Witnessing History

I have been watching quite a bit of news broadcasts these past few days and been emotionally moved a lot.


Monday (usually my day off) was spent between the History Channel, which honored the life and legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr. and stations like CNN, MSNBC, and Fox as they each broadcasted the pre-inaugural festivities for Barack Obama.
I have usually voted for presidential elections but this is the first one when I find myself truly moved and with the sense of witnessing something important and historical. I find myself wanting to understand the political system better. I find myself wanting to learn more about Martin and the whole civil rights movement.

This is not part of my heritage. I was not born and I did not grow up in the United States. American history was not taught to me growing up. French history was. Twenty years ago I had a couple American history classes in college while Steve and I lived in Texas. I enjoy history, I just don’t have a lot of time to read about it as much I would like to, with the other things that I want to read and need to read. This is something I want to remedy.

I was surprised to find myself teary-eyed these past couple of days because I was 3 when Martin Luther King Jr, was assassinated. I believe what moves me is the dedication of one’s life for peace and justice to the point of accepting death as a very probable result of one’s involvement. The men’s dedication is not the only thing that touched me. With each of these men was a strong, dedicated woman and these men would not have achieved what they achieved without these women. What was true for Martin is true for Barack.

Whether one is Republican or Democrat (or something else), the hope that is currently present is undeniable and America desperately needs hope.


Hope is what some pastoral colleagues and I saw and felt when we shared Hawaiian pizza together (here goes the low carb diet) as we were watching Obama’s inauguration on TV. The pastor who invited us to her home said about the pizza, “if it is good enough for Barack, it is good enough for us” (and it was good pizza.) We had a great time together, sitting in this small living room. Giggled at Aretha Franklin’s hat. Commented on what we heard being said. There was this sense of unity despite the fact that we don’t all share the same views on several things (our host is a Unitarian Universalist pastor; we had a United Church of Christ pastor, a Presbyterian and me.) But we could all agree that it is time for a change; that it is time to work harder than ever toward peace and unity and we believe that this starts with us.

Now the danger is to place too much hope of the shoulders of Barack. His name means “blessed” but he is not the Messiah. The challenges are huge – and regardless of political parties and ideologies - it is going to take everybody working together to get us out of the mess we are in. Whether we agree with everything Barack is going to try to achieve or not, he needs our prayers.

A prisoner of Jesus Christ

“…I, Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus…” That phrase has been echoing in my heart and mind these past several weeks. It comes from Ephesians 3:1. That was one of the lectionary texts (3:1-12) for Epiphany Sunday, January 4. On that Sunday, we recognized and remembered anew that all the world, Jews and non-Jews (Gentiles), has been called into the family of God. That is the mystery that God has given Paul, this first century missionary pastor, to tell the people. I preached on that. On how good it is to be part of the family but also on the privilege and responsibility we have been given also to let people know… To let them know that they are not too broken, or too messed up or whatever to come and have a relationship with Jesus. They are loved and welcomed.
That is an amazing message of grace. A message that I have and continue to be the recipient of.

“…I, Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus…” But that phrase keeps rattling within me. I have thought about it off and on as I lay in bed at night, reviewing my day, talking with God, waiting for sleep to come…

“…I, Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus…” The immediate meaning is that Paul is telling the folks he is writing to (Ephesians and others since this is apparently a circular letter, commentators tell us) that he is in jail. Scholars believe he was imprisoned in Rome when he wrote the letter. But what I also think he is telling them and us – and that is the part that gets me - is that his love for Jesus is so profound, so deep, and so powerful that it controls him. All of him. Every decision he makes. Every moment of his life…

That statement must have jarred the folks at the Ephesus church. By all accounts, they were great folks. Paul writes, “Since I first heard of your strong faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for God’s people everywhere, I have not stopped thanking God for you.” (Eph. 1:15, NLT) But then the writer of Revelation says this about the followers of Jesus in Ephesus “Yet I hold this against you. You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first.” (v. 2:4-5a, NIV)

Paul is calling them and us to wake up, to not go through the motion of faith, to not play church. Instead he prays that passion – that fire in our belly for God and people – would be re-ignited.
There is something really powerful, really contagious, about a life lived with passion; in the best sense of the term.

