YOU HAVE STOLEN THEIR SOULS by Jean Peterson, WTS Archivist volunteer

YOU HAVE STOLEN THEIR SOULS by Jean Peterson, 2nd installment

By the time we visited the cemetery in Herrnhut, we had already visited the White Rose memorial museum in Munich, and had spent a long morning the day before at the Flossenburg concentration camp, where Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed 9 April 1945.

When “new” prisoners were brought through the gates into Flossenburg concentration camp, if they asked when they would get out of this place, they were told frankly, “in about six weeks” … “You’ll be sent to the quarry to work, and in six weeks, you’ll be dead!”

At intake, the prisoners were herded into a large shower room, stripped of their clothing and any other personal possessions they had managed to retain until that time. They were stripped of their identity. They could no longer use their names. They were given numbers. At daily roll call, they had to answer immediately with that number. If they faltered, they had to start all over again. They were forced to stand at attention in all weather conditions. They were assigned ranks and a patch placed on their blue and white striped uniforms to identify them based on a hierarchical “caste system” classification, determined by who was considered most despicable or most to be degraded. There is now a sign at the shower room that says in essence, “You have stolen not only their clothes, but their souls.”

Professor em. Dan Olson writes about dehumanization: “The function of propaganda and spreading prejudice against groups of people is to dehumanize the ‘enemy,’ whoever that may be. Only when we look upon ‘the other’ as sub-human (as authorized by government propaganda or religious authorities), can ‘good’ people commit or tolerate such cruelties against the “inferior them” that we could not bring ourselves to do to other ‘human beings.’” (Dan Olson in “Evolution & Christian Understanding of Human Nature. 2002-2009 ) The groups of people who were dehumanized by the Nazis included not only prisoners of war (foreigners) but also Jews, the handicapped, homosexuals, “gypsies,’ and those of the “inner circle” who betrayed the Third Reich (“enemies of the State.”)

Children in U.S. schools during World War II were taught prejudice through government-authorized propaganda. We were taught that Germans and Japanese were evil – of the Devil. Posters caricaturized the enemy – particularly the “Japs” and Hitler. We were taught that Hitler was the most evil of men; but the “Japs” were far more dangerous. They were so “inhuman” that they glorified suicide and therefore were not afraid to go into combat to kill our men because they weren’t afraid to die in the process. They had no human feelings, or emotions, so they could tear us apart without giving it a second glance. We tend to overlook our inhumane treatment of the American Nisei in the containment camps in our Pacific Northwest and elsewhere in the United States.
In Neuendettelsau at the end of our trip, Sister Ruth spoke to us about the Deaconesses and teachers having been pressured by government (Third Reich) authorities into allowing their students to be loaded onto busses the government sent to take them away for “special education” or for “medical treatments” “for their good.” Martin Luther’s teaching that obeying the authority of government is a part of following the commandment to “Honor thy father and thy mother,” has been cited as a factor in their submission to government authority in this situation. Amidst tears of protest, children were torn away from those they trusted. One woman from town grabbed a child off the bus and kept him. I think they escaped or survived somehow, but I wondered what eventually became of them. The Sisters and teachers were deeply grieved later to learn that they had been betrayed, and that their wards had been tortured and executed in Holocaust.

Luther’s opinions on the Jews didn’t help. We Lutherans, collectively, still bear the guilt of believing what Luther wrote about the Jews. I came into the Lutheran Church as a young adult. I recall saying, “I’m not a genuine Lutheran, because I don’t agree with everything Luther wrote,” specifically, about the Jews. The ELCA recently issued an apology for Luther’s anti-Jewish remarks. Those apologies are words. How can simple words, much too late, salve or heal the wounds we (or our forebears) have inflicted on our neighbors for centuries?
German Resistance movements
Some of the German people did not sit passively by and accept Nazi Socialism and its atrocities. There was a resistance movement in Germany. This was the period of the emergence of the “Confessing Church.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer was prominent among these. Wartburg Seminary Professor Paul Leo belonged to the Confessing Church from the beginning. He was among those fortunate enough to escape the concentration camps and to have left Germany.

