The pastorsingle-mom with a Ph.D.

Two Harbors woman finds peace after tragedy; theological retreat is her mission

by Alison Stucke

TheRev. Anna Madsen joined the Northland community in the summer of 2016, when she and her children moved into their dream house in Two Harbors and opened it to guests as a retreat center.

The Spent Dandelion Theological Retreat Center and its 20 acres sit on the spot where — word has it — in ancient days, the shores of Lake Superior ended. It includes an apple orchard, numerous hummingbird feeders, walking paths, tranquil surroundings, beautiful natural views and a studio apartment that houses two adults or a small family.

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Madsen and this peaceful setting provide guests with a place to hear God’s voice in quiet contemplation, as well as soothing walks among nature, readings from Madsen’s 4,000-volume theological library, and conversations with Madsen, a Lutheran minister with a Ph.D. in systematic theology, with an emphasis on the presence of God in human suffering.

“Somehow this place has a tangible restorative sense that seems as if it itself asks, ‘How are you broken, tired, or just need a bit of peace, and how can I provide it?’” Madsen said. “Restful quiet and healing can be found here; we can’t quite explain why, but it does.”

Journey included death and despair

In 2004, Madsen had everything she could dream of — a loving husband (who, like Madsen, was an ordained Lutheran minister), two healthy young children, a strong faith in God, an advanced degree in a field she loved, and an exciting teaching career awaiting her. She and her family were living in Regensburg, Germany, where Madsen had recently completed her Ph.D. The family was preparing to move back to the U.S., where Madsen had attained a teaching position at Augustana University in Sioux Falls, S.D.

Then, in an instant, right before they were to move, her life changed, and the dream she was living seemed destroyed. In Regensburg, her husband, Bill, and their 3-year-old son, Karl, were hit by a car. Bill died within five hours, and Karl suffered traumatic brain injury. Madsen was suddenly the single parent of Karl and 8-month-old Else. Karl needed multiple surgeries, and doctors told Madsen that he might not live. If he did live, he would never move, laugh, play, or communicate. Suddenly, death, despair and suffering took the forefront of Madsen ’s life. Suffering was no longer merely a field of study for Madsen — it was now her existence.

“It was a day that in every way changed everything,” Madsen said. “Before the accident, I didn’t understand persistent grief. After the accident, I could identify with suffering and sufferers; not just theoretically, or from a pastoral perspective, but by way of daily lived reality.”

But Madsen, a minister of the Evangelical Church of America, refused to let death win. She took the difficult realities of her new life, and, with God’s help and the help of friends and family, made good things happen. She used her new-found familiarity with suffering to help others who suffer.

Suddenly a single mom

First, she focused on getting Karl through the many surgeries, procedures and therapy sessions he needed, and on raising her two children as a single mom. Karl had to stay six weeks in the hospital’s intensive care unit, followed by six weeks in a rehabilitation center in the Alps. Thankfully, Madsen didn’t need to worry about those bills because of Germany’s universal health care.

After Karl’s release from rehab, Madsen and her children moved to Sioux Falls. Although she certainly didn’t feel ready to start working outside of the home, because Karl still needed a great amount of care, not to mention her baby daughter needing her mama’s attention, Madsen began her teaching job at Augustana only six months after the accident, mainly to get health insurance for herself and her children.

“It was a total culture and reality shock to learn that medical bills aren’t covered,” Madsen said, “or that more social support isn’t offered in South Dakota to people in rough circumstances, as was a matter of course in Germany — or,

Continued on page 12 as I’ve learned since our move here, in Minnesota.” As far as it affected her teaching, she noted, “The woman whom Augustana hired wasn’t the person who showed up to do the job. There was no way that I could offer the same attention and vigor to my teaching vocation as I had for years, or had wanted to give: My tiny girl was still nursing, my tiny boy was still barely in the land of the living, and, for that matter, the same could have been said of me. I had a family to heal, and it was impossible to do that amidst the claims, stresses and responsibilities of tenure track work.”

Given that, Madsen taught full-time at Augustana for 1½ years, but then became an adjunct instructor and taught parttime. Meanwhile, a new vocation began to take shape.

A new career path emerges: OMG and The Spent Dandelion

“After the accident, I had all sorts of people asking me questions about God,” Madsen said. “They’d say, ‘I’ve been wondering about God and …’ then they’d fill in the blank with any number of options: divorce, politics, vocation, addiction, different religions, different denominations, abuse, forgiveness. Maybe it was because they perceived, perhaps even before I did, my own post-accident receptivity to ambiguity, to uncertainty, to doubt. Slowly it dawned on me that people had questions about God, but they weren’t aware it was OK to ask them, or they didn’t have a place to ask them in a sustained and personalized way.”

