(May 4, 1934 — March 2, 2026)
Sunday, June 7, 2026
Bethlehem Lutheran Church
Los Alamos, NM
MATTHEW 25.31-40
31 Ὅταν δὲ ἔλθῃ ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐν τῇ δόξῃ αὐτοῦ καὶ πάντες οἱ ἄγγελοι μετ’ αὐτοῦ, τότε καθίσει ἐπὶ θρόνου δόξης αὐτοῦ·32 καὶ συναχθήσονται ἔμπροσθεν αὐτοῦ πάντα τὰ ἔθνη, καὶ ἀφορίσει αὐτοὺς ἀπ’ ἀλλήλων, ὥσπερ ὁ ποιμὴν ἀφορίζει τὰ πρόβατα ἀπὸ τῶν ἐρίφων,33 καὶ στήσει τὰ μὲν πρόβατα ἐκ δεξιῶν αὐτοῦ τὰ δὲ ἐρίφια ἐξ εὐωνύμων.34 τότε ἐρεῖ ὁ βασιλεὺς τοῖς ἐκ δεξιῶν αὐτοῦ, Δεῦτε, οἱ εὐλογημένοι τοῦ πατρός μου, κληρονομήσατε τὴν ἡτοιμασμένην ὑμῖν βασιλείαν ἀπὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου·35 ἐπείνασα γὰρ καὶ ἐδώκατέ μοι φαγεῖν, ἐδίψησα καὶ ἐποτίσατέ με, ξένος ἤμην καὶ συνηγάγετέ με,36 γυμνὸς καὶ περιεβάλετέ με, ἠσθένησα καὶ ἐπεσκέψασθέ με, ἐν φυλακῇ ἤμην καὶ ἤλθατε πρός με.37 τότε ἀποκριθήσονται αὐτῷ οἱ δίκαιοι λέγοντες, Κύριε, πότε σε εἴδομεν πεινῶντα καὶ ἐθρέψαμεν, ἢ διψῶντα καὶ ἐποτίσαμεν;38 πότε δέ σε εἴδομεν ξένον καὶ συνηγάγομεν, ἢ γυμνὸν καὶ περιεβάλομεν;39 πότε δέ σε εἴδομεν ἀσθενοῦντα ἢ ἐν φυλακῇ καὶ ἤλθομεν πρός σε;40 καὶ ἀποκριθεὶς ὁ βασιλεὺς ἐρεῖ αὐτοῖς, Ἀμὴν λέγω ὑμῖν, ἐφ’ ὅσον ἐποιήσατε ἑνὶ τούτων τῶν ἀδελφῶν μου τῶν ἐλαχίστων, ἐμοὶ ἐποιήσατε.
“When the Son of Man comes in his glory and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world, for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’
“When Was It?”
The year was 1984. Three Pastors of the Rocky Mt. Synod (Lutheran Church in America) [the predecessor of our Evangelical Lutheran Church in America] were gathered together in the old “choir room” of Christ Lutheran Church in Santa Fe. The three Pastors were: Richard Magnus (then Assistant to the Bishop of our Synod), Larry Wright (Senior Pastor of St. Paul’s in Albuquerque), and myself.
We three formed the Search Committee of our Synod for the first Director of the soon to come into existence Lutheran Office of Governmental Ministry (now entitled Lutheran Advocacy Ministry — New Mexico).
There were two candidates for the Office: a retired Pastor from Albuquerque, and a lay-woman from Los Alamos. Both of the candidates were qualified, both of the candidates were active in the Church, well-known in ecclesiastical circles, and interested in the position.
When the triumvirate of Clergy had finished our interviews, we sat and contemplated. After a while, I spoke up: “I know both of these candidates very well: and I probably should recuse myself from the decision — but since I know them well, perhaps I’m completely impartial to the matter. However, if we do not choose Nima Ward to be the Director of the Lutheran Office of Governmental Ministry, it will be one of the worst decisions the Church has ever made.
Thus, Nima, became the Director. Her first office room was that dark and ill-lit choir room, which had no window. Shortly thereafter she moved into what had been the Pastor’s Office at Christ Lutheran Church, the Pastor being moved into a new office when a remodeling project was complete. Our desks were precisely 12 paces (one for each of the Apostles 🙂) from each other. Our hearts were aligned to the ministry of the Church. But, Nima’s heart was aligned to the parable which you heard read to you from the Gospel According to Matthew — the so called “Sheep and Goats” Parable, but the point of the story is found near the end where the metaphorical King is separating people from each other (like a shepherd separates sheep from goats) and deciding who will come into his metaphorical realm. Listen again:
Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’
This story not only formed the ministry of the first Director of the Lutheran Office of Governmental Ministry — it was at the center of her whole life. The 16th Century Martin Luther would call it “life for others”.
For Nima, it was a life for family, friends, strangers, those in need, the sick, those in prison (literally so) — a life for Church and World, a life and a voice and a heart for those in the world and before others especially the Government, have little or no voice, not much life, and a faltering heart.