The young people, students in Germany did hear; did know what was happening. University students like White Rose martyrs in the German resistance movement risked their lives to spread the truth to the people who were being taken in by the Nazi propaganda. A young woman, Sophie Scholl, and her brother Hans Scholl gave their lives to the cause one Sunday afternoon by distributing leaflets to tell German citizens what was really happening. They were seized at the scene, “tried” on the spot, convicted, and executed within about two hours’ time, without even notification to their parents.

We worshipped at St. George Church in Eisenach on January 20 this year. An International Holocaust Remembrance Day is commemorated annually on January 27, not only in Germany and neighboring countries of Eastern Europe, but world-wide. January 27,1945, was the day that the Dachau camp was liberated. Both President Obama and Pope Benedict published remarks on this occasion in 2013. Some groups mark April 6-7 as a day of Remembrance for Holocaust victims.

THE OPPOSITE OF INVISIBLE by Tera Lowe, 2nd year M.Div

How many times did I hear “Oh, you’re getting married in Jamaica? How exciting!” No, not exciting at all. Not the way you think. Exciting because I was  marrying a man I fell in love with eleven years ago, with whom I had lost contact but never forgot.  Now he has three children and I’m excited because I have no children and now I am able to be a step-mother. But not exciting, because I was able to spend only six weeks with them before I came back to school alone. We won’t all be together permanently for about five years. Not exciting because I was not having a “destination wedding.” I, a privileged white American, while I was there,  would be staying in the bush with no indoor plumbing with people who know what it is like to go to bed hungry.

In my world, I usually don’t receive a second glance when I’m out shopping, in a restaurant, or just walking around. I can go around as if I am invisible, only attracting attention and initiating conversations when I want to. But in Jamaica, I was the opposite of invisible.

In the span of six weeks, from the time I left the airport upon my arrival to the time I hopped in the taxi to return to the airport for my departure, I saw about five other white people. When I walked from shop to shop in the middle of Montego Bay, everyone looked at me because I wasn’t supposed to be there. When I stood still long enough, the store security guard usually came to stand next to me. When I paid for our purchases, the cashiers looked to my husband before looking at me, as if waiting for him, a Jamaican, to say that it was ok to interact with me. I was a female, white, American, and everyone knew that someone like me didn’t shop there.

No one was rude to me, but no one talked to me. People would stare at me, but nobody really made eye contact. This was the way it was not just in the inner city, but also in the bush where we lived. The house was not located on a major road that would lead from one tourist area to another, so there was no reason for a white person to pass by, even in a vehicle.

Children wanted to touch me and hug me, but adults would not speak to me unless I was introduced. I walked the same road a few times each week, and every time I would have to wave and say hello before anyone would acknowledge me. I was a sight to behold, I gathered by the response of people walking by to reach the river. If I was outside, heads would turn to look at me in the yard. If I was hollering to the kids I really drew the attention of a passersby, and even more so if I was outside hanging up laundry. I was doing the things a woman there would do, but I wasn’t a woman from there.

Jamaicans speak Patois, and they speak fast. Not knowing all of what the words mean, I could pick up on some of the conversation because it is mixed with a lot of English words. People having conversations with my husband would sometimes be particularly kind to me and speak English so I could be included.  But more often, as if I wasn’t there, they would speak in a way that I could not understand. I don’t think they meant to be rude; however, it made for some very lonely times when I would be standing in full view of the person speaking to my husband and not be able to participate in the conversation.

I thought long and I thought often of those who say things like, “If you are going to come to America, you have to learn the language.” I was in a country where, for the most part, I could speak the language, yet could not understand what was being said. The same can be said for those who speak English as a second language. In America we use words that do not carry the original meaning or have multiple meanings, and we have made up words by melding some words together. Speaking English doesn’t necessarily mean that you will understand me just because we are both in America.

