Lost in Translation

 It was back in April, right after Easter, and we were traveling home from Brenham to Montgomery.  Even though we've lived here for awhile now, we still take notice of the geography and the names that we encounter, so different in some ways from the geography and names in our homeland of Minnesota.  I noticed at some point that we were in Brazos County, and that we had traveled over the Brazos River.  We both wondered what "Brazos" meant.  My husband thought that maybe brazes meant brown, because that seemed to be the color of the river, at least from where we could see.  So I did what people do these days:  I googled it.  I googled "Brazos" and discovered that it did not mean "brown."  It was Spanish for "arms."  I thought of all the other words derived from this one:  brace, embrace, bracelet, bracket.  I'm sure there are more.

And then I learned more:  that the full name of the Brazos River is this:  "Rio de los brazos de Dios" -- the River of the Arms of God.  That's what the Spanish explorers called it.  They didn't simply see a body of water, flowing -- they saw something of God -- wide, embracing, stretching out.  Somehow it made the river seem alive to me.  What else was I not noticing?

*****

Then it was July, and I was in Minnesota, a place I know well, or so I think.  We were staying a little north of the Twin Cities, near the City of Anoka, a small historic town that rests on the place where the Rum River flows into the mighty Mississippi.  We walked around the town and peered over the bridges, and drove along the edge of the Rum River, where there were flowering bushes and trees and picnic tables and swings.  I got out of the car and looked around.  I didn't know anything about the Rum River, although I had lived in Minnesota all of my life and knew plenty about the Mississippi and the Minnesota, the St. Croix and the Root Rivers.  So I did what people do these days:  I googled it.  I discovered that the Rum River flows from the great Mille Lacs Lake in north central Minnesota to the Mississippi.  Mille Lacs is French for "thousand lakes".  The Ojibwa people called it "Zaaga'igan" (grand lake), and in Dakota it was called "Bde Wakhan" (Spiritual/Mystic Lake.).  It was a place of spiritual importance, as was the river that flowed out of it. 

The Rum River.  The name is a mistranslation.  When explorers first heard its name, "Spirit River", they thought it meant "spirits" -- like rum.  But it really meant Spirit, as in God.

*****

The River of the Arms of God.  The Spirit River.  The water flows, and shimmers, and gives life.  It is true, what Jacob said.  "Surely God is in this place, and I -- I did not know it."

Being Here, Not There

On Saturday, I met one of my cousins for lunch.  She has lived in this state for most of her adult life.  I have lived her for about one and a half months.  We've been meaning to get together, but even though we are in the same state now, and even in the same urban area, it takes some coordination to get together.

Her father and my father were brothers.  My dad was the youngest, the baby, they called him.  Her dad became a pastor.  My father looked up to his big brother, and was always very active in church, at least in part due to his brother's example.

I've only seen my cousin a handful of times in these last several years.  But we're family, and we had wonderful conversation and catching up.  In between stories of family and her work as a school counselor, we shared some theological convictions and differences with grace and good perspective.  ("Are you Calvinist or Arminian?" she asked.  There just aren't that many times that question has come up in conversation.)

I felt blessed to be here, to be able to get to know my cousin a little better in this place new to me.

Afterwards I found the local Christian bookstore.  I was searching for just the right gift for a young man from my church who would be confirmed the next day.  I was inwardly congratulating myself for not getting lost while I was standing in the checkout line with my items.

Somehow the location of my home state came up.  The clerk said that her aunt and uncle were from there.  I asked where.  It was my town.  For some reason (perhaps because I was in a Christian bookstore), I suddenly asked which church they went to.  She described the church.

It was my church:  the church I had served for seventeen years.  I knew her cousins.  I confirmed both of her cousin's daughters.  Her cousin's wife was my children's ministry coordinator, had worked with me on the contemporary worship service.

Suddenly, my heart was filled with so many competing emotions:  surprise and joy, grief and homesickness, so many other things.  I was remembering the beginning of my ministry at that other congregation, with relationships and dreams and planning just beginning.  And I was thinking about the beginning of ministry in this new place, wanting to be there for a new family, to be present and walk with them and dream with them now.