One day she summoned me the 12 paces from my desk to hers and beckoned me to have a seat in the chair opposite her desk.
“Tomorrow,” she began, “at the Round-House [our State Capitol building] in the Rotunda there will be a gathering of advocates and legislators and lobbyists to speak to the bill that is coming up in both houses that deals with civil-rights legislation in our state protecting especially LGBT folks from discrimination in hiring, housing, and life. I want you to be one of the Speakers tomorrow.”
“What‽” I exclaimed a bit too loudly.
“Passsttor,” she drew out the word, “You know you are a deep support of all this, the movement, the people, listen to your own Sermons!”
“Nima,” I protested, “You know I don’t like to speak in public.”
“You do it every Sunday,” she said.
“That’s different,” I argued. “It’s in the Church, and besides I have a wooden pulpit that protects me from everyone.”
Nima laughed. “Didn’t you tell me once that one of your Ordination Vows was to make the Gospel know in the world, in public?”
She added, “9 am sharp tomorrow, Rotunda, thanks. Be sure to wear your collar.”
There was silence. And it was “evening and morning” the next day.
I assumed there would be about 25 people in the Rotunda. There were hundreds, filling the Rotunda, overflowing out into the hallways, lined up and looking down from the railing of the floor above us.
I took my place among the speakers, and when it was time I went to the podium and said: “For those of us who are followers of Jesus, we learn that what we do in life is to draw a circle around ourselves and inside that circle is everyone we love and know and who are pretty much like us. It’s our comfort circle. And then what happens is that we notice outside the circle there are others, people who are not like us, people who are different, people who don’t think the way we do maybe, or dress differently, or live differently. And what we see is that Jesus is over there with those people outside our circle and he is asking us to join him there.
And so what we do is say, “Well all-right, I’ll include those people as well, and we draw the circle a bit larger.
And then we notice that Jesus is standing again outside our new circle with some other folks — maybe they’re poor, maybe they’re sick, maybe they’re in prison, maybe they’re gay, maybe they’re just different. And Jesus then asks us to come and join him, and so we do, and we draw our circle even larger still.
And on and on it goes, we are always being called not just to tolerate, but to welcome, to include, to understand, and to love all those around us, and to vote for a bill that will make that possible for everyone in our state. Period.”
I sat down. There was applause. I was surprised. And there was Nima who smiled with her famous twinkle and nodded.
Sister Nima I used to call her. That began when our Synod had small gatherings in various towns and cities called Kirchentag (Church Days). Nima and I drove together to these various places in North New Mexico and when we stopped in some little village on the way to Durango to have lunch and looking at the people in the cafe looking at us, me with a collar, I said, “Nima, in these parts when a priest is traveling with woman, she is always a nun, so you are now Sister Nima” — and just as the wait person arrived at our table, I said, “Sister and I would like to order lunch.” Thereafter, forever, it was Sister Nima.
Sister Nima not only explained the new Office of Governmental Ministry (which in the beginning you may recall was using World Hunger Funds of the LCA to get started, and some people were more than a bit outraged that we were using that money to be advocates. Nima explained it so well, saying that using those funds to bring legislation into our states to actually provide programs of food and health and wellness is probably one of the most appropriate uses right now.
Ministry of the Church is Ministry of the Church. It is not a concept or an ideal or a thought or even a dream — it is an action.
Nima was the verb in the Ministry.
She was a teacher (always). She taught others not just the love of learning and wisdom, but the love of what in the Church we call “the gospel, the good news” of God of Jesus of the Spirit the Presence of God.
She did that because she herself was called outside her circle to bring there peace and hope and love.
One time she went to a spiritual Retreat. When she returned she told me what she had learned. She said, “we used Psalm 46, verse 10.”
Now, you may know that Psalm 46 is the basis of Martin Luther’s Reformation Hymn: Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott. “A Mighty Fortress is our God.” But in the 10th verse of the Psalm are these words, “Be still, and know that I am God.”
Nima explained that what she did for her prayer that entire weekend was to pray this verse, in the following manner:
“You begin,” she said, “with the whole sentence: Be still, and know that I am God. And you sit silently and quietly and meditate upon those words, that sentence.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“For as long as it takes,” she answered. “And then you pray, “Be still, and know that I am for another while. And then, Be still, and know. And then, Be still. And then, simply and quietly, Be.”
“It changed my life,” she said.
And so it did. And so are we — by the One who calls us outside our circles, by the One who called Nima to teach us that, by the One who in our grief and sadness and mourning, brings a twinkle and a nod, and with it a promise of endless life with the Eternal.
Be still, and know that I am God.
Be still, and know that I am.
Be still, and know.
Be still.
Be.
Amen.
Deo Gratias (+)
The Rev. Benjamin Larzelere III
Retired
Nota(ble) Be(n)e 