Madsen realized that with her education in theology and ministry, as well as her personal experience with suffering, she could help those people get answers — or, she is careful to say, responses, since sure and universal answers are hard to come by. She began creating her freelance theology business OMG: Center for Theological Conversation.

Madsen said, “I wanted OMG to be a place where people can ask questions about faith, religion and theology, to know that it is OK to doubt, to learn that, as one of my mentors said, they might be wrong, and that nobody really knows for sure what is right! Nobody has it all figured out. That said, there are some things we can figure out, and some hints we get about God, and our relationship to God, and therefore our relationship to each other and the world. So in addition to wanting people to feel free to be curious about God, and Scripture, and Church, at OMG, I also want to help people discover what they believe, why they believe it, where their belief system has strength, where it has weakness, and what difference it all makes on the ground.”

She called it OMG because, she said, “In Scripture, we see people crying out ‘Oh my God’ in lament, praise, questioning, doubt, anger and joy. Some people have been offended, but I use the phrase intentionally, respectfully and biblically.”

Questions and conversations might come from any and all of those places, and from anyone. Questioners can be clergy, laity, people who have only a little to do with the Christian tradition, or nothing to do with it at all. They may be individuals or large groups, synod assemblies or convocations, and can even take the form of consultations for congregations or synods wanting to find their theological moorings and mission that springs out from them. Conversations with Madsen can happen in person or long distance, with the help of Skype or Zoom technology. They can even submit questions to be addressed on her regular blog, found at omgcenter.com.

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Moving to Northern Minnesota and opening The Spent Dandelion

In early 2016, Madsen realized that she could do her freelance work from anywhere, so she asked daughter Else, if she could live anywhere, where would that be? Else grinned and suggested throwing a dart at a map to select their new home turf, but Madsen grinned back — and suggested they take a more thoughtful approach.

“So Else said that she wanted to be someplace with a lot of water, and a lot of hills, and a lot of woods,” Madsen said.

Madsen had lived in Hermantown for two years as a child, when her father was pastor of a church there, so she knew that Else had unwittingly just described Minnesota’s North Shore.

On the second day of their visit, the Madsens stumbled on their new home, and what has become retreat center. They were smitten as soon as their car hit the driveway. “It was everything we wanted but didn’t know we needed,” she said.

The Spent Dandelion opened in summer 2017 as an extension of OMG. “I intend it not just a vacation spot or a B-and-B,” she said, “but a place and an opportunity to get theological input on what the guests are considering and wondering about. It’s a place to come and stay with a purpose.”

Through these businesses, Madsen shares her theological expertise with the world in writing, public speaking, and oneon-one consultations with individuals, through which people may fuss with their deepest questions about faith, vocation, or plain old curiosity about the Christian tradition.

Karl and Else today

Karl is now 16 and is “thriving in every way” in his new home and at Two Harbors High School. His teachers love Karl. “They are all so dedicated to his well-being, and know that in him is one special boy with a ready and contagious grin. They say, ‘What would we ever do without Karl!’” Else is 14, a freshman in high school, loving Duluth East, debate and learning about outdoor life in the North Woods.

Although Karl still experiences effects of traumatic brain injury, he has defied doctors’ original prognoses, and today he laughs, plays, speaks, and is learning to walk — with assistance — again. The Courage Kenny Institute helps to make available physical activities that Karl enjoys, including kayaking and sailing, and the therapists at the Polinksy Institute have been invaluable to his continuing recovery.

“This kid is strong, vibrant, playful, mischievous and resilient,” Madsen said. “And Else is resilient in a different way. She’s extremely wise and fiercely protective of her brother, and she’s a passionate social justice advocate. The two of them adore one another, and they have both taught me a life lesson that shapes my every day: Joyful Defiance.”

Madsen has learned a great deal about hope and possibility from both her children. And she has learned a lot from suffering, she said.

“Suffering helps us to be more appreciative at any moment,” Madsen said. “We know that life can change on a dime. That could make us anxious, of course, nervous about whether or when the next awful thing will happen. Instead, it’s taught us to see joy where it is, be grateful for even the mundane moments, and where we see suffering and injustice, we work all the more passionately against it. If we weren’t to do those things, well, death wins. And we can’t have that.” D

Alison Stucke is a Duluth freelance writer and frequent contributor to The Woman Today.