I was here, not there:  sitting across the table from my cousin, buying a tie for a confirmation student, praying for him -- not from a distance, but right there behind him in church, with his whole family.

A long time ago I lived in Japan.  I was twenty-five years old, seeking adventure, wanting to follow Jesus and love people.  It turned out that the particular people that God wanted me to love were far away from other people that I loved.  I went and I learned some Japanese and I knelt down to talk to children and I ate with chopsticks.  I learned new places and directions:  to take the train, to take my shoes off, to read, to listen.

And every once in awhile it occurred to me:  I am here, not there.

This morning I got up early and went to the pre-school to greet the children there.  It was the first day of school.  And at first it felt awkward, and I wasn't sure what to do.  But after awhile I realized that it was all right just to be there today, to say hello, to help make a few name tags:  to be there.

At all times one of the tasks is simply to be present, to be fully where you are.  It's not as easy as it looks.

But Some Doubted

It's true.  I have known this passage of Scripture since I was a little girl.  I have known what it was called,  "The Great Commission", for almost as long.  I probably have those words written in the margin of a Bible somewhere.  Jesus on the mountain, Jesus giving his "last words" to his disciples, Jesus telling the eleven of them, "Go therefore into all the world and make disciples….."

How could I have not noticed those three little words for my whole life?  Were they not present in the Bible of my youth?  Could I have skimmed right over them for all these years?

"But some doubted."

Here's the scene:  It is sometime after the resurrection.  Jesus is on a mountain, one last time.  He is teaching his disciples.  They are all there (minus Judas).  Now there are only eleven.  And on the mountain, in his resurrected glory, they worship him.

But some doubted.

It seems out of place.  Jesus is just about to give a bold command.  Go into ALL THE WORLD, he will tell them, in the next verse, not just to the city nearest you, and not just to your family and friends.  All the world is a Tall Order, especially if you don't know how big the world is going to be.

But some doubted.

I wonder which ones?, I can't help thinking.  The scripture doesn't identify anyone by name, but I want to.  I want to know who was certain and who doubted.  I want to know if Peter, James and John are among the doubters, or if it was Matthew the tax collector, or Andrew or Bartholomew.  I want to know who doubted, and what it was they had doubts about.  Did they have doubts, still, about the resurrection?  Even though they have seen him, they still can't quite believe it.  Even though they are on the mountain with him, still…. how can it be true?  Maybe that is it.  Maybe it is the truth of the resurrection that they are doubting.

 I am tempted to believe that they have doubts about whether they can do what Jesus is going to tell them to do, except that he hasn't told them to do anything yet.  He hasn't sent them out yet.  He has told them to meet him here, though, so perhaps they are anticipating.  What is the next part of the journey?  Where are they going to go now?  What is Jesus going to say to them?  What is he going to ask of them?  They don't know yet, but they are worshipping…. and doubting.

I can't help thinking back to the parable of the Sheep and the Goats.  At the end of time, the King will gather the nations before him, and divide them:  sheep on the right and goats on the left.  But today, here, on the mountain, there is no division.  Jesus doesn't put the true believers on his right and the doubters on his left.  He doesn't give the great commission (Go therefore into all the world….) only to the worshipful true believers, the ones who never doubted.

Of course, there are only eleven of them now.  They are broken.  They are not whole.  And some of them are doubting.  Still, with the utmost confidence, Jesus tells them to go into all the world and make disciples.  And I can't help thinking that Jesus has a strategy here, a strategy in which the doubters will play an integral part.

The doubters have questions.  The doubters are honest about it.  The doubters admit that they don't know everything, that they don't understand everything.

In evangelism, these may not be liabilities.  These may be strengths.  At least, that's what I am starting to think.

This and the promise:  "I am with you always, even to the end of the age."  All the way to the end of the doubts, Jesus promises to be with us.  The eleven.  The worshippers and the doubters.