Language wasn’t the only thing that caused me to feel invisible while in full view of all of Jamaica. My white privilege definitely caused me to stick out while also causing some distance between me and others. When I arrived, we had to buy a shower curtain for the outdoor bathing room so that the neighbors couldn’t see me out there. When the water stopped running in the drought conditions, I was not expected to go bathe in the river because I wasn’t used to being naked in front of strangers. Plates were purchased shortly after I arrived, but I was the only one served on a plate. These are just a few examples of ways that I was set apart from others because of who I am.

I would like to tell you that I would happily agree to give up all my modern conveniences and move to Jamaica to be with my husband and kids, but I don’t think I could. It was ok when I knew it was temporary, but the idea of living that way all the time is frightening. There would have to be some changes in their lives before I could move there, changes that would bring them out of their way of life and start to move them into mine. Like into a place with indoor plumbing, which would mean moving out of their home. They would do that for me, and in fact have agreed to move to the U.S. when they can, which means giving up everything they know and love. Could I do the same?

No matter if I give up everything I know or not, when I am there I could give up all but one thing: I cannot stop being a female, white, American. Even if I changed my citizenship, people would hear me speak and know where I’m from. They would see my skin and there would be expectations: they would think I expected certain actions and behaviors from them, and they would expect certain actions and behaviors from me in return. No matter how long I were to live there, no matter if everyone in the bush got to know me, no matter if I learned all the Patois and could keep up with and be a part of all conversations, I would still be the opposite of invisible. But maybe that’s just the way I would feel because when I’m there I am always going to be different.

KEEP YOUR COURAGE AND JOY an Interview with Dr. Renate Wind

KEEP YOUR COURAGE AND JOY an Interview with Dr. Renate Wind

by Karen Ressel, M.Div. Middler

Dr. Renate Wind read excerpts from her latest biography, Dorothee Soelle-Mystic and Rebel, opening the world of Soelle to the students and faculty of Wartburg Theological Seminary during Wind’s public lecture here September 13. Dr. Wind, Professor of Biblical Theology and Church History at the Evangelische Hochschule Nürnberg, Germany, is an activist and reformer in her own right.  She was, and continues to be, engaged in the peace and justice movements.  “I think we can change the world only with movements from below, from the grassroots; in Germany it is graswurzel,” said Wind

In 1968 she stood with many others in protest of the Vietnam War and the invasion of Czechoslovakia by the Soviet Army.  “We demonstrated against the two super nations.  We opposed the use of military forces used to stop liberation movements here and there.”

Wind always knew she wanted to be a teacher; however, becoming a theologian and a biographer was not as obvious to her.  “I wanted to be a teacher since my first year of school.  As a pastor’s daughter, I was familiar with my church, but also in protest against it, like many pastor’s children are. Even now I have some difficulty with conservative Lutheran theology.”

“When I was eighteen I wanted to study art, or journalism, but then came the theology of liberation from Latin America and a new perspective of Dietrich Bonhoeffer (among other things).  That was new thinking in theology.”  She began as a parish pastor in southwest Germany.  Then she found herself serving as a school pastor for twelve years, and finally she was elected as a professor.

“During the 1970’s there was a great change and a lot of reform, and a will to reform school education to help children of all abilities.  It was a very exciting time.  I worked at one of the new schools that integrated all kinds of pupils together.  I gave a lot of energy to that!  Many of the children came from very difficult circumstances.  All children should have the chance to make the best of it.  Yes, it was very exciting to be there.”

Her desire to educate her students was the motivation for each of the biographies she has undertaken, “I wanted to make a biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer for my pupils who were 16, 17, and 18 years old.  I wanted to show the young people that there is a way to be a politically active person, a way to be in life and society.”

