Saturday, October 18, 2008
Two Months!!!
Can it really have been two months since I've posted? I suppose it has been, give or take a few days. If there is anyone who still bothers to come and check out any updates, I'd like to say that I do apologize for such rudeness. There really isn't any reason for it, but my excuse is that I've been severely busy with school. As most of you probably know, this is my last semester, and I've got a full load (22 hours), plus I'm working on trying to figure out my plans for next semester. I have a lot to say about my semester, but I think I had better keep things in chronological order and wait until I finish posting the rest of my summer adventures (seems so long ago...). So please consider this note a quick "we're back on the air" notice, and I hope to be more faithful in the next two months.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Points of History (Berlin, III)
The Brandenburg Gate was a sign of national pride and strength. The main central gate was reserved only for the coaches of the Kaiser. After WWII when the city of Berlin was divided into four different sections (American, British, French, and Soviet), the gate served as the border between the West and East. The Russians, Europeans, and Americans agreed that the gate must be repaired and reopened after suffering massive damage during the bombing of Berlin. New statues were ordered repairs were done by both sides. However, before the gate could be unveiled, the Soviets began work on the Berlin Wall. Since the Gate officially belonged on the Soviet side but much too close to the allied side, it ended up in No Man’s Land, the area between the Berlin Wall and another, smaller wall that kept the Eastern Berliners (not jelly doughnuts as one famous U.S. President said) from trying to get to the Wall.
There was a cool Russian guy who sold visa stamps and post cards. I got a visa stamp from the American, British, French, and Soviet sides, as well West Germany and East Germany. Behind him were these two guys with the British and American flag. I asked, in French, where the French flag was, and they said they only spoke English and German. I thought this was strange since most Europeans speak at least three different languages and probably four or five. But oh well. I asked in English. They looked at me with a stupefied expression and pointed toward the French embassy as if they were shocked that I had spoken English. I asked them, since Western Berlin was originally split between the three countries, why they didn’t have a compatriot to represent the French. They answered, in halting English, that three people was too many. I finally figured out they weren’t actually American or British. In fact I don’t think they were even German. I’m pretty sure they were Turkish. Oh well. Makes for a cool photo, eh?
But I did find the French at Checkpoint Charlie, the main (only?) border passing between Eastern and Western Berlin. I was again pretty sure he wasn’t really French, but I didn't get a chance to ask him. Oh, and that American had some sort of foreign accent.
I’m pretty sure Checkpoint Charlie was the only checkpoint because, even though it was located in the American section, the signs were written in English, Russian, French, and German. Why French? It would have made more sense for them to use the French crossing if there had been one.
I love this picture of the four flags. Strange to me that neither German flag is included.
So that was my trip to Berlin, a city of rich but tragic history. And I see nothing but equal amounts of pain and tragedy for the city in the future. Though the city and the country have only be reunified for less than 20 years, Germany faces again losing its identify on two fronts: The EU and the massive amounts of immigration who bring, and are slowly replacing Christianity/Secularism/Atheism with, Islam. If Germany is still existing as a free independent democracy in 25 years it will be a miracle. Or it will be because they have, once again, had a bloody civil war.
Exploring Berlin (Berlin, II)
After my visit to Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s house, I still had about ten hours before my train was to leave. I decided to explore a bit of the city. First I took a river boat and got a view of the center of the city. There’s an island in the middle of the main river of Berlin that has five different museums and little, if any, else. It’s called, appropriately enough, Museum Island.
This is the oldest chapel in Berlin.
The Reichstag is the building of the national parliament, the Baumstang (sp?). Also close by are the Chancellor’s offices, the Parliamentary library, and other national offices. I did actually go up into the glass globe later on. From the top you can see almost all of Berlin.
The golden dome is the rebuilt National Jewish Synagogue. This was an interesting photo to me with the smoke stack to the right and front of the Synagogue. As most know, the smoke stack was a horrifying symbol of Nazi murder and torture of the Jews. 