I went to my seminary recently to a communion service in honor of Erland Waltner. Erland is 94. He was my spiritual director when I was in seminary. He is one of the most faithful, wise, grace-filled person I know. He has a passion for God, for people, for teaching… He and his wife are going through great times of changes and transition in terms of health and living arrangements. They have recently moved from the home they had lived in for years, across the street to the seminary, to a retirement place in Goshen.
When I read what Paul says about himself, I think of Erland. He is a prisoner of Jesus Christ. It is obvious God has all of him. He shines with a quiet, strong and steady faith. Erland is legally blind but the eyes of his heart and the discernment of his spirit are sharp. He could see right through the confusion experienced by this green pastor not so long ago. His passion and love for Jesus are inspiring.

I remember reading the newsletter from a local counseling agency and the director was talking about the passion that he has for what he does and the passion he sees in his colleagues and also in some of the people they serve. This therapist wrote, “The word "passion" itself has an interesting history in Christian tradition. It derives from the Latin passio, which meant "to suffer," and also "to allow oneself to be acted upon" ("suffer the little children to come unto me" reflects this meaning), and especially to allow oneself to endure suffering – as in Jesus' Passion.

Passion is what Paul had, what Erland has, what some pastors I know have. A passion for God, for God’s people which drives their life. This passion enables them to bear their cross.

A pastor friend was talking about that recently. He shared his deep concern for children and how they grow up in this society. He wants them to have roots, a solid foundation rooted in Jesus and His love. He says that he wants kids to have a faith which will enable them to carry the crosses that bring unspeakable pain and loss to all our lives at one time or another.

I want that kind of faith, that kind of passion. I want to be a prisoner of Jesus. I want people to see Jesus in me and for them to come to Him. Amen.

The Story does not end with Christmas

Steve and I took down the decoration off our Christmas tree and put the nativity set away today. The Christmas season is a bittersweet time for me because we are away from family and we don’t have biological children. The celebration is different, the food is different than in France... It is a busy time. But still I enjoy Christmas – not the marketers’ version of Christmas, mind you – I dislike shopping most of the time; but I like the lights and the ornaments, many of which have a history. We have stuffed teddy bears in winter outfits on our couch. One even plays music when you squeeze its paw.

And I never get tired of hearing the Story or telling the Story in various ways.



From as far back as I can remember as a child, it was my “job” to put up the crèche and that tradition remains. We have a neat nativity set. It’s not the “santons” (“little saints” in Provençal,) of my youth, those hand-painted clay figurines, dressed in traditional attire, prevalent in the south of France. My little resin friends of today look right out of first century Judea. The plaster houses look like what I imagine the houses back then would have looked like. I enjoy setting the scene and trying to imagine what life would have been like so long ago.

People, in my crèche rendition, go about their every day business, oblivious to the miracle happening right under their nose. That part has not changed all that much, has it?

The wise men are even part of my recreated story despite the fact that scholars don’t believe they reached Jesus until he was a 2 year-old toddler and long gone from the stable in Bethlehem. There are 3 wise men – an assumption based on the three gifts brought – again, probably not accurate either but frankly it does not matter all that much. The point, as our lectionary texts Sunday reminded us, is that outsiders: Gentiles (non-Jews), dirty-stinky shepherds… believed what they heard, responded and came to worship and became part of the family of God. Power, as the world understands it, was turned on its head, redefined, on that day.

So there is a little sadness because putting things away means that another year has gone by. The lights are put away and familiar and beloved carols won’t be sung for the next 12 months.

The end of the Christmas season kind of feels like I imagine the disciples must have felt coming down the mountain after transfiguration. There is part of me that wants to stay on the mountain, dazzled by visions and light. But I am reminded that I can’t stay on the mountain. Life happens on the plain and in the valley and occasionally there are mountain top experiences.

But “God is in us, God is for us, God is with us Emmanuel”; that is what the Casting Crown song I sang Sunday reminded us of. He is with us all year long, whether we are on a mountain or deep in the valley.