2025 Milwaukee Area Fall Frenzy Race Report

2025 MAFF Race Report

            2025 was my third time doing the Milwaukee Area Fall Frenzy Adventure Race. In 2023, I raced with my buddy, Richie, in the 8-hour division. Then, in 2024, I raced solo in the 18-hour for my first ever 18-hour race. I finished middle of the pack and figured that was a good baseline to try to exceed for 2025. So, the first goal was to get more CPs than last year—which was 43. The second goal was to finish in the top 2 in the solo male division. The ultimate goal was to finish top 3 overall, but that would be a big ask with Rib Mountain Racing and Good Job in the race. Basically, it was a question of having the perfect day and finishing 3^rd behind those two.

Preparation and training:

I always assume there is going to be more time to train than there is. I set these training plans that max out at 7-8 hours per week as if it is going to happen, but it's never been reality yet. I have three kids at home and a very full-time job. Weekends are family time, so I rarely do much on the weekend, so training happens an hour here and there during the week with maybe an hour or so on Sunday. I have made peace with the fact that when I am setting a training plan it is the ideal and if I hit 50-75% of the time and mileage, it’s going to be fine.

With that said, I had a decent build-up to MAFF by my standards. I started training in earnest in mid-August with an 11-week build and I averaged 4-5 hours per week of activity. I would typically try to have one 2+ hour training session each week, which may be nav training, trail running, biking, or maybe a combination of all the above. I tried to bike at least once per week for 1-3 hours and train on foot 3-4 times per week with shorter speed workouts mixed in with long, endurance runs and navigation training hikes. I only paddled a couple times—mostly because it’s a lot of time and effort to arrange point to point paddles on our rivers here in the driftless. A normal week looked something like this:

·       1- long 2+ hour effort

Examples 30-50 mile gravel bike rides or 6-10 mile off-trail nav training

·       2 speedy 30-60 minute workouts

Examples are 4-6 mile progression runs on trail or track, 3 mile max effort runs, or interval training

·       1-2 easy workouts

These covered everything from family hikes to slow runs to adventure course vetting to bike rides with the kids.

I felt my overall fitness leading up to MAFF was strong on the endurance end but was not as good on the speed front. I was getting great numbers on endurance runs, treks, and long bike rides. I ran the Backbone 10k Trail Race in mid-October a minute faster than last year. But on the short end, I wasn’t quite where I was in June when I ran a 5k in 22:40 (which was as fast as I’ve gone since the pandemic). So, I was cautiously optimistic I had the right kind of fitness for MAFF, but I’m not experienced enough to really know yet.

Race Prep:

The first--and most important--thing to know about MAFF is that they always set a course that is impossible to clear. Often, the first place team gets 60-75% of the checkpoints and mid-pack teams may get 40% or fewer. That means this is a race with a very particular kind of strategy. It is essential to maximize the easily accessible checkpoints and then determine which of the mid-range CPs offer the best strategical advantage.

We were told in the pre-race meeting that there would be roughly 40 miles of biking, up to 8 miles of paddling, and infinite trekking, i.e. more trekking than you could possibly do in an 18-hour race.

It was extremely helpful to hear that we would be allowed both a gear box at the Start/TA 1 and a paddle bag at a later TA. The communication leading up to the race made it seem likely that we would be starting on foot with a bike leg to follow, which meant we would have some added flexibility around clothing. I changed my mind about what I was going to wear several times on the day of the race. The weather was looking cool (down to 35 overnight) and potentially wet—or at least wet enough that the undergrowth would be making us wet all day—so I packed my TA 1 box with a full change of my warmer clothes and started the race expecting to be mildly underdressed. Then, I added a layer at the last minute and ended up a bit overdressed. I took things in and out of the gear box right up until the race start.

In my box at TA 1, I had a full set of clothes, including two jacket options, my newer Altra Lone Peak 9 shoes (as I elected to wear older Altra Lone Peak 7s for the first leg), and then a whole host of food, a jug of water, bike repair gear, and first aid items, just in case. In my paddle bag, I put another change of clothing—mostly fall-type, slightly warmer weather light jackets and base layers—which ended up being a slight misstep, but more on that later. I also had more food and water in the paddle bag alongside my actual paddle gear.

Punching the Start Control at 9:57 p.m.

Leg 1: Mountain Bike single-track and lots of trekking

The race began with a multi-discipline stage with three integrated trek loops and a mountain bike. We could tackle these in any order, and co-race director Ben was very clear that they expected us to take around 8 hours on this leg alone—which is a pretty mighty chunk of an 18-hour race for Stage 1 of 11 or so (!).

As far as I was concerned, this was a perfect first stage for me. I quickly settled on doing the 3-ish mile mountain bike loop first for two main reasons. 1) At the Race Start, it was the warmest and driest it was going to be, and 2) I wanted to be the absolute freshest I could be for the single-track—both so I could enjoy it and preferably not crash on it. Still, on that first bike segment, I found myself riding very cautiously so as not to hit a rock and flat. I did have fun, though—maybe the most fun on adventure racing single-track I ever have. I was completely alone (only 1-2 other teams elected to ride first) so I got the track to myself in the dark. Also, it was nice to ride fresh! Better still, I had three easy points in 30 minutes to get the race started. I didn’t know it at the time, but it would be another 2 hours before I would get my next three!

