Absence Touches Presence

I recently reread Henri Nouwen’s book Turn My Mourning into Dancing. It was a book that a colleague and I used to teach a senior seminar at Eastern Mennonite University, called “Dealing with Suffering and Loss.” 

While reading the book, I was preparing to teach a Sunday school lesson on the fifth chapter of Lamentations. I wish I could have required the class to read this book before our lesson discussion. Lamentations deals with the suffering of the people Israel in exile in Babylon. They begged God to look at them in their misery and act on their behalf.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be no answer from God. Although their sins were not mentioned in the chapter, it could be assumed that it was because they not only had become arrogant in their former prosperity, but also because they didn’t take care of marginalized among them: “the orphans, widows and the stranger.” (Deut. 10: 18-19)

“Absence and presence touch one another,” writes Nouwen. “Out of his utter pain and forsakenness comes an intimate prayer: ‘My God, my God.’ The God the psalmist fears has turned his gaze away is still a God he can address. And will address. The One who seems far from our plea is the One to whom we still turn.”

Jesus' cry from the cross comes from Psalm 22: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" This is a Psalm of Lament. Like most Psalms of Lament, there comes a "but," turning from lament to praise. "But you are the one who pulled me from the womb, placing me safely at my mother’s breasts." (vs. 9) The psalmist continues on to turn his lament into praise. Absence touches presence. While he was in his deepest pain, God still was present. 

Even in Lamentations 5 there is a "but." "But you, Lord, will rule forever; your throne lasts from one generation to the next." (vs. 19) Although the overall picture of the book is a deep plea for God to see them in their pain, there is still a recognition that God is present. 

We are often reluctant to be honest with God about our feelings of abandonment. I was raised to believe that if we question God, we don't have enough faith. So, we repress our real feelings, something that is more harmful than helpful for our emotional health. This was true for most of our EMU students in the Senior Seminar. If the psalmist and the children of Israel could cry out their feelings of abandonment, why can't we?

During our discussions of the Laments in the Psalms, we asked the students to write their own lament, using the formula that the psalmist used. The ones who took the assignment most seriously, poured their hearts out on paper. Many expressed how healing it was for them to write their feelings of abandonment. Some couldn't get to the "but" stage, but most did. This section about sensing God's presence despite their feelings, was often shorter than the lament. Yet it appeared. Absence touched presence.

Have you ever felt abandoned by God? Were you able to pour out your deepest feelings of abandonment? Have you tried to write a lament?

You Are Beloved of God

Jesus came up out of the Jordan River after being baptized by John. A voice from heaven declared: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” On another occasion, Jesus was with his disciples on a high mountain. After he was transfigured, a voice from heaven repeated the same words: “This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased.” Two times, Jesus’ beloved-ness is affirmed by the Master of the Universe. 

On the sixth day of God’s creation, God created human beings in his own image and likeness, and he declared his creation “very good.” 

We are beloved of God because we were created in God’s image. 

One day I entered a local café for my morning coffee, and I faced the barista, a young woman, probably a college student working to pay for her schooling. She had tattoos all over her arms and who knows where else. She had gaudy piercings in her nose and lips along with earrings that jingled as she moved. Her face was heavily smeared with makeup. In addition, she was extremely thin, giving me the impression that she was on drugs or an anorexic. 

After several encounters with her, she remembered my preferred order of coffee and smiled at me. Soon we exchanged names, and she became a real person to me, not just some superficial, anonymous college student. She, like me and like you, is made in the image and likeness of God. Whenever I see her now, I remind myself that she is beloved of God and my prejudices subside.

Several years ago, I was invited to give as series of workshops in Colombia based on my writings over the years about spirituality. While teaching Spanish at EMU, we had native Spanish speakers through MCC’s International Visitor Exchange Program work with our students. One of them, from Colombia, was particularly interested in the book The Spacious Heart which I had written with my sister. She thought that the Mennonite Church in Colombia needed to hear my thoughts. 

I was intrigued by the idea, especially because it included going to Colombia, but was skeptical that my message, written for a North American audience, would have any relevance for Latin America. Diana, my Colombian conversation assistant, assured me that it would.

That being the case, I had her and her husband Felipe pick five themes from our book for the workshops. My wife and I excitedly planned our trip to Colombia being hosted by Felipe and Diana. 

