The Trinity, Creation, and World War II

This week I was having a conversation with other pastors over coffee about the Trinity.  Specifically, Trinity Sunday was coming up -- again -- what were we going to preach about?  We read together from Matthew 28, from the end of 2nd Corinthians, and finally found ourselves staring at the creation story from Genesis, chapter 1.

Well?

What are you going to preach about this Sunday?

We got to talking about the Days of creation, and God separately Night from Day, and Light from Darkness, and saying that it was good.  We talked about the generative nature of the story -- everything is for the sake of life, night and dark, darkness and light -- even rest.  We moved back and forth from the images in creation to the relationship of the Trinity:  Father, Son and Holy Spirit, all participating with one another, forming community.

For some reason I couldn't help thinking about something I had heard many years ago, while I was living in Japan.  I didn't say anything, because I couldn't think of any way this had to do with Trinity Sunday, although whenever I read Genesis 1, this particular story and image comes up.

I remembered one of the missionaries told me about a Japanese military man who, after World War II, had become a Christian.  The details of the conversation become hazy now, so many years later, but Pastor Luther Kistler told me the story and that this gentleman (I believe was a member of his church).  He said that this man became a Christian because he was impressed by the story of creation from Genesis.  He said that Japanese mythology only has a story about the creation of Japan.  But Genesis -- there is a story about the creation of the whole world.

So.  I was thinking about this story while I was supposed to be thinking about the Trinity (what are you preaching about this Sunday?).  One of the things I was thinking was, "This doesn't have anything to do with the Trinity."  I was also thinking, "You can use a story like this to assert superiority in a sort of tribal way, I suppose.  You know, Our God is better than your God."  Perhaps it is this sort of tribalism that causes "Christians" to go out and kill Muslims in the Central African Republic, in the name of God.

But I was also struck by something else, perhaps for the first time.

There is something anti-tribal about the creation story from Genesis, something that pushes against the old "our god is better than your god" thinking.  If God created the whole world, if that is really true, there is something really expansive about that.  This God does not just care about my tribe or my corner of the universe.  Maybe this is why Jesus said, "Love your enemies."  Maybe it all goes back to the creation story, in Genesis 1.

I still don't exactly know what this has to do with the Trinity, although it seems to me that our talk about God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit can either expand or contract our views of God.  We can speak of God the Trinity in a way that draws the circle smaller or wider, that turns us inward or outward.  But which will it be?

On Monday I will be having another funeral, another funeral of one of our World War II veterans.  This community was founded just after the war ended, and I have been privileged to hear just the tip of the iceberg of their stories, those they can bear to tell.

This particular man served in Europe during the war.  He saw and experienced a lot of unspeakable things.  But one thing his family told me when we met to prepare for the funeral:  He said that he hated how people used the word "nazi" to talk about the Germans.  He said he knew there was a Nazi regime, and that there were SS troops and true believers, but, for himself, he never met a nazi.  He just met soldiers.  He just met human beings, like himself, created in the image of God.

In the Central African Republic, some Christians are killing Muslims.  In the meantime, other Christians are giving them refuge.  It all depends on what you hear and see and imagine when you read Genesis 1.

What are you preaching about this Sunday?

Of Making Many Books

Last week I stumbled into a very large used book sale.  It was set up at an old Border's bookshop, a huge building that has not yet found a new tenant.   For the past couple of weeks, this empty store has been filled with tables and and unimaginable number of cheap books.  Former bestsellers.  Novels.  Books on prayer (there was a very large religion section).  Cookbooks.  Self-help.  History.  You name it.  Most of the books were fairly recent titles, but there were a few of the older and most interesting vintage editions scattered about as well.

Once in awhile I will go into an antique store that has a large book section, and be overwhelmed with the number of old books, most of them old books that I have (often) never heard of before.  A few may have enjoyed a brief celebrity; most of them were deeply obscure to me.

There are so many books in the world.