The Protestant Saint (Berlin, I)
The Catholics have, quite literally, thousands of them. Evangelical Protestants are reticent to name people ‘saint’ for many reasons. The two most important reasons are, in my humble opinion, quite valid. They are: 1) The Bible calls all Christians ‘saints’. To give specific people this title excludes certain that are and, quite probably, has included some that are not. 2) When Catholics use the term ‘saint’, they really mean ‘demi-god’ who somehow makes intercession on behalf of mere men here on earth before God. A foundational belief that sets Protestants apart from Catholics is the doctrine of the priesthood of all believers. This makes praying to saints not only pointless and silly but idolatrous and sinful. As an aside, notice how the doctrine is called “priesthood of all believers”, not “high-priesthood of all believers”.
On both of these issues, as with 90% of other issues, I am in total agreement with the Protestant view. However, there does seem to be a need to differentiate great Christians heroes throughout Church history. These people live lives that are particularly instructional to Christians. They can be known for anything from performing a miracle to total devotion to God, from theological treatise to martyrdom. Some Catholic saints that Protestants all readily agree should be recognized on some level include: the Apostles, Mary, Valentine, Patrick, Augustine, Thomas à Kempis, and others.
Yet since the time of the Reformation, we Protestants don’t tend to raise people to this level. There are literally dozens of individuals from the Reformation period that would be called ‘saint’ if they had been on the other side of the conflict: William Tyndale, John Huss, Martin Luther, John Knox, Jean Calvin, Queen Elizabeth, etc. But there are also hundreds, possibly thousands, since the Reformation. People like Corrie ten Boom, Jim Elliot, Mary Slessor, William Carey, the Wesley brothers, and many others.
One staunch Protestant of whom even the Catholic Church has expressed approval was martyred in Nazi Germany during World War II. “The Protestant Saint” is not my own phrase. I read it sometime ago in some Catholic publication discussing the life, work, and death of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Most likely this is, at least partly, due to the failure on the part of the Catholic Church itself to resist Nazism, even while many Catholics did. Bonhoeffer helped to found one of the only official Protestant church movements in Europe, and the only in Germany to my knowledge, to refuse to cooperate with Nazism on almost every point.
But that isn’t all he did to deserve this title. He is, perhaps, best known for his theological and Christian living writings. This summer I read three of his books: Psalms: Prayer Book of the Bible, The Cost of Discipleship, and Life Together. I found each to be a treasure trove full of gems waiting to be explored. Perhaps my favorite of the three is Life Together. ‘Favorite’ isn’t the correct word, as it took more than three months to finish the book because I could only read a few pages before having to put it down in shame and conviction. I realized, for the first time, how my view of Christian life, family, and friendship has been so incredibly twisted.
The Cost of Discipleship is easily the most controversial among Evangelicals but also the richest. It is true that Bonhoeffer flirts with, what sounds to some (including at times myself), blatant heresy. But he also lays the practicality of Christian life out in an uncompromising way. Sadly I think that these times he flirts with heretical language only serve to, in the minds of some, discredit what he has written. But there are many important things one must understand before passing judgement on Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s orthodoxy: his stream of Christianity (a mix of Evangelicalism, Incarnationalism, Holiness, and Social Justice), his denomination (Lutheranism), his time, and the politics and environment of his country all contribute to a use of vocabulary that differs greatly from the way 21st century American Evangelicals tend to use them. It is important to remember that The Cost of Discipleship is talking solely about discipleship and victory in Christian life even when he uses the term “salvation".
That term, for Bonhoeffer, rarely means what we Evangelicals mean when we use the word. We of course mean eternal non-damnation and rewards in Heaven. Well, at least most of us do. This alone has done more to contribute to a total misunderstanding of Bonhoeffer’s works among American Christians than anything else. However, there are two other things that Christians of my generation won’t understand: 1) Bonhoeffer’s contact with Christian Liberalism in New York and Berlin that horrified him at the state of Christian theology and 2) the emergence of Nazism in Germany and, especially, the sympathy and aid it received in the German Lutheran Church. These two things influenced his writing and colored his writings in ways that we can't understand as 21st century Middle-Americans who have basically little contact with theological Liberalism.
