, in skin and hair, and is caused by a gene mutation which affects production and distribution of melanin. Albinism runs in her family, and one of her brothers was also born with it. Of Namibia’s 2 million people, about one in every 3,000 is born with Albinism. [1]

“I wasn’t accepted,” said Naambo. People understood albinism as a curse. “Maybe you did something to someone or to God—that was the understanding.” In the past, it was dangerous to be born with albinism, and some argue that it still is, because, “If parents gave birth to albino children, they would kill them at birth,” recalls Naambo. This is not the case all the time, but albinism still carries huge stigmatism.

Albinism was isolating. Children and even adults would single out Naambo, ignore her, or make fun of her. “She’s not part of us, she’s not like us,” were the sentiments that Naambo heard and felt since she was very young.

“Sometimes I cursed God. Why did God create me different from others? Why am I like this? If God is there, why do I have to suffer like this?”

It was not until eighth grade that Naambo had a true friend. “She was strong enough to defend herself,” said Naambo, speaking of the teasing that her friend endured because she shared friendship with Naambo. While the friendship was real, true, and encouraging, it ended in high school when the girls went to different schools. After that, it was back to life with no friends and no acceptance. Naambo did not go to her first week of high school because of the ridicule she received from classmates.

Thankfully, this is not the current situation in which Naambo finds herself. “I have many friends now who accept me as a person,” she says. During that first week of high school, one pastor in the local church took her for counseling and she learned to begin to understand herself and accept herself. “Even though I am different from others I am still in the image of God.” There is still a fear, though, when Naambo goes to a new place. “Am I going to be accepted?” she wonders.

Despite social isolation, Naambo was a passionate student, devoted to studying medicine. She wanted to be a doctor, and her favorite subjects were biology and physical science. However, there was a struggle within her. “One voice was saying go, one was saying don’t go,” she reflects, remembering her process of discernment to ordained ministry. Growing up she’d always thought she’d be a doctor, but then, “It was a call for me, a voice, like Isaiah, saying ‘Whom shall I send’?”

Naambo contemplated this call for three years. Throughout that time she had doubt and questions. Though women had been ordained in Namibian Lutheran churches since the 70s, she still remembered a Bible verse that said women were to remain silent in the church. Her understanding of scripture was very literal at that time in her life; however, she still heard another voice, the call to ministry. She talked to her pastor, thinking, “Maybe this is where God wants me to go” and then began seminary. “After that, everything went smoothly,” she smiles.

Naambo attended Paulinium Seminary, which is Namibia’s Lutheran seminary. Though there are three Lutheran bodies, separated mostly because of language, the churches have one seminary. While at seminary, Naambo was transformed. Her relationship with God, others, and herself changed. She understood who she was and what she was called to do. Her theology was changed and her understanding of the Bible was changed. She “learned to read the Bible with the eyes of the culture” of those who were writing and to whom they were writing. Not only was she educated academically, but the social interactions in which she found herself were different from her childhood. People accepted Naambo as a person.

After four years in seminary, Naambo was ordained. At her ordination, she remembers thinking, “Here, as a pastor, I feel like, yes, this is where I’m supposed to be.” Naambo loves being a pastor. “I do my work freely,” she smiles. “I love my work, especially to walk among people.” Her favorite people to serve are children in Sunday school and the elders.

The congregations she has served for the past twelve years are in rural villages. Her current congregation is in a village of two hundred people, but serves a total of four villages. There are over 4,700 members of the church, and about 500 people attend worship on a regular Sunday. Because of weather during the rainy season and flooded roads, the church has several posts throughout the countryside that are accessible.

When Naambo preaches, she hopes that people hear good news. “Love for yourself, love for others, love for God,” she says. “The main thing is that you want people to connect with God.” Naambo hears the gospel for herself, too, knowing that she is made in the image of God. “If God is God of all, that means…we are all the image of God, even though I was born [different], I am accepted by God as I am.” Regarding albinism, Naambo understands it now this way: “Even though we are different in colors, colors cannot divide us. We are all equal before God.”