“I did not make the Bonhoeffer biography to become a famous writer!  I never thought it would be so successful!  I only wanted to make it for my pupils but it brought me to Wartburg, for example, and many other places.”

“All of the biographies have to do with my engagement in the peace activist movement and solidarity of the Latin American liberation movements. …All of my subjects had a great influence on me and my theological thinking.  Each biography is not the biography of saint; it is holistic.  I wanted to have dialogs with human beings that impressed me; that influenced me.”  As she researched, she asked herself, “What is the legacy that is important for us today?”

Wind feels there has been a shift in education over the last twenty years to a more conservative, elitist thinking, but she is not discouraged, “I take courage in my job as a teacher.  I think there will be something going forward in many people, not in all of course, but many.  My students become teachers in schools.  I am always connected with school life.”

“I took part in many movements that were not very successful.  But, the movement of Jesus was also not very successful in the beginning.  I am an old revolutionary student from 1968.  I still hope we can change the world and make it a better place! I think education is one of the main things to do that.”

Dr. Renate Wind is an inspiration and has this advice for those who will come after her, continuing the work toward peace and justice: “Keep your courage.  Keep your joy.  If you have no joy in the movement and what you are doing politically, you will not get through the difficult times.”

POEM – DREAM ME, GOD by Dorothee Soelle

As published in Dorothee Soelle: Mystic and Rebel by Renate Wind (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), p. 1

It’s not you who should solve my problems, God,
But I yours, God of the asylum-seekers.
It’s not you who should feed the hungry,
But I who should protect your children
From the terror of the banks and armies,
It’s not you who should make room for the refugees,
But I who should receive you,
Hardly hidden God of the desolate

You dreamed me, God,
Practicing walking upright
And learning to kneel down
More beautiful than I am now,
Happier than I dare to be
Freer than our country allows.

Don’t stop dreaming me, God.
I don’t want to stop remembering
That I am your tree,
Planted by the streams
of living water.

Translated from the German, “Träume Mich, Gott” in das Brot der Ermutigung (Stuttgart: Kreuz, 2008),

BOOK REVIEW: DOROTHEE SOELLE: MYSTIC AND REBEL by Renate Wind

BOOK REVIEW: DOROTHEE SOELLE: MYSTIC AND REBEL by Renate Wind. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012, 203 pages. Cloth $ 25.00

Reviewed by Norma Cook Everist, WTS Professor of Church and Ministry

Through Renate Wind’s compassionate, truthful telling of the life of Dorothee Soelle we truly begin to know the woman who at twelve in 1941 had not yet felt the terrors of the War in the affluent suburbs of Cologne. This woman at seventy was celebrated ecumenically and globally as theologian, poet, and activist for peace and justice. Soelle sought the truth, so she studied theology and believed it must be lived and experienced in relationship. Wind writes, “She was such a living witness of an exciting love for God and the world that many of her friends remember her as if she were still with them.”

Wind’s book is compelling drama. Soelle in post-war Germany searched for a way to move from German humanist culture, without bypassing repentance, toward a radical Christianity. She became student, writer, wife, mother, instructor in a girls’ high school, all acceptable roles for a woman in the 1950’s and early 1960’s. And then catastrophe for that time: separation, divorce, a woman on her own; but also new communities, new challenges and “Political Evensong.” Soelle’s deep theological inquiry, prolific writing, speaking and activism led her to become world-renowned and controversial. She was invited to discussions, conferences, organized actions and teaching assignments, including a professorship at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. Dorothee Soelle became one of the most highly regarded theologians of her time, yet never received a teaching appointment in Germany.

She believed the only way one can really grow into Christ was to grow into the movement for resistance. Wind writes of Soelle, “She was a path-breaker and a torch carrier, a symbol and a role model with whom many identified…She placed signs of hope along the way for all who wanted to set out for the promised land of freedom, equality and brother-and-sisterhood.”