My enjoyment of the course quickly faded on the trek. I collected CP 1, but this was already a strange moment because I hadn't intended to collect CP 1 first all. In fact, my planned route was to head south on the ski trails to CP 2 and then head back north to CP 1 and CP 3 on my way up to Bald Bluff, which had five CPs on the northern end of the trek. In fact, my original plan was to do a large loop not return to the TA at all until it was over. However, I forgot the plan in the first two minutes on the course (even though I wrote it down on the map and highlighted it). The problem for me now was that CP 2 was considerably easier to attack from the ski trails to the west. I knew this--even at the time--because this CP location was used LAST YEAR! I literally made it there last year! But this time I couldn't bring myself to return the way I came and instead I set off through endless tangles of multi-floral rose in the wrong direction. In all, I spent a half hour or more searching for CP 2 in the wrong area, and then I gave up and moved on. This was certainly the right call by this point--there would be plenty more CPs on the course--but I was both frustrated and worried that I missed on the first NAV point that required even a modicum of skill to find!

Red is where I went wrong and ended up circling.

 

Once I gave up on CP 2, I headed west toward the John Muir trail section:

These points were fairly straightforward (in theory), because they were largely adjacent to trails. I hammered out CP 23 before turning down toward CP 22. From the intersection of the green and white trails to the SW of CP 22, I got a bearing and made my way to the hilltop. The good news? I knew exactly where I was. The bad news? CP 22 was nowhere to be seen. Another team (the Wandering Wicks) had just climbed up from the north and they were equally bemused. We walked back and forth atop the hill, tracing the contours with no flag in sight. I was absolutely certain we were in the right place, so I gave up after only a few minutes, because I felt the control was either missing or misplaced and it wasn't worth it to go wandering. Instead, I headed off to the south after CP 21. 

I navigated well to CP 21--and thank God it was there because I was beginning to think I was worthless at this navigating business--but it was about now that my stomach was starting to turn. I was only 2:47 into the race (and I had only just collected my 6th point!), and I was starting to feel miserable. I stopped jogging and tried to hike fast along the trails, hoping my stomach would come back around. I also made the call to return toward TA1 and assess from there, skipping a couple points I had planned to get (CPs 20, 19, and 9). Instead, I collected CP 8, which was way harder to find than it seemed it should be. The clue said "Bottom of slope / edge of water" but let me tell you, that flag was not remotely visible as you walked along the edge of the water. I was pleased to find it at all, but I spent five minutes crawling through brambles to do it and my feet got a little wet (which I was eager to avoid if at all possible). Finally, I collected CP 4 (easily, thank God), and then headed back along the trail system to TA 1.

This was the low point of the race for me. I typically live on fruit snacks and M&Ms in adventure races. I'm Type-1 diabetic, so sugar is essential to keeping me moving--even more than your average adventure racer--but I found the fruit snacks completely unappetizing already. Also, it was 4 hours in and I had a grand total of only 8 points. I had budgeted for 3 points per hour--and frankly, I expected to be ahead of that pace on the first trek, since there were few points available on bike legs. Simply, I was feeling beat up. But I also knew that it was a fool's errand to leave without getting at least CP 3, so I set back out for the north, thinking I may only get one more point on this stage (and frankly, feeling like I was having a helluva bad start).

But the thing about Adventure Racing is that pretty much every feeling is temporary:

The red arrow marks my second nav error of the race

By the time I reached CP 3, something had changed. I felt much more alive and ready to go. I still didn't really have my legs under me and my blood sugar was still teetering on the low end of the acceptable range, but I was tolerating isotonic gels (which was a great sign!) and I felt like I could go for the five CPs up at Bald Bluff even if it took close to 2 hours to get up and back. So, I set to hike up the road, which was at least straightforward and fast. In all, it only me less than an hour and a half to collect four of the points and return to TA 1. 

I had planned to collect CP 24 as well, but I missed to the east and I wasn't sure enough of my position to go after it. At this point, my blood sugar was becoming a concern once more. This was also why I didn't go after CP 6, even though it was near the road. I had only fruit snacks and gels in my pack, which I could not bring myself to eat, which meant my blood sugar was creeping downward into the danger zone. I knew there was sausage and waffles back at the TA, and by this time, that sausage was my siren call drawing me southward. I would not eat another bite until I got that sausage!

When I reached TA1 for that final time, 6 hours and 30 minutes had passed since the race start and I only had 13 points. That was--how shall I say?--an awful rate. The good news? I knew I had some considerably easier points ahead of me! The better news? I was quickly full of sausage and clean, dry clothes.

Legs 2 - 5:

I ate five sausages and two waffles with hot apple cider at the TA, spending nearly 30 minutes in transition. This was slow but also a smart choice--I had to fix the blood sugar. Thankfully, the food worked its magic, and as my blood sugar rose, so did my spirits. I got that fresh change of clothes, filled my hydration pack, used the bathroom twice, and readied my bike. Then, I set off, feeling not great but better--and at this point, I was happy to settle for "better."

