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Beloved Siblings in Christ,
The Christmas holiday was slow and peaceful in our house, a welcome change of pace for certain. But as soon as we turned the calendar to the new year, life accelerated at a breathtaking pace. Forgive me for not writing sooner. I am finally in a space to reflect, and I want to share some observations about what I have been seeing and experiencing in these first weeks of 2026.
At the beginning of January, I joined a group of bishops traveling to Israel and Palestine to meet with our partners in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Jordan and the Holy Land (ELCJHL). It was my third visit to the Holy Land; each time I return changed.
I continue to learn about the complex and painful history of Israel and Palestine. I also recognize that I engage in this history from a place of privilege. I can return home. I can “lean out” when the weight of the story becomes too much. Our partners cannot. This time, I came home carrying firsthand stories of daily life under military occupation—stories that are no longer abstract or distant to me.
What follows is not a political analysis, but a pastoral reflection: what I witnessed in Palestine, what I am witnessing at home, and where I sense the church may be called to respond.
Many may not realize that the ELCJHL is almost entirely Palestinian, with most of its congregations located in the West Bank. During our visit, we traveled in and out of the West Bank through military checkpoints. A bus full of American bishops passed through with relative ease; Israeli forces did not board our bus once.
On the day of Bishop Haddad’s installation in Jerusalem, we arrived without incident and were ready for the service. Parishioners from local congregations were not afforded the same experience. Many were delayed for hours at checkpoints. Even the bishop’s mother was detained at gunpoint for an additional hour. What was meant to be a day of joy and celebration was marked by tension and humiliation. The service was delayed. The reality of life under military control could not be set aside, even for worship.
Violence in the region continues to rise. Restrictions on movement and ongoing land disputes further strain relationships between Palestinians and Israelis. These realities are deeply complex. And yet what struck me most was not only the hardship, but the resilience of faith demonstrated by our Lutheran siblings.
The Evangelical Lutheran Church in Jordan and the Holy Land knows clearly what its mission is: to proclaim good news. Despite shrinking numbers and enormous pressure, congregations continue to operate schools and universities, social service ministries, health care services, youth programs, and community initiatives. Their witness is nothing short of remarkable. They remain committed to peace and to the hope of a future where both Palestinians and Israelis can live in safety and dignity.
While we were overseas, events unfolding in the United States weighed heavily on our hearts. News of violence and heightened immigration enforcement activity reminded us that suffering and fear are not confined to one region of the world.
Any time there are high-profile deaths or visible unrest in our country, we collectively experience grief and trauma. Many are asking what increasing immigration enforcement will mean for their communities. At a recent legal briefing for clergy, immigration attorneys shared concerns about how enforcement practices are being implemented and how quickly policies are shifting. In moments like this, anxiety rises—not only for those directly affected, but for entire neighborhoods.
For me, the center of this issue is human dignity. Our faith teaches that every person is made in the image of God. To dehumanize or demoralize another person is to diminish something sacred. Scripture speaks clearly. In Leviticus—among the laws given to Israel—we hear: “You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” If we look back far enough in our own histories, many of us carry stories of migration. Following World War II, one in seven Lutherans in the United States identified as a refugee. Ours is not only a theological commitment; it is part of our story.
Our immigration system is complex and in need of thoughtful reform. As church, our role is not to draft policy, but to uphold human dignity, to accompany our neighbors, and to advocate for systems that reflect justice and compassion.
So what can we do?
In both of these global and local realities, we can do more than we might think.
First, we can deepen our engagement with our partners in the Holy Land. The ELCA’s SUMUD initiative, in partnership with the ELCJHL, works to raise awareness and encourage advocacy for Palestinians living in Gaza and the West Bank while supporting a just peace for all people in the region. A Lenten devotional written by bishops who participated in our recent trip is now available. SUMUD is forming synod-based teams across the ELCA, and I would like to convene one here in Southeastern Pennsylvania. If you are interested, please reach out to me and watch for more information in upcoming synod communications.
Second, we can prepare ourselves to respond faithfully to immigration concerns in our own communities. The ELCA’s AMMPARO strategy seeks to “surround those seeking asylum” with protection, accompaniment, and practical support as they navigate the legal process. I would welcome forming a synod-level team to help educate our congregations, build partnerships, and organize compassionate responses where needed.
None of this is about partisanship. It is about discipleship.
This spring, we will gather for our Synod Assembly under the theme Imago Dei—“made in the image of God.” Throughout our time together, we will celebrate the beautiful diversity woven into creation and reflect on what it means to share a common, sacred identity. To affirm that every person bears the image of God challenges us. It calls us to resist systems of hatred and violence. It calls us to build up the body of Christ in our congregations, our communities, and our world.
The work of building God’s reign continues. I am deeply grateful for disciples like you who join in that holy work.
Soli Deo Gloria,
+The Rev. Bryan Penman, Bishop
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