Renate Wind, professor of biblical theology and church history at the Evangelische Hochschule in Nürnberg, is author and peace activist. English-readers will not be able to put down this edition, translated from the German by Nancy Lukens and Martin Rumscheidt.

Renate Wind describes herself as a younger contemporary of Dorothee Soelle, entrusted with this biography by Dorothee’s second husband, Fulbert Steffensky, and friend, Luise Schottroff. Each of us will connect with this book in our own way and find our own questions. Mine: How does one deal with the contractions of wanting to believe in the superiority of one’s country, living a relatively privileged, calm life and the realities of violence, injustice, and death? How am I inspired to do theology sensually, poetically, and politically?

LORI BRUFLODT: A PERSISTENT VOICE AS A VICTIM’S ADVOCATE VOLUNTEER

An Interview with Norma Cook Everist

Lori Bruflodt has persistently provided a listening ear and a voice for people in crisis who have suffered some sort of loss or tragic event. She has been a volunteer at the Y Domestic Violence Program in Dubuque for the past seven years and at Riverview Sexual Assault Center for eight. “I heard about these centers locally and their need for volunteers and I knew I wanted to do this.” Both places provided 40 hours of required training.

Lori went on, “Riverview had a whole curriculum with topics such as, ‘What are you going to do for self care when you come home from the hospital where you helped someone who has just experienced a rape?’ and ‘Dealing with different cultural groups.’” Lori said there are significant differences. “Some groups, because of cultural views of the victim, will not report as easily as others. In some groups the entire family comes to the hospital after the incident.” Rape and domestic violence are part of every social economic group. Lori believes training is essential. “We learned a lot of useful statistics and a lot of myths about sexual assaults and domestic violence.”

One statistic: A woman has one of the highest chances of being raped in the first 6 weeks of her freshman year of college.

One myth: That most rapes are stranger rapes. “In all my years of dealing with rape victims, only one was a ‘stranger-rape.’ The others were by people who were related, an old boyfriend, or an acquaintance, a ‘friend of a friend.’ That’s a big one. You don’t really know the person, but your friend knew him and so you are hesitant to pursue legal charges or sometimes even medical attention.”

There are many sources of myths and facts about sexual assault and domestic violence. A good example is http://www.d.umn.edu/cla/faculty/jhamlin/3925/myths.html

Domestic violence is usually done by a spouse or a partner. When the victim is a youth under 18, criminal charges may be pressed by law enforcement. Victims over 18 years of age in most cases,can decide for themselves. And because of the familiarity they don’t press charges because they are afraid, “It’s my word against theirs.”

“As an advocate we don’t tell the victim what to do, but we explain to them their options and the steps they need to take now. Most of all I let them know ‘I’m here for you,’” said Lori. “That’s who an advocate is.” Lori went on, “And that may mean standing up to law enforcement or hospital staff for the sake of the victim. You speak for the victim.” That’s a persistent voice!

Who speaks for those who can’t speak because of Cerebral Palsy or intellectual disability? In those situations Lori has had to work with medical staff to make sure there is needed medical attention for people who might easily be dismissed because of their inability to advocate for themselves. Likewise, sometimes people do not take victims who live with mental illness seriously. Lori listens, sorts through the complexity of the conversation and then may say something such as, “What can we do with tonight’s crisis?”

The role of an advocate is important. Victims need to know they have a voice and choices: she needs an exam; she needs STD testing; the choice of whether or not to have a rape kit collected and the importance of timing if they choose to. The volunteer victim advocate can be called the night of the incident and often that hospital visit may be only contact the agency will have with the victim. It’s so important the victim receives clear, caring help at that time, and good information on referrals for help afterwards. Victims have been betrayed, often by a family member or friend they thought they could trust; it’s important they not feel betrayed again after the rape

Lori went on to describe her work on the domestic violence hot line and at the shelter. She has been called in when the shelter was short on staff and relied on volunteers to fill in. Lori said, “When women come to the shelter they will be living in community. They usually come from having lived in a violent situation and there are issues. It’s tough. It’s stressful. They come to the shelter because they have no one else with whom to live. They bring their children, often fleeing a dangerous situation quickly. The whole family has one bedroom no matter how many children. They have no storage. The residents all share a living room, kitchen and bathroom with people who are at first strangers. We help facilitate living in community.