Bike legs 2 and 4 with a short trek at Eagle Oak in between

My legs were tired on the bike, but I kept moving at a fairly good pace up to TA2 at Emma Carlin where I would collect CPs 89 and 88 before moving on. I jogged the Ice Age Trail to those points and then quickly returned to the bike without wasting much time in the TA. Quickly, I was heading for TA3 at Paradise Springs. The roads were straight with rolling hills, and I found myself keeping a nice, steady pace with a sustainable effort.

Paradise Springs was a fun one, featuring some historic structures, a dam, a pond, and straightforward navigation -- for a very quick set of 5 CPs.

5 CPs in 15 minutes can turn that pace around real quickly!

After Paradise Springs, I now had 20 points and I was just over halfway done -- 9 hours in. To some extent, this shows the foolishness of ever trying to ration CPs effectively at a race like MAFF. There are simply times where you can get a lot of points very quickly and other times when the best strategy is to a spend a lot of time getting an extra point or two--and it is very difficult to find the right balance.

Still, I was well on track to have sufficient time to get all the low-hanging fruit CP clusters on the course. Missing these five CPs at Paradise Springs would have been a strategic disaster, but there were more opportunities like this coming later, and I would have to be on the ball to make sure I had enough time to hit them all.

Legs 6 - 7: Biking to and trekking at Scuppernong

The bike ride between Paradise Springs and Scuppernong was the first time on the course when I felt REALLY strong. I was ticking off the miles and riding confidently. My legs were staying loose and I was climbing hills without much trouble. It never ceases to amaze me when I feel stronger as a race goes on, but it happens surprisingly often--at least when I stay fueled and keep the blood sugar up. In fact, it's happened to me to some degree in every 12-plus hour race I've done, but never quite to the extent that I felt it at this edition of MAFF. I was moving quickly and eagerly northward, and I felt like I was gaining places in the standings with every hour that passed. The results in the end showed that this was exactly right.

One wrinkle to the course was that the paddle TA 5 would not open until 10 a.m.-- 12 hours into the race. From Scuppernong, I expected it would take me a bit over an hour to bike the 13 miles to the paddle TA. So, when I reached Scuppernong at 7:51 a.m., I had an hour at minimum to spend and I quickly decided that there were four points worth getting in that time. To be honest, I had only marked one point at Scuppernong (CP 40) as a must collect. I figured the 4 points would likely take me a bit over an hour, but that was alright--I didn't need to arrive RIGHT when the paddle TA opened.

4 CPs worth getting -- let's roll!

I should say at this point that I felt I was not only moving quickly, but I was making more smart choices. For one, I was surrounded by many of the top teams, which meant they agreed we were on a pretty smart pace to collect as many of the later points as possible. At Scuppernong, I ran into Rib Mountain Racing, Good Job, and Pyro--and I also navigated with the Adventure Girls to CP 42. It just so happened that these four teams and myself would finish 1st through 5th overall at the end of the day.

A correctable error to CP 34

At Scuppernong, my navigation was fine. The first CP (40) was an easy one atop a hill by the TA, while CP 42 required a bit of reasoning, which the Adventure Girls and I eventually figured out together, before I headed off to CP 43 and finally CP 34. I made a silly error at this point. I had just seen Rib Mountain Racing coming from the other direction and I assumed a game trail heading off to the north was where they had just come out, so clearly the CP must be down there! I went back and forth for 5 minutes unable to make sense of the terrain before deciding to go back to the trail. Then, I realized my mistake--I had not entered the woods at all where I thought. For the hundredth time in my adventure racing career, I reminded myself to stop thinking about what other people were doing. Once I figured out where I was, I quickly reoriented to CP 34 and hit it dead on. Then, it was back to the bike.

Leg 8: Bike to Lake Nagawicka

13 miles of road and paved trail

I don't usually like these longer road ride legs, but this day my legs were feeling good. I passed Good Job fixing a flat about a mile in and I set myself the goal: Don't get passed by Good Job on this leg again. Of course, that was no small feat. They are fantastic adventure racers and the three of them would be working together while I pedaled alone, but I was feeling motivated to press on. As it turned out, they did catch up to me just before the turn into Nagawicka, but I passed them again as they were checking their maps and I made my way into the TA just before they did--one achievement unlocked!

Leg 9: Paddle at Lake Nagawicka

The scene awaiting at Lake Nagawicka was something else. It was 10:40 a.m. and the 3-hour race was starting at 11. Participants were gathered in the parking lot, listening to directions and organizing gear. Meanwhile, I was changing clothes and readying myself for a paddle while the sky darkened and rain began to fall. The wind had also picked up considerably, making for the coldest conditions of the day. Suddenly, I didn't feel much like paddling. I made my way inside the shelter as 3-hour teams flitted about. I think many of them were wondering what the heck I was doing with my gear strewn about while the race was minutes away from starting. 

This was a pretty critical moment in the race--and I didn't appreciate it at the time. There were eight points available on the paddle, including CP 53, which was worth 2 points. 