I didn't grow up around a lot of books.  At least, there weren't a lot of books in our house.  There were a couple of Bibles, a couple of books of Fairy Tales, a few little golden books.  It's not that my parents didn't value reading:  we went to the library a lot; we just didn't own most of the books.

The library then was an amazing place to me.  There were so many books, so many stories, and I wanted to write them too.  I wanted to write stories like the ones about Betsy and Tacy, or the ones about Jo and Meg and Beth and Amy.  I wanted to write stories like the ones about Pippi and the Moffats and the Nancy Drew.

I always thought it was the stories, or the words, or the knowledge that attracted me.  That's why I liked books so much.  I liked the infinity of what you could discover inside a book.  I liked the worlds that opened when you opened the covers.  I liked the sentences that piled up, one after another.

But, as it turns out, it's more complicated than that.

I spent last Wednesday evening making books:  small books, it's true, but making small blank books out of paper and waxed thread.  I simply folded and poked holes and stitched together simple covers and pages.  I used simple tools:  an awl, a needle, a bone folder, and paper.  I learned that books had a head and a tail, a signature or a section, leaves and volumes. I learned a pamphlet stitch and a Japanese stitch.  

I loved making books.

I always thought it was the contents that I loved:  the stories, the sentences, the knowledge, the images. But I loved the covers and the spine, the stitches and the thread, the paper and the feel of everything in my hand.  I imagined how the structure of the book and the contents are inextricably connected.  For example, the simple folded book that folds out like an accordion:  that should be a story about a journey, perhaps, or a treasure map.

As it turns out, I love the whole book:  body, soul and spirit: the weight of it in my hand, the stitches, the paper, the words and sentences too.

Body soul and spirit, it is all art.  We are not containers; we are whole and holy, stitched together with care, every single last atom of us.

Reading the Bible in 90 Days, Day 29: 1 Chronicles 1 - 9

If you blink, you'll miss the prayer of Jabez, snuck into the middle of what is mostly lists of geneologies.  Yes, that famous prayer to increase his territory, it's just two verses in 1 Chronicles 4:9-10. 
"Jabez was a better man than his brothers, a man of honor.  is mother had named him Jabez (Oh, the pain!), saying, "A painful birth!  I bore him in great pain!"  Jabez prayer to the God of Israel.  "Bless me, O bless me.  Give me land, large tracts of land.  And provide your personal protection -- don't let evil hurt me."  God gave him what he asked." 

So, there you go.  The prosperity gospel in a nutshell.

Other than that, these chapters are mostly filled up with names:  mostly who was in who's family, as well as David's worship leaders and the priestly cities.

Though they are seldom named, it occurs to me:  where would we be without the mothers?  For this list is not so much about the exploits of the people of Israel, but who was born to whom. 

Also, though this is called "The Chronicles", it occurs to me that the chronology is very different.  In chapter 9 the author is already on to the family tree of Israel after they return from exile.  But afterwards, we'll hear more about the families of Saul and David

Tomorrow:  1 Chronicles 10 - 23
Friday:  1 Chronicles 24 - 2 Chronicles 7

In Search of a Pastrami Sandwich, and my lost Youth

This evening I stayed a little too late at the office making phone calls, and then made a futile visit to a bookstore, looking for a very particular cookbook that they didn't have in stock. I got home a little late and very hungry.

I didn't want to cook supper; my husband didn't want to cook supper. What should we do? We discussed various options (Pie Shop, Sports-Themed Restaurant, Cafeteria). None of them really got us excited. Then my husband said, "How about Fishman's Deli?"

I had heard about Fishman's from an old high school friend of mine. One of my classmates owns this Restaurant, Bakery and Deli in my hometown. We decided that this was a good idea. It has the added bonus of being a trip down memory lane for me.

The kosher grocery store and bakery takes up most of the space, with a small eating area in the front. Since we were eating late, there were only a few people in the restaurant: an older couple, and a couple of families that looked like they were finishing up.

All of the men were wearing yarmulkes. I was very aware that we were the only Gentiles in the place. It felt strange.