But I’ve written over a page of explanation and haven’t gotten to my point! My trip to Berlin really had only purpose that made it impossible for me not to go: I wanted to visit the house of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I did make it, and, like visiting the Hiding Place in Holland, it was an extremely moving experience for me. This is the outside of his parent’s house in Berlin where he stayed whenever he was in the city:
The following pictures are from Bonhoeffer’s bedroom. To sit in his chair at his desk where he wrote some of his theological works and love letters, to look at the books in his library that must have played an important part in influencing his own writing, and even to see his wash basin and wardrobe meant something I can’t explain in words. My prayer was: “God, raise up a generation like this man! But if not a generation, raise up a few individuals who will preserve the name of Your Church when it is bent by being corrupted by the world.” For you see, our time is, in many ways, not that much unlike Bonhoeffer's. The Church must always be on the gaurd against becoming so embroiled in the world (politically, culturally, socially) that she loses her savor.
On both of these issues, as with 90% of other issues, I am in total agreement with the Protestant view. However, there does seem to be a need to differentiate great Christians heroes throughout Church history. These people live lives that are particularly instructional to Christians. They can be known for anything from performing a miracle to total devotion to God, from theological treatise to martyrdom. Some Catholic saints that Protestants all readily agree should be recognized on some level include: the Apostles, Mary, Valentine, Patrick, Augustine, Thomas à Kempis, and others.
Yet since the time of the Reformation, we Protestants don’t tend to raise people to this level. There are literally dozens of individuals from the Reformation period that would be called ‘saint’ if they had been on the other side of the conflict: William Tyndale, John Huss, Martin Luther, John Knox, Jean Calvin, Queen Elizabeth, etc. But there are also hundreds, possibly thousands, since the Reformation. People like Corrie ten Boom, Jim Elliot, Mary Slessor, William Carey, the Wesley brothers, and many others.
One staunch Protestant of whom even the Catholic Church has expressed approval was martyred in Nazi Germany during World War II. “The Protestant Saint” is not my own phrase. I read it sometime ago in some Catholic publication discussing the life, work, and death of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Most likely this is, at least partly, due to the failure on the part of the Catholic Church itself to resist Nazism, even while many Catholics did. Bonhoeffer helped to found one of the only official Protestant church movements in Europe, and the only in Germany to my knowledge, to refuse to cooperate with Nazism on almost every point.
But that isn’t all he did to deserve this title. He is, perhaps, best known for his theological and Christian living writings. This summer I read three of his books: Psalms: Prayer Book of the Bible, The Cost of Discipleship, and Life Together. I found each to be a treasure trove full of gems waiting to be explored. Perhaps my favorite of the three is Life Together. ‘Favorite’ isn’t the correct word, as it took more than three months to finish the book because I could only read a few pages before having to put it down in shame and conviction. I realized, for the first time, how my view of Christian life, family, and friendship has been so incredibly twisted.
The Cost of Discipleship is easily the most controversial among Evangelicals but also the richest. It is true that Bonhoeffer flirts with, what sounds to some (including at times myself), blatant heresy. But he also lays the practicality of Christian life out in an uncompromising way. Sadly I think that these times he flirts with heretical language only serve to, in the minds of some, discredit what he has written. But there are many important things one must understand before passing judgement on Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s orthodoxy: his stream of Christianity (a mix of Evangelicalism, Incarnationalism, Holiness, and Social Justice), his denomination (Lutheranism), his time, and the politics and environment of his country all contribute to a use of vocabulary that differs greatly from the way 21st century American Evangelicals tend to use them. It is important to remember that The Cost of Discipleship is talking solely about discipleship and victory in Christian life even when he uses the term “salvation".
That term, for Bonhoeffer, rarely means what we Evangelicals mean when we use the word. We of course mean eternal non-damnation and rewards in Heaven. Well, at least most of us do. This alone has done more to contribute to a total misunderstanding of Bonhoeffer’s works among American Christians than anything else. However, there are two other things that Christians of my generation won’t understand: 1) Bonhoeffer’s contact with Christian Liberalism in New York and Berlin that horrified him at the state of Christian theology and 2) the emergence of Nazism in Germany and, especially, the sympathy and aid it received in the German Lutheran Church. These two things influenced his writing and colored his writings in ways that we can't understand as 21st century Middle-Americans who have basically little contact with theological Liberalism.