Being a pastor in Namibia has challenges and joys. Poverty and unemployment are the roots of many problems, including robbery. There are also many killings of women. Naambo says it is “worse than ever” both in cities and rural villages. Men kill the women, usually women they were or are in a relationship with, due to jealousy or some other cause. As a pastor, Naambo is called upon to counsel the families of both the victim and the perpetrator, who is usually in jail. These two families are brought together in hopes that there would be unity. “It’s really difficult to help them. You have to unite those families, but it doesn’t always work,” Naambo explains. Other difficulties of being a pastor in Namibia is the prevalence of alcohol abuse and the violence it causes.

While the issues are deep, Naambo sees hope. “I see hope in everything we are doing because God is there. God can work to bring change. As a pastor I can do what I can, but I cannot change the people. Only God can change them.”

Being a pastor in Namibia is joyful for Naambo. “People are really helpful!” The people are unified, caring for their pastor, for one another, and even for strangers. “The spirit of ‘serve one another’ is there in my church,” Naambo says proudly. For instance, if there is a death in someone’s family, “You don’t need to worry—people come with everything to help, even though they’re not related, just the people of God from your church!” In all cases, people come “to offer every help they have, even with the little he or she has.”

The spirit of “ubuntu”, or togetherness, is real in Naambo’s congregation. “I need you, you need me, even though we are not related,” she explains. “Everyone is there for the other.”

Naambo embodies that gracious spirit of “ubuntu” on Wartburg’s campus. The connection of Wartburg and Namibia is still alive. God is at work, inspiring in us, as Naambo says, “togetherness.”

“You are not there for your own, but for each other.”


For more information, please visit the following:

Albinism in Namibia:

“Albinism: Rising above the odds” article from The Namibian 6/16/15

Namibian Lutheran Church:

The three church bodies are known as ELCRN, ELCIN, and GELC. World Council of Churches and the Lutheran World Federation websites offer overview information.

Wartburg Seminary is home to extensive archives about the history of Namibia’s independence and the Namibia Concerns Committee. Students have written their theses on the Wartburg-Namibia connection, and these theses can be found in Reu Memorial Library.



The Sunday before the mass shooting at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg, Oregon, Wartburg Seminary joined with Loras College, Clarke University and the University of Dubuque for a march and rally at UD. “Life is irreplaceable. End gun violence” was the theme. Dr. Jeremy Brigham, who had been at the University of Iowa during the mass shooting on that campus in 1991 and is now the Executive Director for Iowans for Gun Safety, was the main speaker saying that “Guns create a climate of fear.”

Professor David C Cochran of Loras College was one of the local professors to introduce the main speaker. Here are some of his opening remarks: “Human violence is complex. Innate aggression, brain development and impulse control, peer groups, cultural, and economic forces make it more or less likely. And that is why it can be difficult to address and make sense of showing violent acts. Gun violence shares these underlying complexities. Guns make it much easier to kill. They amplify violence and make it far more deadly.”

Cochran went on to say that gun violence is primarily a function of access to guns. “The United States with 4.5% of the world’s population has almost half of all civilian-owned guns so we shouldn’t be surprised when people use them to kill each other. Our rate of violent incidents is similar to other countries. We are not any more violent. What is different is the number of dead bodies that result. Homicide is much higher than comparable countries. Suicide is much greater; the success rate of guns (96%) is much higher than other methods (8% for poison). Mass shootings now has risen to an average of around one a day in 2015.” For more information, click here.

“‘Guns don’t kill people, people do’ is correct. People do kill people, which is why the more available guns are to people, the more we kill each other with them. The United States has made a choice. We have plentiful and accessible guns. By choosing this, we pay the price of more people dead than would be otherwise. In other countries people sometimes behave violently. We are unique in making it much more likely that there will be a gun around when doing so.”

Dr. Cochran is author of Catholic Realism and the Abolition of War (Orbis Books).