We ordered our sandwiches and I looked around, remembering my friend from Brownies, C. C. was one of my giggling friends. We also both liked to sing. We tried to learn all of the songs from Allan Sherman records and all of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals, as well. I also was invited to spend sabbath with them on several occasions. I remember being a little in awe of the special prayers and rituals, and worried about that little sip of wine I was supposed to drink. We both liked play-acting, and (I'm embarrassed to admit this now) we would even act out some stories from the New Testament. At 8, I was totally clueless.

It seemed that, for awhile there, I had more Jewish friends than I did friends from my own youth group. In fact, I didn't feel that comfortable with most of the others from my church youth group. But I enjoyed conversations about religion, literature, and philosophy with some of my Jewish friends.

One of my friends, C, called it "Lutheran-Jewish Inter-faith Dialog." We both wanted to be writers, and both of us were really into our faith traditions. She taught me a table prayer in Hebrew that I remember to this day, and helped me learn about some of the Jewish Holidays as well. One of the things I respected most about her was that she was vulnerable enough to ask me, one day, "Do you think because I am not a Christian that I am going to hell?" And I had a sneaking suspicion that my religion officially held this position, but I myself had a hard time believing it.

As we waited for our pastrami sandwiches, the elderly couple in the booth next to ours struggled to leave. The gentleman turned to us with a twinkle in his eye, and said, "You have to wait longer if you aren't Jewish." My husband laughed and said, "How could you tell?"

One of the things I miss, being a pastor, is getting to know people who are not like me. It seems that I spend most of my time talking with other Lutherans. They're nice (mostly), but I realize that my most significant, most illuminated, and sometimes most challenging times were times when I was the stranger, learning another language, tasting other flavors: living in Japan, being invited to Sabbath meals, all those "Lutheran-Jewish interfaith Dialogues."

When have you tasted other flavors, or felt like a stranger?

I Wish I Was Still Standing By the Stone Arch Bridge

Yesterday was our 10th wedding anniversary. Because ten years seems like a pretty big deal these days (not just for us, just in general), we decided that we'd have a more significant celebration this year. Besides going again to Lord Fletcher's on Lake Minnetonka for dinner, we spent the night in the same hotel (though not the same room) where we stayed the evening after our wedding. Since the pre-refinish-the-hardwood-floor disarray is increasing in our home, it was a welcome respite.

In the morning, we briefly contemplated ordering room service, but decided to indulge in the breakfast buffet. We then visited briefly the Grand Canyon of Malls, where we picked out Anniversary presents for one another.

By a wide margin, however, the favorite activity of the day was our visit to the heart of Minneapolis, and to the Mill City Museum. At the site of the Old Gold Medal Flour Building, the museum includes the ruins of the old mill, as well as lots of interactive and educational displays, a simulated flour explosion, and two separate shows, one about the Mill (shown in an old freight elevator), and one about Minneapolis. The Museum stands next to the new site of the Guthrie Theatre; both are along the Mississippi River, and close to the historic Stone Arch Bridge.

Minneapolis began and flourished as a Mill City, and the Mississippi River was the heart of the Mill. St. Anthony Falls provided the power for the mill, which ran day and night until 1965.

I felt it somehow, standing on the cobblestone streets, wandering through the displays at the Museum. There is something substantial, something life-giving, something vital here.

Perhaps it was the power of the river itself, the power of water -- the power of flowing water through a community. Perhaps it was the sense of building and growth -- the growth of the city, the creation of industries and products that fed people and created jobs. Perhaps it was not just the river but the stones, what was left of the old mill, the cobblestones of the streets, the stones on the old bridge spanning the river.

All I know is that I wish I was still there, where I stood this afternoon. I wish I was standing by the Stone Arch Bridge, just getting ready to walk across the river, feeling warm breezes, watching people walking and talking. All I know is that I wish I was still there tonight, where the stronge stone bridge holds and where the swift strong water flows underneath.

Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked

or take the path that sinners tread;

or sit in the seat of scoffers....

They are like trees planted by streams of water,

which yield their fruit in its season,

and their leaves do not wither. --Psalm 1.