I would also answer the 24-hour hot line. As I sat by the phone in the shelter, women would come in and talk. We would have conversations about their options. You listen, particularly when they wonder if they should go back to the abusive situation, and you say, ‘What would it look like if you went back? How would it be different or not? What other options might you be able to find?’ They prepare a safety plan before they leave the shelter. ‘Could the situation be lethal? Do you need a restraining order? Do you need a 911 cell phone? Do you have people who could check in with you to see how you are and how you are doing?’ ”

The issues are long term and complex. If there has been a separation or divorce, and there are children involved, there can be issues of joint custody and visitations. Where is it safe to meet to exchange the children if the parents can’t get along? One local church had provided a safe place for such meetings. Lori went on to describe how volunteers help victims of domestic violence make safety plans and action plans for life. “If you need to leave the shelter in sixty days, what do need to do to be able to find work? To find housing?”

Sometimes a woman leaves her family and needs to tell no one where she is going lest she be found by the person looking for her who could be dangerous. The result is a combination of fear, and the resulting loneliness. Lori recalls a woman at the shelter on Thanksgiving by herself because she had to leave her situation and tell no one where she was, so had nowhere to go for the holiday meal. “That woman’s situation sticks with me,” says Lori.

Lori said that people sometimes ask about her volunteer work, “Don’t you get paid?” “How awful to go to the hospital and hear the story of rape. I could never do that.” Lori says, “If I can find the strength and have skills to do this, then I need to. Somebody has to be there for these people. There are lots of ways to volunteer. You have to know what your gifts are. There are other things other people volunteer to do that may not be my gifts. When I come home at 3:00 a.m. from a hospital visit and need to work the next day and lay there awake because I can’t get to sleep, I sometimes ask, ‘Why did I do this?’ Then I remember the times I made a difference. I may never know what became of the person afterwards, but I know I did the best I could and was there for the victim when she or he would not have had a voice.”

Lori Bruflodt soon will be taking a new position as a Crisis Recovery Team Counselor at the Hillcrest Family Services Crisis Center here in Dubuque. She hopes that in two years she will be licensed as a Mental Health Counselor (LMHC) in the state of Iowa. She received an M.A. degree in Clinical Counseling from Loras College in Dubuque in December, 2008. She has been Director of Information Technology for 18 years at Wartburg Seminary and will continue part time at Wartburg for awhile to make the transition as smooth as possible. She knows she will miss Wartburg, but also knows that counseling has been dear to her heart for a long time. Lori says she will hate to give up some of the volunteer work she has done these years, but with her new employment cannot be on call for three places at the same time. Lori is so well known at Wartburg and her work here is deeply appreciated; the total impact of her persistent service as a volunteer may never be known but has no doubt changed countless lives.

THE BEGINNING…OF WHAT? Sermon by Rev. Dr. Gwen Sayler, Professor, Wartburg Seminary