The first workshop dealt with the question, “are you drawn by God or driven by culture.” I distinguished between the core of our being, and our socialization. I soon discovered that Colombians are just as driven by culture as we are, and are just as distracted by their busyness from being drawn to God. “The core of your being,” I said, “is your being made in the image and likeness of God.” I described our cultural socialization as being like an onion with each layer further obscuring the core of our being. We discussed our family socialization, our religious background, the country we born into, and so forth.

After identifying each layer, I would ask, what does this obscure? What is the core of our being? I answered this myself the first time, but after having primed them, when I preceded with other layers, they enthusiastically answered: “We are made in the image and likeness of God!” When the last layer was identified, with joy and some with tears, they were nearly screaming: “We are made in the image and likeness of God!” My workshops in the USA were never met with quite so much enthusiasm. I guess the concept of our God likeness is universal. We are beloved of God because we were made in God’s image and likeness. 

In another of my workshops I talked about fear and how “perfect love drives out fear.” During the discussion time, a man at the back of the room rose to give his response to fear. He was known to be an ex-guerilla in an area that despite a peace treaty was still surrounded by a guerilla presence. “Because of my former involvement with the guerillas, I am afraid for my life,” he boldly stated. Then he drew out his gun, right in the middle of a Mennonite Church. “I have learned tonight that I no longer need to live in fear,” he said. “I am laying down my weapon and turning over my life to Christ.” He recognized that he was made in the image and likeness of God, in whom he could trust. My skepticism about the relevance of my themes in Colombia was allayed. 

A former guerilla, a man who had hatred in his soul is beloved of God.

If there is any interest in these workshops here, I’d be delighted to present them.

The last time I spoke here, I told the story of Mexican man named Pedro who, just like I erroneously did with the barista, I judged to be a drunk who had an agenda. He was attending a worship service during Holy Week with my cross-cultural students from EMU at a small Mexican Mennonite congregation in the northern part of Mexico City. He told everyone how much he loved US Americans, our music and other aspects of our culture. His eyes were bloodshot, and his speech was slurred. 

However, after being with him for a week, we learned of his life story, how he was a drug addict who came to Christ and was completely turned around. Because of his habit, he had to drop out of his promising university career, and had to live off the little he could earn by selling candies and gum on the street. After he turned his life over to Jesus, he had to attend church services as often as he could in order to stay away from his former so-called friends. Our final service was Resurrection Sunday. As many congregations do, we stated to each other: “Christ is risen,” to which we replied, “He is risen indeed.” When I looked into Pedro’s eyes, I recognized his God image-ness. I told him he was beloved of God. With tears in both of our eyes, we gave each other a strong embrace. 

Pedro, despite his addictions, is made in God’s image, and is beloved of God.

As part of my training in Seminary, I volunteered as a chaplain in the local hospital. I was to be alert for Spanish-speaking patients, since I am fluent in the language. I entered the room where María was being treated for appendicitis. She was from Honduras, and we had a very pleasant conversation about her country, since it was where I did my alternative service as a conscientious objector during the Vietnam war. 

In the middle of our conversation, she received a telephone call. It was from her social worker, and as I listened, I realized that she was using a different name. After she hung up, she burst into tears. “My whole life is a lie,” she sobbed. Shamefully, she confessed that she was in the USA with false documents. There is a whole black-market industry in this country providing these services for huge fees. María was indebted not only these shysters, but also to the human smugglers that had helped her cross into our country. Her dream of sending money back to her two daughters in Honduras had turned into a nightmare. And now she had hospital expenses to worry about.

In the midst of her sobbing, I placed my hand on her shoulder and prayed for her. After the prayer, I looked in her eyes and told her that she was beloved of God, and nothing can separate her from that love. Her smile at my pronouncement was radiant. 

Jorge was in the hospital for more than a week when I met him. He was isolated for fear of tuberculosis. He didn’t really want to talk to me, another white man with a tie, a clipboard and an assumed agenda. He was from Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras. When he learned that I had spent some three years in his country, and that I only was there to stand by him in his pain, he opened up. Slowly but surely, his torturous story unfolded. 

Lacking employment opportunities and desperate to provide a better life for his family, he left his wife and three children more than eighteen months earlier to seek a better life in the United States. He started with little money and no legal documents, with no fixed destination.