I had originally intended on getting five or six of these points but with the worsening conditions, I was wavering. I didn't want to get caught out in the wind and rain in case the weather turned even sourer. This is one of those moments where I lack confidence in my own skills. The Adventure Girls went full force into this section, collecting all the points. From the tracker info, it looks like it took them about 2 hours and 15 minutes to do so for a rate of nearly 4 points per hour. Those are points that would prove to be the difference, even though they skipped the easier Urban-Nav.

In the end, I elected for only two points, which I collected in less than half an hour. It was fun to paddle between the 3-hour teams, who had varying levels of paddling comfort. I can justify the decision to skip points here as a solo kayaker with uncertain weather, but I think this is one of those growth areas for me. I knew I should get more points. More to the point, when I was actually paddling I was not particularly cold--if anything, it felt good to be moving in a bit of a different way. Ultimately, though, my risk avoidance won out, and that unwillingness to risk it ended up being perhaps the single most significant reason that I ended up missing out on 1st place in the Open division.

Leg 10: Trek at Nagawaukee

Finally, some easy nav!

It's hard to express how welcome it was to have straightforward, quick nav points at this point in the race! The 8 checkpoints here took me only 30 minutes, as I was able to do a fair amount of running. In fact, I have never run/jogged so much 12+ hours into a race as I did on this leg. As I approached the final CP (55), the heavens opened and it started to rain more heavily--much more-so than was forecasted. If anything, this encouraged me to keep moving quicker. 

Once complete, I returned to the warming shelter where I ran into team ROarR for about the fourth or fifth time on the day. I really do enjoy the structure of this race from the standpoint of seeing teams on course. I ran into Rib Mountain Racing two or three times just at Nagawaukee; I also saw Good Job and Pyro and I caught the Adventure Girls coming off the water. At some races with a clearable course, I only ever see the few teams around me--here, it felt like I was running into everybody!

I spent a few extra minutes in the warming shelter filling water bottles with 20 oz cokes from a vending machine. If I have a single gear pro tip, it is to always have a debit card and a little cash with on these races. You never know when you will have the chance to buy something that you are going to desperately want! I put on my last dry clothes at this time. I chatted with Ariel and John from ROarR, who set out just before me, and I told them (as much as I was telling myself) that this was the last break. I had about 3.5 hours left and it was go-go from here!

Leg 11- Urban Nav and Mountain Bike Course

The Urban Nav MTB in Delafield was pretty straightforward. It involved collecting answers to questions at various locations and then presenting an alpha-numeric code back at Race HQ deciphered from the correct answers. Some of the questions were slightly confusing, but I also figured if I got it wrong there might be some grace (since others around me were occasionally interpreting differently than I was). I was surrounded by 3-hour teams on this section, which was welcome for my sanity. I even ran into fellow Iowans, the Meandering Moms, who drove up from the Cedar Rapids area to do the race and then drove back on the same day!

I was still feeling fairly strong at this point and truly never felt eager for the biking to end. This was a significant change from most longer adventure races . Usually, I am hoping that the next hill is the last for the final couple hours of every bike ride! I knocked off the MTB course quickly, collecting five more points, plus the 3 points available from the Urban-Nav (apparently I did have the correct answer). 

The final trek:

So, I reached the finish line and had only to collect as many points as I could from the final trek at Lapham. Even though this is the format for MAFF every year -- and you can pretty much mark it down for the future that there will be a big trek at Lapham to finish in 2026 -- nevertheless, I really enjoy this way of finishing the race. It's challenging navigation--it's big hills--and you know exactly how long you have to collect as many points as you can.

The other thing I've come to realize with this trek nav is that it is always harder than I think it will be, because I am extremely tired by this point. On this day, it was not so much that my legs were dead--I was still jogging and hiking a bit slower than before but at a decent pace. No, the bigger issue was with my head. I simply could not navigate as well 16+ hours into the race. This was my experience this year, and last year it was particularly evident when I left myself over 3 hours and got maybe 8 points? This is another growing area that I assume will get better the more I do this... or maybe it won't? Somebody with more experience will have to tell me.

Before I started the trek, however, there was a special task involving pace counting at the Race HQ, which was worth three points. I was aided by a small army of 3-hour racers and the young girl who was in charge of the task, as they were all making their way from point to point. I simply followed them and didn't have to do much of anything at all. Those were the easiest three points of the day, and at this point, I was very grateful for the help. 

Once complete, I had 1 hour and 45 minutes and this challenging nav ahead of me. I set a course with seven points in mind, but I also felt content at this point no matter the number I got.

Below is the track I ended up walking:

The first few checkpoints went well. I hit 69, 71, 72, and 73 without any trouble. Then, I set off toward CP 74 to the south. I started to see ghosts on the map and assumed I was on a super-secret trail that was taking me where I needed to go. In reality, I came to a trail intersection and completely misjudged where I was on the map. See the red circle below.