Text: Mark 1:1-5; Isa 52:7-10
Tired, dusty feet honed and callused by desert sand
A voice proclaiming hopeful and yet fearful tidings….Turn, turn your feet and your hearts…get ready for the in-breaking of the reign of God.
More feet–wet feet wading in the Jordan
Voices confessing sins, hearts awaiting the One to baptize in Spirit and in fire.
Fresh feet as yet unmarred by suffering, unblemished feet wading into the Jordan to be baptized by John;
A voice from heaven as the heaven rips: You are my Son, the Beloved; in you I am well-pleased.
Hot, tired feet driven into the wilderness, defiantly standing firm, refusing the temptation to stand down, massaged by the angelic host.
Energized, fleet feet on the move.
The voice of the One whose body those feet anchor speaking into being the in-breaking of God’s reign in word and deed, challenging the power of forces of evil allied against that reign.
Feet that before the story comes full circle will lead a rag tag bunch of followers on a circuitous route through Galilee and down to Jerusalem.
Feet—talented, tired, beautiful, battered, bruised feet nailed to a cross.
The sound of the temple curtain ripping; life-less feet carried down from the cross and buried in a tomb.
And then, silence.
Three days later…..fearful, frazzled feet furtively moving through shadows to the tomb, feet bearing women firmly determined to anoint the dead body one more time.
A voice crying out:
HE IS NOT HERE; HE IS RISEN. GO TELL THE DISCIPLES THAT THAT HE IS GOING BEFORE YOU TO GALILEE; THERE YOU WILL SEE HIM AS HE TOLD YOU.
The beginning of the story of Jesus Christ crucified and risen, footloose and fancy free, on the move into all the shadowy desert places where feet are shaky, the wildernesses where fears abound, frustrations frazzle, feet fall down—the broken places of our world, our bodies and our hearts as well.
The risen Christ, footloose and fancy free breaking through the very barriers that hold us back and tie us down and tempt us to stand down.
The risen Christ, footloose and fancy-free with life-giving, death-defying hope, love, and courage for God’s fearful, frazzled people of every time and every place
The beginning of what? The beginning of the new world-changing day to which you and I are invited—no, more that, the new world-changing day to which you and I are called and challenged and sent to participate.
It’s no secret that Mark’s Gospel ends as abruptly as it began.
Our last sight—that of the women running as fast as their fearful feet will take them leaves open the ending of the story because the story has not ended—it lives on in and through you and me and all God’s people of every time and every place.
Beautiful, talented, sometimes tired feet—your feet and mine. …. feet that have borne us through our joys and sorrows, our anxious days and those we have eagerly anticipated. …feet washed in the waters of baptism, bearing you, God’s beloved, talented daughter and son, you in whom God is well-pleased……
…..and yet sometimes, when work pushes us further than we think we can go or uncertainly weighs us down like a menacing cloud hanging over us or when death tries to do its worst, those beloved feet get downright battered and bruised.
But through it all, the voice continues to ring: He is not here….he is risen….go and tell. Jesus the risen Christ, footloose and fancy free on the move for and to and through you and me.
The risen Christ, footloose and fancy free, on the move walking on our sometimes tumultuous roadways with us, massaging our battered feet and bruised spirits, making himself known in bread and wine, fueling our spirits and energizing our tired feet with God’s very own life-giving, life-sustaining power for today and tomorrow and every day ahead.
Jesus the risen Christ, footloose and fancy free, on the move refreshing and renewing, energizing and equipping beautiful, talented, tired feet for the mission to which their bearers are called.
The ancient prophetic oracle, spoken originally to give confidence and courage to exiles whose tired, talented beautiful feet were about to get to go back home says it so well : “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the one who brings good tidings, who publishes peace, who brings good tidings, causing us to hear salvation.”
Jesus Christ, crucified and risen footloose and fancy free, entering into the shadowy places of our lives and our world with light and love and peace…..energizing our feet for the ministries to which we are called…………

What more can we add to that except to thank God for God’s inexpressible Gift. Amen.

SENDING POEM by Julane Nease, WTS 3rd year DL Student

You were meant for this;

This moment,

This day,

This Life.

 

From the beginning;

Each turn,

Each road

Lead you here.

 

God has prepared you;

Nurturing,

Nourishing,

Planting,

 

Making you fertile soil;

Blossoming,

Blooming,

Growing.

.

Now, God is calling,

In the calm,

In the clamor,

In all places.

 

You were meant for this.

Go in love

Go Serve.

Go!

