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."

My faith, in community

Sometimes I do wonder why I am still here:  in the church, hoping wildly and unreasonably still in Jesus.  It is a mystery of faith, of the working of the Holy Spirit.  Somehow Martin Luther's words ring true:

I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to Him; but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel, enlightened me with His gifts, sanctified and kept me in the true faith. 

But just how has the Holy Spirit called me?

My parents brought me to church.  Every week.  My father sang the liturgy, and helped me find my place in the book, so that I could do it too. 

My parents prayed with us before we went to bed.  My father also read us Bible stories, from a book called "The Bible in Pictures for Little Eyes."  He also pretended he was Methusalah, the world's oldest man, who knew all of the Bible characters.

My parents' friends were all active in their churches and talked about their faith.  One of their best friends went overseas to be missionaries in Papua New Guinea.

I went to church camp, sang "Pass it On", and learned to put little candles in my Bible next to verses that meant a lot to me.  A camp counselor once confessed to me that she sometimes had doubts about what she believed, but she was comforted by the fact that God knew more than she did, and knew that she was going through a time of doubt.

I went through times when I wasn't sure about what I believed about God or faith.

I had some intense religious experiences as a young adult.

I had great conversations with friends of other religions traditions, which really made me think about my own.

At my church, I taught Sunday School, sang in the choir, and went out to brunch with a group of widows.  I knew pre-school children, confirmation students, parents and retired people.

My parents brought me to the baptismal font, where I was joined to Christ, and to Christ's people:  so many people, so many ages, from so many places.  Love, incarnate.  The mystery of Holy Spirit, calling.

The Whole Experience

Every year, in spring, a youth-oriented mission organization hosts training events in our church.  For a week, they train the young adults who will serve as leaders for the high school youth who will be traveling all over the country learning what it means to serve in mission as followers of Jesus.  They sleep in our building, take over all of our classrooms, and sit in corners studying.  They have animated one to one conversations in the chapel.

And they come to worship on Sunday.  At our 8:45 traditional service.

Now I am not sure about this, but I suspect that most of the young people who come to our church for training are not Lutheran.  I suspect that most of them come from somewhat less liturgical traditions than our own.  And our 8:45 traditional service does follow the Lutheran liturgy.  We have chanting.  We sing the Kyrie  and the Sanctus.  We kneel for prayer.  We have communion every Sunday.  We don't offer Sunday School during this service, and it is fair to admit that the participants (with a couple of exceptions) skew toward the older members of the congregation.

So every year we have this invasion of twenty-two and twenty-three year olds at this early service where there are a lot of retired people.  And I will admit that, for me, at least, it suddenly makes liturgy seem a lot different.

Don't get me wrong:  I love liturgy:  the chanting, the prayers, the symbols, the flow of it all.  However, I have also enjoyed a good charismatic prayer service on occasion.  They each have their own integrity.

So this year, the young people worshipped with us again.  During the communion, we offer both individual cups and the common cup.  People were beginning to be ushered forward.  After one young man received the bread, I heard him say to the woman next to me (serving wine), "I want the cup.  I want the whole experience."

The Whole Experience.  Have you ever thought of liturgical worship in this way?

I can't read this young man's mind, of course, but I considered that he was basking in what was, to him, a strange and mysterious form of worship.  But instead of being suspicious and thinking, "These people, with their written prayers and chants and vestments, can't be real Christians," he was open to the Holy Spirit teaching him what it might be about.  He was sure that something or other was there for him, in the words, the gestures, the sounds, the cup.

It made me think that perhaps the problem of liturgy is that we take it for granted.  For those of us who know it, there are comforting words we know by heart.  We have heard so often that liturgy is a barrier to people that we have (perhaps) come to be a little sensitive and defensive about it.  We may even be so comfortable that we don't realize that there are depths here that we have never plumbed, things that we have not yet learned, much less learned to share.  And it certainly is true that we need to re-interpret and re-imagine liturgy for every age and era where we live.  There are new tunes, new rhythms,  to which we will set the ancient story.  But the strangeness and mystery of liturgy can be a gift, not a barrier, if we welcome the stranger, if we have eyes to see, if we too are open to The Whole Experience.

Still Reading after All These Months....

A short update on books I have read:

43. The Graveyard Book, by Neil Gaiman. Just happened to see it in a bookstore in Red Wing on the day it won the National Book Award (or was it the Newberry?). I was reading around All Saints' Sunday and mused on the idea of being taught by the dead.

44. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society, by Shaffer and Barrows. This was our November book club book, a charming and multi-layered book about the occupation of the Channel Islands during World War II.

45. Dog On It, by Spencer Quinn. I love Chet, the crime-fighting dog, and his partner Bernie. The next in the series comes out in January; I hope I get a gift card so I can buy it.

46. Christmas in Harmony, by Philip Gulley. A short trip to Harmony, Indiana, and an account of the first and only "progressive" Nativity scene.

47. I will soon be done with Kevin Kling's wonderful book of stories/essays Holiday Inn. And yes, it is named for the Bing Crosby/Fred Astaire movie. Kling's a midwestern version of David Sedaris; just as funny with about half the cynicism. Just like Sedaris, he's as funny to listen to as he is to read. (I believe he also graduated from my alma mater.)

will I get to 50? I'm pretty close, anyway. You'll have to admit, it's an eclectic list. And that was as much the point. I'm happy with the variety of reading I've done so far this year.

Books, books, books.....

I'm so far behind on the reading challenge for 2008 that I won't even tell you which numbers I'm on so far (though I'll sneak back and check later, probably)....

I have a few more to report on today.

1. Neither Here Nor There, by Bill Bryson. I got it because it had a chapter on Paris, and really, really, enjoyed the whole thing. I've been wanting read I'm a Stranger Here Myself for a long time, but I'm happy I started with this one. He takes a summer and visits a number of great European cities, recalling a similar adventure taken as a college student. Parts of it are, of course, hilarious.

2. I read Sleeping With Bread on the advice of Lutheranchik, and was NOT disappointed. It's a simple spiritual exercise, called the Examen, (after Ignatius of Loyola) and it's explained with such simplicity and depth. Really, only two questions to end your day: For what was I most grateful today? And for what was I least grateful?

3. I've been wanting to read The Double Bind, by Chris Bohjalian, for some time. It's part social commentary, part mystery, party psychology..... and there's this great subtext with some of the characters from The Great Gatsby. Plus, a surprise ending.

4. I found a copy of Edward Eager's book Half Magic at a used book store and re-read it this summer. I remembered the basic premise well; even used it in a sermon once (on the strange healing in Mark where Jesus has to heal the man twice). But I had forgotten a lot of the particulars about the story, so it was fun to re-read. The premise is that four children one summer discover a coin that is "half magic": it takes a while to figure it out, but in order to get a whole wish, they need to wish everything twice.

5. Finally, this may not count, as I'm not quite done, but I'm reading. on Auntie Knicker's suggestion, a wonderful mystery called Murder in the Marais. by Cara Black. I'm really loving it and plan to finish tonight, if I'm up into the wee hours. Murder and political intrigue, and set in Paris. What's not to like?!

I will be back in the a.m., I promise, to add all the links to the books. But I have to get back to my mystery now!

Good night, all.

P.S. I'm tired, but I finished the mystery!

P.S.S. That was #s 11 - 15. I can't believe it is that few.....