For some reason, I started going west at this point, which felt like a familiar hiccup on the final Lapham stage. Unlike the year before, however, I recognized my error fairly quickly and I made a snap judgement: I could try to reassess and attack CP 74 from that trail intersection again, but the truth was that I didn't know even then what route I would take, and it would take some time to make sure I was where I thought I was on the map. So, I elected to cut bait and shoot for CPs 70 and 78 instead before I ran out of time. I now had approximately 50 minutes and 3 points seemed like too big of an ask even if I hit them dead on.

So, I started back for CP 70 and found it without much trouble. One last success! 

From there, I intended to head back on the trail to the observation tower road and follow the contours to CP 78. But by this point, I was second-guessing everything, so when I reached the road, I didn't like the look of the undergrowth to my left and I thought, "Why not come at it from the north?" This was one of those really dumb decisions I find that I make 18 hours into a race. I knew the contouring would be easier, but still, I went down to go back up again. Worse still, when I went down, it was not completely clear where to come back up. So, I started to wander, which was a big worry with roughly 30 minutes left in the race.

As you can see on the tracker, I got mighty close:

But mighty close is not good enough, and so I had to give up on one last CP, which stung a bit. I had roughly 19 minutes to spare, so I could have potentially searched a bit more for this CP, but if I knew exactly where it was relative to me, I wouldn't have had to search for it in the first place. It's one of those catch-22s.

The Finish Line

All in all, I felt content with the result. As I ran down the road and the trail back to HQ, I knew there was more I could have done--I missed four CPs due to navigational errors. I could have gotten some more points on the paddle. While I felt reasonably fit -- and I certainly moved faster than the year before -- there's still plenty of room for growth from a fitness perspective. I came in a bit overweight. I didn't fuel perfectly. Nonetheless, I am thrilled to see how much I improved since 2024. I got 10 more points--I biked faster--I felt better--I jogged and even ran to the finish line. In 2024, I jogged/ran maybe 5 minutes on the whole course. This year, I jogged and ran on every leg of the race--at least on the downhills and many of the flats. I also felt like I had a pretty smart race. I made mistakes, but I recognized the errors quickly, and sure, I didn't fix all of them, but I made a choice and stuck with it. Sometimes that choice was to skip a point--and perhaps I could have searched longer--but the thing with MAFF is that there are a LOT of points out there and searching for one for too long is a critical error.

In the end, that's maybe what I'm proudest of: I didn't get hung up on my mistakes. Otherwise, I might still be out there looking for CP 2! Finally, I didn't give in when I felt bad. I stuck it out--hoping that I would feel better. On this day, I did feel better eventually, and that gives me a lot of confidence that the same will be true in the future. 

So, that was the result: 2nd out of 10 in the Open, 4th out of 14 overall. A really solid day. A great time in the woods. And I'm eager to race again!

Courageous Thomas is at it again

Sermon for Calmar Lutheran and Springfield Lutheran Churches

Scripture: John 20:19-31

            Why was Thomas not in the room with the disciples?

            For me, that question turned the doubting Thomas story upside down.

            What was Thomas doing?

            The disciples are in a house with doors locked “for fear of the Jews,” John says. The Jews—you may know—are their own people. The disciples were Jews; the chief priests were Jews; the ones who chose Barrabas over Jesus were Jews; and Jesus himself was a Jew. Besides Pontius Pilate and the Roman soldiers, everybody in the crucifixion scene was Jewish. The disciples are afraid of their fellow chosen people. What’s more, they are right to feel this way. They just crucified their own messiah.

            So, where was Thomas?

The most likely reason Thomas was gone in my eyes probably would have been our first guess if we knew him as “Courageous Thomas” and not “Doubting Thomas,” because I suspect Thomas had to be the one who was out braving the streets full of people who were looking for disciples. Thomas would have been the one in the market buying food and to the well to draw their water, and Thomas would have been the one sniffing out whether anybody was going to drag them off before Pilate next. Not only that, Thomas was alone—or at least none of the other male disciples were with him.

As far as I am concerned, the big question in this story is not about Thomas at all, but rather, why Jesus chose that moment to appear—when there was one disciple missing?

If we were pressed to guess the kind of people Jesus would appear to post-resurrection, I suspect we would pick the faithful and the courageous. I think most people believe that in the current times as well—that Jesus shows up to people who are faithful and courageous, perhaps even to the powerful given how many of our political leaders claim to have a special relationship with God. We do not act as if God comes to the ones huddled in fear—to the lowly and the little. I also suspect we assume this is how God works because this is how we would do it if we were God and not because scripture bears witness to God ever acting this way. Consider Jesus’ ministry: Who is he always going to? The least and the lost, the lowly and the belittled—a woman at a well, a Samaritan, the unclean, the poor, the sick. Some of those folks were courageous in their own way, but none of them were heroes, all of them were lacking in some obvious way. For that matter, Jesus called the disciples from among the rejects—young men who were not good enough to continue the study of the Torah, who instead were working as fishermen and tax collectors and builders, the blue-collar men of the day. I am hard-pressed to think of a single example of Jesus showing up to the powerful. Jesus always picked the outsiders!