But I’ve written over a page of explanation and haven’t gotten to my point! My trip to Berlin really had only purpose that made it impossible for me not to go: I wanted to visit the house of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I did make it, and, like visiting the Hiding Place in Holland, it was an extremely moving experience for me. This is the outside of his parent’s house in Berlin where he stayed whenever he was in the city:
The following pictures are from Bonhoeffer’s bedroom. To sit in his chair at his desk where he wrote some of his theological works and love letters, to look at the books in his library that must have played an important part in influencing his own writing, and even to see his wash basin and wardrobe meant something I can’t explain in words. My prayer was: “God, raise up a generation like this man! But if not a generation, raise up a few individuals who will preserve the name of Your Church when it is bent by being corrupted by the world.” For you see, our time is, in many ways, not that much unlike Bonhoeffer's. The Church must always be on the gaurd against becoming so embroiled in the world (politically, culturally, socially) that she loses her savor.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Paris Refreshment (France, III)
As I write this, I’m sitting in the train station in Sweden after having taken my second night train in 2 days and waiting for my connection to farther north. This night train, though, was a lot more successful than the first.
I left Le Chambon early on Wednesday morning and headed for Paris. I arrived by 13h00 and had arranged to meet up with some friends of mine at 17h15, so I had about four hours to hang around. I’ve been to Paris twice before and spent a lot of time walking across the city. If you know me, you know I’m not a big fan of big cities. They tend to have a lot of people and, as I’ve mentioned, I’m not a people person. Paris is better than most big cities, but it's still a big city.
This time, though, seemed to be fairly low on tourists compared to when I’ve been there before. After a delicious Parisian meal (for the record, I’ve never paid for a meal in France that I didn’t enjoy to the utmost, but then I don’t eat at the normal tourist places) that was, of course, more than I could possibly eat, I walked along the Seine and drank in the view (and the language!) for awhile before deciding to head toward Notre Dame. I had visited the famous church back in 2004, but there were a lot of people at the time, and I wanted to take another look. I approached the cathedral from the back. This let me walk through all the lovely parks surrounding it. Parks tend to be one thing out of many that the French are experts at. When I arrived at the front of the cathedral I discovered to my dismay that I couldn’t take my backpack in with me.
With no baggage check and nothing to do, I decided to head on toward Paris Nord, the station I was to leave from for Berlin. Since I still had a few hours, I decided to walk and drink in the sights. I met my friends one metro stop away from Paris Nord at a Starbucks (yes, they do have them in Paris). Holly came to France one month after my first visit to work with the mission group (CEF) I had done my summer-mission’s trip with. We met in 2006 when I went back to France and have been in contact via email for two years. She married the eldest son of the CEF national director in France right after I left in 2006. Our chat was too brief, but it was lovely to meet up with someone with whom I share a common language, country, religion, and world view. I can’t remember talking about anything particularly important in our chatting (except the French waitress who asked me what cologne I was wearing... awkward), but I do remember that I was incredibly refreshed afterwards. This is something that God has allowed me to experience several times in my stay in Europe so far: the refreshing fellowship of the Saints. First my friends in Holland, then my Northern Irish friends in Brussels, Mary, Peter, and Susan & Geoff in London, and Holly & Jean in France. Most of these people I would never have met if we all lived in the same country. Or we would have approached each other with suspicion, distrust, and our doctrinal divisions.
My time in Paris came all too quickly to an end as I boarded my train toward Berlin. The train was fully booked I had reserved my tickets too late to get a couchette (bed in shared compartment) or a sleeper. I was stuck in a tiny compartment with five other people. Two of them, a teenage boy and his mother, didn’t speak French, English, or German, but they did speak some language that sounded something like a cross between a dying frog and fingernails on a chalkboard. What they had been doing in France or how they managed to get around is beyond me. They were from somewhere in eastern Europe and kept their eyes lowered the whole time. Strange. The other people in my car were nice enough, but we were so cramped and tired that no one really talked a lot. I did end up having a nice long conversation in the corridor with a lovely Frenchman and his wife who were going to Berlin to visit their daughter. He didn’t speak any English so it was great for giving me one last stretch of my French skills. Seriously, I think my French improved more in four days in France than ten weeks in Belgium. It makes me wish I had been more assertive in going to Paris. But then I would have missed all the fun and people I met in Brussels.