The students and professors marched with townspeople. Sponsoring organizations were Dubuque Coalition for Non-Violence, Dubuque Area Congregations United, Children of Abraham, and Dubuque International Day of Peace. They did not know that a few days later their contemporaries would be gunned down in Roseburg, Oregon. But they knew that in rural areas, small cities and urban metropolises everywhere, we are not safe from one another.  My taking a gun to class and students having a permit to carry a concealed weapon will not make our campuses safer.  Together we marched.  Together we talked, and listened, and planned and took action.  We can be dangerous to one another.  Or together we can act and change things in this country.

THE GAIN OF THE LOSS — HONEST ADVOCACY by Alexandra Hjerpe, 2nd Year MDiv Student

I have the choice to walk away from here: That is part of why I keep returning.

Cars, people and crumbling autumn leaves bluster on by the windows of the shelter, not minding the world around them, unaware that the lives of the people inside have lurched to a sudden stop. I hear the tick of a clock as I pass my mop over the creaking, wooden stairs. This sound is the evidence that time is indeed moving; otherwise, it is as if the whole shelter, as well as the women and children who take refuge here, have been crystallized in amber.

Time passes slowly, and does not heal all wounds.

I’m here at the shelter for my weekend shift as an advocate for victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. It’s a part-time, paid job that involves tasks of maintaining a safe-house shelter and current residents, as well as responding to a crisis hotline for future residents. It’s also is a full-time, costly job that requires a certain sacrifice of trust, and loss of control, in humanity.

Trust often requires a kind of the will to not notice.

As a shelter advocate, I often find myself struggling to balance in a tension between practical restraint and compassionate openness when interacting with residents. On one hand, these individuals are highly resourceful, frequently dishonest, and every bit the survivors forged from the worst of experiences. On the other hand, these residents are persons who deserve the greatest attentiveness, honor and empathy of any God has created, and each were formed of, and will return to, the same dust to which I shall also return.

It could be me, living in this house. It could be Christ, bearing these open wounds.

Many of the people who take refuge at the safe-house would otherwise be homeless. Supported by donations of local community organizations, the shelter provides basic health supplies to these individuals that have been otherwise denied. I never knew it could be empowering to allow a woman to choose the color and size of her pajamas and slippers. I did not realize that it was a privilege of personhood for a child to have his own fresh toothbrush and toothpaste.

There are so many small, ordinary pieces of personhood that we do not know we own until we experience someone with impoverished autonomy.

Once in a while I have the opportunity to sit down with a resident in my office, offer him or her a cup of water, and listen to their story. Never offered an objective ear prior to the shelter, these persons may be long overdue for a time to express feelings, and become emotionally explosive: shivering with tremors of anxiety, churning with long-suppressed anger, or flowing with open facets of grief.

While these moments are a privilege, I cannot say they are a gentle blessing, inspirational, or personally intimate; they are frightening, painful, and very difficult to hear. I cannot underscore this loss enough, and urge you to not glamorize advocacy as you imagine the scene. Instead, I can feel my own Self and soul stirring, desiring to provide, as I listen—and then, compassion takes the form of an objective, silent listener, who will provide a tissue or a hand, upon request.

Part of advocating for the powerless means an intentional release of your own power and need.

I find this submission of my desire to comfort, provide advice, and to generally “fix” things to be the most challenging part of my work as a shelter advocate. The recognition of my innate privilege–and the loss that comes with realizing that others do not share this privilege!–conjures in me a mixture of guilt, shame, sadness and anger. Yet, feelings are messengers. Yet, this emotional energy is signaling my Soul to work: it is transformed into action, in which I engage the reality of privilege, and put it to work, per the context. With these persons who have been traumatized by the violence of physical – and truly, a deeply spiritual– abuse, the task required of an advocate is a release of his or her own choice, own need, and own power in a situation. Then, one may watch in wonder as a space opens up for bruised people to breathe on their own.

It is a marvel to help others realize that they indeed have a voice, and a choice, and a Soul that is precious, and worth holding on to.

This is the gain of the loss for the shelter advocate: that you pause, so that others may become.