Backbone Cave Stalagmites

Six-year-olds and love that will not compute

A sermon for St. Peter Lutheran Church, Oran; and St. John Lutheran, Buck Creek

Luke 9:28-36

The Gospel this morning begins by saying “About eight days after these sayings, Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray.” It begs the question: What were the sayings Luke was referring to?

It is worth noting what drove Jesus up the mountain, because when we pull one story out of Luke 9, the break-neck speed at which everything is happening quickly becomes evident. In Luke, chapter 9 alone, we begin with Jesus giving the disciples power to heal diseases and sending them to proclaim the kingdom of God, while ordering them to do so without taking any payment. Then, Herod shows up, wondering who this Jesus is. Then, Jesus feeds five thousand people; he asks the disciples who they think he is; foretells his rejection; and tells them what the kingdom of God will look like. Then, we have the transfiguration reading today. After this story, Jesus heals a boy, proclaims he will be betrayed, breaks up an argument between the disciples about who is the greatest, gets rejected trying to enter a Samaritan village, and finally says a whole lot of cryptic phrases that nobody really understands.

That is not a recap of the entire Gospel—just Luke 9. There is so much going on all at once in Jesus’ ministry. It’s a chaotic storm of activity. The only time things slow down—the only time they ever slow down—is when he heads up the mountain.

I feel that in my bones when I look at the world today. Everything is moving at breakneck speed. Things are hectic; they are scary; they are uncertain. Our lives are lived on the high speeds of the internet and the high speeds of the highway, receiving information and watching things fly by faster than ever. By the time we can digest what is happening now, it is gone. And as everything speeds up, requests turn to obligations, and obligations turn to orders.

That is one loud story, but it is not the story we hear on the mountain top.

Nine times in scripture, Jesus retreats to pray in a wild space, and at least three times, he heads for the mountain. How telling is it that Jesus, who spends his entire ministry moving at break-neck speed toward the cross, routinely retreats from the busy world to the mountain to pray! If Jesus does it, we must as well. Not out of obligation, as if God needs our prayers, but because it is the thing that will save us from a busy world bent on turning us into cogs in a machine. It’s a crazy world out there, and it is all too easy to lose sight of the face of God in our brothers and sisters when we are taught to view them as cogs in a machine. The transfiguration of Jesus is less about discovering that Jesus was holy—the disciples should already have known that! Every healing bore witness to it! Rather, the transfiguration reminds us that holiness is right in front of us if only we retreat from the busy world to see it.

Of course, the disciples don’t get it even when they see it face to face! Instead of marveling at what is holy, they make their encounter with God into an excuse for shrine-building, which is the danger what can happen at the mountain.

The mountain-top and the plain

A sermon for First Lutheran Church, Maquoketa on the occasion of their 100th anniversary and celebration of partnership with Ewalu.

Scripture: Luke 6:17-26

One thing I like to mention as a guest preacher—whenever I come into a congregation and the assigned readings are like today with some serious “woe to you” energy—that these are, in fact, the assigned readings for today and not my selection. So, now that we are off on a better foot, let’s get at it.

Today’s Gospel reading begins by saying, “Jesus came down [from the mountain-top] with the disciples and stood on a level place,” which is why Jesus’ message is sometimes called “The Sermon the Plain” in contrast to the Gospel of Matthew, which has a much longer (and more well-known) version called the Sermon on the Mount. At the risk of missing the point here, I want to spend a moment on the location before I jump into anything else, because I believe there is something important happening here—something that many of us may overlook who are able-bodied, adventurer-types who love the idea of climbing mountains.

            Perhaps you see the challenge of the sermon on the mountain already—maybe it was obvious to some of you, who are perhaps not as mobile as you once were. Jesus could preach about great reversals to the small crowd of disciples who ascended the mountain, but—in the words of an old Rich Mullins song—it would be about as useful as a screen-door on a submarine. Many of those who desperately need to hear about God’s great reversal could not make it up the mountain—those too old or unable to physically climb, those who have children in their care, those too weak from malnutrition, too sick, too tired. These folks are all back on the plain, hearing rumors of this Messiah. Jesus—like the church that follows him—goes to the people, because Jesus is always seeking out the least, the lowly, and the lost sheep. In the words of the great theologian Robert Farrar Capon, Jesus is interested in the least, the last, the lost, the lowly, the little, and the dead. Those are the ones Jesus will call blessed.

            I want to keep that dynamic of the great reversal and the sermon on the plain in mind as I turn for a moment to the mountain that is camp.

            At Ewalu, kids have the mountain-top experience of camping. They come to camp and some part of their self opens up under the open skies. The Holy Spirit—whose voice is often hard to pick up in our “normal” lives back home—speaks to us in the silence on the mountain-top of camp where we are quiet enough to listen. And it happens around the campfire—and it happens on the climbing wall, and in the river, and on a hike—in Bible study and in conversation, in making new friends and pushing our boundaries—in discovering new things about ourselves. Camp is fertile ground for the Holy Spirit to change lives. So, there is little surprise that camping ministry has the highest positive impact on developing future pastors in the Lutheran church—and has held that position as these trends have been studied. At camp, kids discover Christ, grow in faith, and become disciples. In many ways, it is the mountain-top of our church.