 

 

BOOK REVIEW: ASH WEDNESDAY by Roberta Pierce, WTS, 2012

ASH WEDNESDAY
by Harold Eppley
Waverly, Tennessee: Oconee Spirit Press, 2012, 260 pages

Harold Eppley, a 1988 graduate of Wartburg Seminary has published seven non-fiction books, but this is his first novel. “Ash Wednesday” is the story of two pastors whose lives intersect in some very interesting ways. Both are struggling, but for very different reasons. Pastor Gerald Schwartz struggles with losing his wife to another woman, while trying to pacify a small church full of bickering people and still maintain his sense of liturgical correctness. Pastor Allan Weiss seems to have it all: a mega-church that affords him a luxurious lifestyle, a wife, children, and parishioners who adore him. Unfortunately, Pastor Weiss takes the adornment by some of his parishioners a bit too far, especially those who are young and attractive. In other words, he has no boundaries and, as long as his wife doesn’t find out, he is willing to have as many affairs as he can fit in to his busy schedule.

Although Schwartz and Weiss do not agree on many things, they are colleagues and when you live in a rural area, colleagues are not in great supply. They meet on a regular basis because the bishop mandated that each pastor in the district partner for a weekly meeting with a pastor whose approach to theology and ministry was different than theirs. This was a perfect match for those reasons.

At first, I was not sure I liked the portrayal of a pastor who jumped into bed with any attractive female who was willing or could be persuaded to have a sexual relationship with him. It was not the image of a pastor I want people to read about. That being said, I found Eppley’s writing sharp and page-turning. It was hard to put down. The book is full of satire and pathos. There are many sexual references in the book. It is definitely a book for adults only. What I found I enjoyed most about the book was Eppley’s way of intertwining the many colorful characters. He artfully captures the essence of each person and makes them come alive. I liked the ending. It was not what I expected, but it brought the book to a fitting conclusion for me.

TO MY DAD by Anna Johnson, Mount of Olives, Jerusalem

Anna Johnson, 23, finished a B.A. last year and now lives and works on the Mount of Olives in the office of the Lutheran World Federation in Jerusalem.  She is the daughter of Andrew Johnson, Executive Assistant to the Johnson County Board of Supervisors, and Kathy Gerking, an ELCA Pastor and Wartburg Seminary graduate.  In her Father’s Day note to Andy, she reflects on some aspects of being a Pastor’s Kid when it’s your mom who is the pastor.  She tells her dad:

…how awesome I think YOU are for supporting her. Since entering the “real” world, I have realized that there are still a lot of discrepancies and prejudices in how our world treats men and women. Even amongst couples I have a great deal of respect for, I have noticed that not only do traditional “gender” roles hold fast, but power disparity often does as well. Funny thing is that I really thought this stuff was probably a thing of the past growing up, and I have you and Mom to thank for that.

I am not sure I ever told you about a moment in one of my classes last year when someone was talking about how there are men out there who take care of things in the household and take care of the kids, etc – and we were all talking about this as some sort of novel concept – until a lightbulb went off in my head and I realized that “hey! my dad did those things when I was growing up, too! that’s not weird!… is it??” Kind of like hearing Uncle Paul talk about seeing a one-armed man and feeling sorry for him before it hit him “hey! my dad only has one arm!” Except that the “weird” thing about my dad is that he is a feminist rather than that he is missing any limbs.

In other words, I have loved learning more about the parts of your relationship (from engagement, to wedding, and beyond!) that other people might find “quirky” or too progressive, but that I grew up thinking were normal. I am proud to have a dad who was a strong enough man to marry a woman who did not change her name and who has always supported her career opportunities. Patriarchy is alive and well in our society and in our churches (and at times, in our family), and while this angers me on countless levels, I think in some way I feel less personally wounded by it than many others because at least I grew up in a household that shows hope for how more relationships might be in the future – and society can only change when we change how we ourselves act in relationship with one another….

I love you!
Anna

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