During
my first year at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, I was stopped on
my way to the library by a group of retired alumni who were visiting the
seminary. They were being shown around by a professor of mine, and they seemed
friendly enough. That is, until I introduced myself, prompting one of the older
pastors to remark, “McKenna? How does someone with a last name like McKenna end
up at a Lutheran school?”
I don’t remember exactly how I responded to such an asinine question. Most likely, I walked away after making some brief comment about how I didn’t grow up in this denomination but chose to be part of it as an adult. Looking back, I wish I had come up with a more snarky response. I had only identified as a Lutheran for about five years. The history class that covers Lutherans in America wasn’t for another two semesters, but this exchange was my first lesson. This was the moment I realized how ethnically entrenched our denomination can be. If a white guy like me can be made to feel othered in this church, imagine what people of color endure. If my All-American last name can seem out of place, what chance is there for people whose names signify Hispanic, Asian, or African heritage? And while we’re on the subject, what in the world does lutefisk have to do with the Lutheran doctrine of justification by grace through faith?
Despite that interaction outside the library, my heritage is a privilege. I know this, because it’s not something I have to think about on a daily basis. I get to choose how much I identify as an Irish-American, which is why when March 17th rolls around, I wear green like anyone else. That’s about it. Of course, when I’m feeling nostalgic I can always dig into my ancestry like it’s an extra-curricular research project or a fun puzzle to solve. But, such endeavors have little impact on the way I live my life.
Folks like me, whose families came to this country willingly before anyone had heard of the automobile, experience heritage as little more than traditions, celebrations, and food. We never have to worry about how our ethnic backgrounds might disrupt our future. Those who have come here more recently, though, worry about it every day.
Right now, a Lutheran pastor in our own Northern Illinois Synod is in that sort of daily struggle with his heritage. For him and his parishioners, their ethnicity is like a target on their backs. Worship attendance is down at the church because people are scared of being profiled in the streets and being taken by masked men in unmarked vans. Recent precedence reveals that the government could take away this pastor’s refugee status without cause and force him to return to a country where his life was in danger. They cannot hide their identities or forget where they came from. They can only hope that their chosen neighbors live with mercy and welcoming hospitality.
In our church and in our community, we are called to welcome all people with thoughtfulness and grace because we were once in need of that same kind of welcome. So, let us recognize that the thing that makes us Lutherans more than anything else is our trust in grace that is freely given by God, not because of who we are or what we have done, but because God loves us. And, let us share that same loving grace with all of our neighbors, as we work for a world where all are welcome.
Peace,
Pastor Chad McKenna
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