            But if Ewalu is only the mountain-top, then we have a problem, because Jesus does not stay there. Most of life is spent in the normal, day-to-day happenings of the plains and also in the valley of the shadow of death that we sing about in the 23^rd Psalm. We need a fabric of camp and congregation that bridges the experiences campers have out-there and makes them disciples for life back here, and then we need to develop a welcoming atmosphere where folks like you—who may have long since grown out of a stage where you would ever consider yourself a “camper”—nonetheless have a positive experience with a sacred space like Ewalu or another space you have found sacred, so that together we can follow where Jesus is leading us. Together, we get the privilege to bring the good news of Jesus Christ to Maquoketa and together we get to preach to folks in your congregation, in your community, and in your own house, and say: Blessed are you, who are poor. Blessed are you, who are hungry. Blessed are you, who weep.

Breaking the surface

A sermon for St. John Lutheran Church, Cedar Falls

 Luke 5:1-11

             I have a not-so-serious rule for preaching that every sermon needs Jesus and every sermon needs trout, so I should be good to go with this one. Fitting fish into the Good Samaritan story takes some gymnastics, I tell you, or last time I was here, I seem to remember the text was on divorce. No fish to be seen, though I could preach on that one again, if you’d like.

            No, today we have fish, so we’ll stick with this one. Not trout, mind you, but close enough.

            I love watching fish in the water. There is something holy about looking through that barrier between the airy world where we live and the watery kingdom where they are lords. We live in two realities, yet, as every fly fisherman knows, we see one another through the surface—where air and water meet. What we understand as normal—living in the world of breath-air-spirit—that Hebrew word, ruach, that means all those things—is only a partial world. It reminds me of the commencement speech given by David Foster Wallace at Kenyon College in 2005 called “This is water,” which begins with Wallace telling a story that goes like this:

There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says “Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes “What the hell is water?”

 

The danger of half a story

 A sermon for St. Paul Lutheran Church, Postville

Luke 4:14-21

In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus preaches a one sentence sermon. He reads Isaiah and then preaches, “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Nice, brief sermon. The problem with this break in the Gospel is that this is only half a story—and the other half of the story comes in next week’s readings when I won’t be with you. So, I could preach half a sermon or pretend that this scripture is only about Jesus as the fulfillment of Isaiah, but it does sort of lack a conclusion, doesn’t it? More to the point, it’s misleading: The way the reading is cut makes it almost seem like the people of Nazareth cheered and lifted Jesus up on to their shoulders and carried him out of the gym, like a basketball player hitting that game-winning three-pointer. It feels like that is where this is going.

The whole story—however—is something altogether different. At first, the people of Nazareth did love what Jesus was saying—they were eager to cheer on the local kid. After all, who doesn’t love a little pride in the hometown? Nazareth was small and easily overlooked, but the Messiah born in their midst? How about that! Jesus’ friends and neighbors had reason to believe he was going to lift them up and take Nazareth from nowhere to somewhere, and they feel this way right up until verse 24.

Then, Jesus says, “Truly, I tell you, no prophet is accepted in his hometown.” You can almost picture the peoples’ faces changing, can’t you? The trouble with getting people all riled up and excited is that you now have a mob ready to destroy you if you let them down. The cheers turn to rage, and the people of Nazareth—Jesus’ people—drove him out of town and ultimately attempted to murder him, the child that grew up in their midst, who was the Messiah, but not the messiah they wanted.

Now, I suspect Pastor Lynn might have some things to say on that part of the story next week, so I am not going to touch on the implications of Jesus preaching to the hometown crowd today. Rather, my sermon today is about the danger of half a story—and how camp helps bridge the gulf between two of the most challenging stories we face in life today.

The first story:

            This is the story of getting by in the United States of America in the year 2025. It is certainly not the worst time or place in history, but life here is not without its challenges. People are divided, especially around political beliefs, which drives division in churches and between friends and neighbors. Our young people are more aware of these divisions than ever, because they are more connected to the world around them than ever. With their phones in their hands, they are told who is wrong—they are told who to hate—they are told they are wrong—and they are also told they need to be skinnier, smarter, and funnier—they are told they must achieve more, must be more—they are told they are the problem, and they are told others are the problem. They are told in a thousand different ways every single day that they are not enough—and the problem is themselves or the problem is other people—and then they are hammered further by other Christians who use the Bible as a weapon to beat the life out of those who already feel beaten by the world around them.

            So, while in many ways life these days is nowhere near as hard as it has been at most other times in history, it doesn’t feel that way, especially to young people, as the expectations they are fed meet a reality that feels impossible. That is story #1.

The second story:

            This is the story of a God who came in Jesus Christ to save those who could not save themselves. This is a story of grace. It is also a story that runs so counter to the first story that it is increasingly easy to believe that all the principles of the first story apply to the second—that God helps those who help themselves; that we have to earn grace; that we have to accept it as true or believe it in the right way. The second story is a story that has become harder and harder to believe as we convince ourselves we are our own saviors—that God favors the powerful and looks down on the poor.

            In short, America in 2025 looks surprisingly like Nazareth two thousand years ago. We nod along; we cheer; then we crucify.