So to you, my dear reader, I leave three closing thoughts: 1) The fellowship of the Saints is refreshing indeed, 2) if you want to learn a foreign language, go to the country of its origin, and 3) if you’re going to take an overnight train, make sure you get a couchette or sleeper.
I left Le Chambon early on Wednesday morning and headed for Paris. I arrived by 13h00 and had arranged to meet up with some friends of mine at 17h15, so I had about four hours to hang around. I’ve been to Paris twice before and spent a lot of time walking across the city. If you know me, you know I’m not a big fan of big cities. They tend to have a lot of people and, as I’ve mentioned, I’m not a people person. Paris is better than most big cities, but it's still a big city.
This time, though, seemed to be fairly low on tourists compared to when I’ve been there before. After a delicious Parisian meal (for the record, I’ve never paid for a meal in France that I didn’t enjoy to the utmost, but then I don’t eat at the normal tourist places) that was, of course, more than I could possibly eat, I walked along the Seine and drank in the view (and the language!) for awhile before deciding to head toward Notre Dame. I had visited the famous church back in 2004, but there were a lot of people at the time, and I wanted to take another look. I approached the cathedral from the back. This let me walk through all the lovely parks surrounding it. Parks tend to be one thing out of many that the French are experts at. When I arrived at the front of the cathedral I discovered to my dismay that I couldn’t take my backpack in with me.
With no baggage check and nothing to do, I decided to head on toward Paris Nord, the station I was to leave from for Berlin. Since I still had a few hours, I decided to walk and drink in the sights. I met my friends one metro stop away from Paris Nord at a Starbucks (yes, they do have them in Paris). Holly came to France one month after my first visit to work with the mission group (CEF) I had done my summer-mission’s trip with. We met in 2006 when I went back to France and have been in contact via email for two years. She married the eldest son of the CEF national director in France right after I left in 2006. Our chat was too brief, but it was lovely to meet up with someone with whom I share a common language, country, religion, and world view. I can’t remember talking about anything particularly important in our chatting (except the French waitress who asked me what cologne I was wearing... awkward), but I do remember that I was incredibly refreshed afterwards. This is something that God has allowed me to experience several times in my stay in Europe so far: the refreshing fellowship of the Saints. First my friends in Holland, then my Northern Irish friends in Brussels, Mary, Peter, and Susan & Geoff in London, and Holly & Jean in France. Most of these people I would never have met if we all lived in the same country. Or we would have approached each other with suspicion, distrust, and our doctrinal divisions.
My time in Paris came all too quickly to an end as I boarded my train toward Berlin. The train was fully booked I had reserved my tickets too late to get a couchette (bed in shared compartment) or a sleeper. I was stuck in a tiny compartment with five other people. Two of them, a teenage boy and his mother, didn’t speak French, English, or German, but they did speak some language that sounded something like a cross between a dying frog and fingernails on a chalkboard. What they had been doing in France or how they managed to get around is beyond me. They were from somewhere in eastern Europe and kept their eyes lowered the whole time. Strange. The other people in my car were nice enough, but we were so cramped and tired that no one really talked a lot. I did end up having a nice long conversation in the corridor with a lovely Frenchman and his wife who were going to Berlin to visit their daughter. He didn’t speak any English so it was great for giving me one last stretch of my French skills. Seriously, I think my French improved more in four days in France than ten weeks in Belgium. It makes me wish I had been more assertive in going to Paris. But then I would have missed all the fun and people I met in Brussels.
So to you, my dear reader, I leave three closing thoughts: 1) The fellowship of the Saints is refreshing indeed, 2) if you want to learn a foreign language, go to the country of its origin, and 3) if you’re going to take an overnight train, make sure you get a couchette or sleeper.
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