It has already been a busy year, and conversations about the upcoming midterm elections are intensifying. Last week, proposals to nationalize U.S. elections entered the public debate.

That suggestion prompted swift, bipartisan concern in Nevada—not as a partisan response, but as a defense of established constitutional structure and election law.

Under Article I, Section 4 of the U.S. Constitution, states are granted explicit authority to regulate the “Times, Places and Manner of holding Elections.” While Congress may set certain federal parameters, the administration of elections has historically—and intentionally—remained a state responsibility. This decentralized system is designed to prevent the concentration of power and to preserve public trust through local control and accountability.

Nevada has frequently been drawn into national election debates, particularly because the state does not require voter identification and is currently engaged in litigation after Nevada sued the Trump Administration over demands for personal voter information. These policy choices and legal disputes, however, exist squarely within Nevada’s constitutional authority.

Nevada Secretary of State Cisco Aguilar, the state’s chief elections officer, reaffirmed this legal framework:

“The Constitution makes it clear: elections are run by the states. The President doesn’t have the power to change how our elections are conducted, and what he’s suggesting is unconstitutional.”

That position was reinforced across party lines. Former Republican Governor Brian Sandoval and Democratic Assembly Speaker Richard Perkins, serving as co-chairs of the Democracy Defense Project, emphasized that election integrity depends on respecting constitutional roles rather than expanding executive authority.

Perkins cautioned that undermining state control introduces unnecessary risk to democratic stability, while Sandoval underscored a core principle of federalism:

“Nevada’s elections should be handled in Nevada, by Nevadans.”

At a time when confidence in democratic institutions is under strain, Nevada’s bipartisan response highlights a critical policy reality: election administration is not a partisan issue, but a constitutional one. Preserving state authority, respecting institutional boundaries, and maintaining transparent, locally administered elections remain essential to safeguarding free and fair elections.

This has been on my mind a lot. As a pastor, I see the inside of people’s lives in ways most never do.

I sit with parishioners navigating grief that has no timeline. I walk alongside people wrestling with addiction and shame. I meet children who don’t know when their next meal will come, and older siblings who are forced to grow up too soon—becoming caregivers before they’ve had a chance to be children themselves.

I’ve seen this across communities. As a campus pastor, I walked with young adults pursuing an education while carrying the weight of fractured homes, multigenerational households, and instability they didn’t choose. I see it now in Carson City. I’ve seen it in Philadelphia. In Decorah. In my hometown of Roseville.

Family dysfunction is not regional. It is not urban or rural. It is not confined to one zip code, one race, one income bracket, or one political party. It shows up in low-income households and high-income ones alike. The details change, but the wounds are familiar.

Yet too often, we insist on viewing all of this through a moral lens.

We label families as “broken.” We reduce complex realities to personal failure. We ask, What did they do wrong? Instead of What happened to them? or What systems failed them? or What support was missing when it mattered most?

Judgment is easy.

But the harder—and more faithful—question is this: what is our responsibility?

I am not suggesting that individuals should insert themselves into situations they are not equipped to handle. Boundaries matter. Professional care matters. Safety matters. But we cannot pretend that dysfunction is purely a private problem, absolving society of any role in shaping the conditions people live within.

Because what I see, again and again, is that families are not failing in isolation. They are being overwhelmed by poverty, trauma, addiction, housing instability, and untreated mental health needs. These are not simply personal struggles, they are the predictable outcomes of systems that responds too late, invests too little, and too often places blame where support is needed.

So what does it mean to build systems that don’t just respond after crisis, but prevent it? What does it mean to invest in schools, food access, healthcare, housing, and community support, not as charity, but as collective responsibility?

This is where faith meets public life.

The church was never meant to be a place where people with their lives “together” gather to feel morally superior. The church exists because people are hurting. Because families are strained. Because children are vulnerable. Because grace is not theoretical, it is desperately needed.

And grace, if it is real, cannot remain private.

This is why the church’s calling is not only pastoral, but public. Not only compassionate, but courageous. Not only responsive, but preventative. The church is called to create spaces of dignity, stability, and belonging and to speak into the systems that shape whether those spaces are even possible.

This is the work that organizations like Lutheran Engagement and Advocacy in Nevada (LEAN) exist to support—not as a substitute for congregational care, but as an extension of it. LEAN helps communities of faith move beyond charity alone and into sustained public witness, recognizing that feeding the hungry and advocating for food security belong together. That walking with families in crisis and pushing for housing stability belong together. That pastoral care and public policy are not competing callings, but deeply connected ones.

LEAN exists because loving our neighbor also means asking why so many neighbors are one emergency away from collapse—and organizing so fewer people have to carry that weight alone.

This is not about politics for politics’ sake. It is about discipleship. It is about taking seriously Jesus’ insistence that how we treat the most vulnerable among us is a measure of our faithfulness. It is about naming not only personal sin, but structural harm—and responding with collective repentance and action.

The church does not replace social services. It does not pretend to be the expert in trauma, addiction, or mental health. But it does have a responsibility to advocate, to organize, and to tell the truth about suffering without attaching shame. To partner with those doing the work. To remind the world that people are not problems to be solved, but neighbors to be loved.

When we shift from judgment to responsibility, from moralizing to organizing, from blame to compassion, something changes. We stop asking why they are struggling—and start asking how we can build a society where fewer people have to struggle alone.

That shift matters.
Lives depend on it.

With you on the Journey,

Rev. Paul M. Larson

It’s the way of love. It’s the way of mercy. It’s the way of peace. And we see it arising all around us. We are told that safety requires someone else’s suffering, but that isn’t the way of Christ.

Instead, we see grandparents sharing their voices on street corners and young adults keeping watch. We see restaurant workers bringing food to the traumatized, neighbors delivering groceries, and strangers protecting strangers. We see a 70-year-old Lutheran woman following ICE around Minneapolis in her Subaru Crosstrek. These are ordinary people who trust that mercy has the power to crack the armor of domination.

Community is beautiful and holy and diverse. We will not allow brutality to redefine who we are.

Join us in saying “enough.” Not here, not anywhere.

As Black History Month begins, we honor the legacy of Black faith leaders, organizers, and communities who have long stood at the forefront of justice, dignity, and collective care.

Black history is not something we remember once a year—it is something we live. It reminds us that faith has never been passive, and hope has always been practiced through courageous action, collective care, and community organizing.

This month, we invite people of faith and goodwill to recommit themselves to telling the truth, staying rooted in love, and organizing together for a more just and liberated Nevada.

A couple of weeks ago, a video from the Chair of the Legislative Committee to Review Oversight of the Lake Tahoe Regional Planning Agency popped up in my Instagram feed. She was sharing about her role overseeing planning agencies in the Lake Tahoe Basin, and it was a timely reminder of how much work happens after the Legislature gavels out.

When the Legislative Session ends, the Interim Session begins.

Earlier this month, the newly created Regional Rail Transit Working Group held its first meeting. This group, authorized during the last session, is tasked with studying regional rail options, including the heavily congested I-80 corridor to Storey County. During the interim, lawmakers, agencies, and community partners are digging into issues ranging from education and housing to the Nevada Youth Legislature and rural behavioral health.

While we won’t see new bills introduced until 2027, the work very much continues. These interim conversations, studies, and working groups are where ideas are shaped, relationships are built, and momentum begins, long before a bill ever gets a number.

So I’m curious: what issues are on your mind right now?
What should LEAN be paying attention to, organizing around, and preparing for in the months ahead?

Drop a comment, send us a message, or grab coffee with us. The future of Nevada’s policies is being shaped now—and we want to build it together.