            Our young people may not have the words to express the cognitive dissonance between the story of the self-sufficient American ideal and the story of Jesus Christ, but they feel it. Boy, do they feel it. I think we all do. We face a very challenging question: How can we reconcile the world of achievement where we beat each other back in order to climb the ladder of success faster with the world of grace that proclaims that the first shall be last and the last shall be first?

            I tell you what most people have done—they have turned away from the church, but not for the reasons we so often cite. The prevailing sentiment is that church attendance has declined for some combination of factors involving sports or clubs replacing churches as the center of the community and people backsliding away from being good Christians. I want to suggest that our busy-ness is a symptom not of a lack of faith but a lack of connection, and I believe that people have turned away from the church because the church in the developed world has always been allied to the powers that be and those powers-that-be realized little by little, then increasingly rapidly, that they didn’t need the church anymore, and they gave permission to folks who never wanted to be part of the church anyway to no longer be.

            And our young people, who need grace as desperately as any of us, don’t see it in the church, because the church is just another extension of the first story. If you don’t feel this, that’s probably because you and your forebears helped cultivate the church into what it is today, and that has served you and your community well. For other folks—adults and youth and children alike, faith feels like just another obligation—just another thing to graduate from on their ascent up the treacherous mountain of success. And it doesn’t matter if we tell them otherwise, it still feels that way.

            So, we have two stories and one is winning, because we mostly don’t see how to bridge the chasm between achievement and grace.

            Enter camp.

            Now, this is all very convenient for the camp director to come in and say, so I want to be clear: I don’t want to pretend that camp is the lone solution to this problem or that camp is one-size-fits-all or perfect—it is far from it—and I also don’t want to suggest that we have some magical formula for creating good little Christians—we don’t. But I have to say: Ewalu is a place where people who are looking to challenge themselves encounter a world drenched in grace, and that combination of striving to leave our comfort zones and discovering the love of God does something to people. We proclaim grace, but not cheap grace—not the kind of grace that says, “just try your best and God will take care of the rest.” No, here we preach the kind of grace that does not shy away from death—that does not pretend we can fix everything. And kids discover it to be true not because we tell them it is, but because they already know it is. They encounter death and resurrection in the world around them. They get their hands dirty in the mud and their feet wet in the water and when they do, something cracks open, some part of them dies, and then they rise.

There is no end

Sermon preached at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church, North Liberty, IA

Scripture:  Mark 13:1-8

The last time I preached on this scripture it was March 29, 2020. I was a pastor in Northwestern Minnesota, and I was just figuring out how to livestream worship in an empty sanctuary for a physically distant congregation. I know time flies and all that, but I just want to pause a moment and give thanks that I am here with you in person—and to note how quickly we forget that that is not a given. The poignancy of apocalypse was palpable when I read this four years ago at the onset of the pandemic. Today, over four years later, some things have changed but not everything. It was the end of one way—but not the end of the end. In the end, there was a beginning.

            We don’t like this—we, human beings. We are wired with the belief that life should progress uniformly and linearly. We have an innate sense that as we move forward things should get better—life should improve—and it should get better and better and better. We don’t like that we are mortal, but mortality is OK if the world that lies ahead for our children and grandchildren is a better one. The problem is that sometimes the world does go backwards.

            I am torn about what to say about this, because in the span of human existence, life has generally gotten better. People in the world are living longer; we have found cures to many diseases and effective treatments to others; we have wealth and technology that our forebears even a hundred years ago could hardly have dreamed of, and, yet, we are also saddled with depression and anxiety; we are addicted to screens, fueled by angry people telling us who to blame for all of our problems. We are disconnected, even as we can more quickly talk with a human being across the planet than a person two hundred years ago could talk to a neighbor down the street. We are so, so, so busy—and afraid that if we ever step off the race track, we will fall behind and our children will fall behind. So, we don’t—and we move faster and faster—and we are only ever a moment from panic.

            Is it any wonder that in a world like this—fueled by anxiety—we are fascinated by apocalypse? We instinctively nod along with Jesus, speaking of wars and rumors of wars, of tearing down the temple, and we think, “Yeah, that’s what we need.” Anything to right this out-of-control ship that I’m riding through the rapids. But here’s the big secret: The apocalypse already happened. Two thousand years ago, it happened. Two thousand years ago, the end came, and the remarkable part of the story—the thing we so often forget, as overwhelmed by life as we can be—is that this end was just the beginning.

            I fully believe that the devil’s best work is to set our sights on an abstract not-yet reality when we have so much in front of us to love and cherish and hold dear. The devil takes our faith that Jesus Christ died for us and twists it into an obsession with the afterlife that allows us to ignore very real people who need our care right now. The freedom of a Christian is to look at a world that is scary and is big—a world that may even kill you—and to meet that world and say, “I’ve got this, because Jesus has me.” Then, we dive in, because while Jesus was prophesying the destruction of the temple, he was talking both about a building and himself, but in both cases, death was not the end. Good Friday led to Easter Sunday. Church as building transitioned into church as people—or at least it should be that way.