Without money, his main means of transportation was hitch-hiking and freight trains. Along the way he did odd jobs to sustain himself. The stories of how many people took advantage of his situation were hard to believe: robbery, extortion, and abandonment. To their credit, some few compassionate people reached out to him with temporary food and shelter. He reached my city on a freight train suffering from a high fever and checked into the Emergency Room of our hospital with no friends, family, money or papers. 

Like with María, I placed my hand on his shoulder and prayed for him. After the prayer, I looked into his feverish eyes and pronounced: “You are made in the image and likeness of God and you are beloved of God.” The smile he gave through his tears said everything. 

The next week on my rounds he was gone. Where did he go? I wonder with extreme concern. 

Henri Nouwen is a much-loved writer on spirituality. In fact, after the Bible, his works are the second-most read by clerics and religious leaders. Although he is Catholic, he is loved by pastors of all denominations. Nouwen’s signature affirmation is: “You are beloved of God.” Nouwen himself struggled mightily with his own worthiness before God. It is through exposing his personal vulnerability that people are drawn to his ideas. 

Nouwen also said that “Life is but a short parenthesis between the eternal love of God. God loved us before we were born and after we die.” We so often forget that eternal love during our parenthetical lives on earth. Being taught that we are “beloved of God” whenever or wherever we are, is the ultimate task of spirituality.

Nouwen gets to the premise that “we are beloved by God” through two means. I have already alluded to this. The first is that we are made in God’s image and likeness, and God is love. God put his love-stamp on our souls to be ever available no matter what our culture wants to paste over it. 

The second means is through God’s dealing with his own Son. God called Jesus “beloved” both after his baptism and transfiguration. Galatians 3:26 declares, "For you are all [children] of God through faith in Christ Jesus.” Through our relationship with Jesus, we are God’s children and thus receive this blessedness. 

Socialization is the enemy of our understanding of our being “beloved of God.” I have become convinced that our US American culture teaches us to be self-loathing instead of being beloved. We get messages from everywhere that we are not good-looking enough, not talented enough, not intelligent enough, not wealthy enough, not spiritual enough. We always compare ourselves with those who excel in the areas where we feel lacking; we never look at those who have less in any given category. The result is thinking that we can never measure up. The advertising industry is astute in capitalizing on this self-hate by providing us with products that will, according to their pitch, make us all the things that we are not. Instead, we become disheartened and even depressed, turning to obsessions instead of the core of our being. 

How can we be trained to recognize our core instead of these false messages? How can we learn and believe that we are “beloved of God” through all eternity? 

As part of the core curriculum at EMU, I taught a course with a colleague called: “dealing with suffering and loss.” At the end of each year, during our final exam, we had students face each other in inside/outside circles, look directly in each other’s eyes, and say to each other: “You are beloved of God.” The outer circle moved to the next student and continued moving until all students were covered. Then we opened it up to anyone. It has a powerful effect. It is almost magical. There is laughter, there are hugs and there are tears. After we started the exercise, the students really got into the it. On class evaluations, many said that they will carry this phrase with them throughout their lives. 

The magic of the phrase “You are beloved of God,” comes about because it is given freely as a gift. The eyes are a window into the soul and looking into each other’s eyes while stating this simple phrase goes directly to the soul, the core of our being where our God likeness lies. It connects on a very deep level. It helps us to realize that in God’s eyes we don’t have to measure up to any artificial cultural standard. He loves us as we are.

When I gave spiritual direction, I would ask my directees to go home and look into the mirror at their eyes and say: “you are beloved of God.” For some reason, it is extremely difficult for most people to do the mirror exercise. We are so used to seeing our ego and our outward appearance when we look in the mirror, that we forget that we also have a soul that needs to be groomed. I challenge each of you to do the same sometime. It needs to be done multiple times. 

You are beloved of God because you were made in God’s image and likeness, and God is love. You have been embraced by God’s eternal love before you were born and after you die. Despite my natural, but unfortunate prejudgments, the barista, the Mennonite congregation in Colombia, the guerilla, María, Jorge and Pedro are all born in God’s image and likeness and are beloved of God. Despite socialization that covers up the core of our being. We are made in God’s image and likeness, and we are beloved of God. 

Things Are Crazy, But I Refuse to Despair

Nature is another way to help deal with despair from the craziness

We live in a crazy world. Wars and rumors of wars. Catastrophic weather events and fires. People on the streets protesting the shooting of a peaceful protester and the invasion of cities rounding up and deporting people because of the color of their skin. The wealthy getting wealthier and the poor getting poorer.

Being retired, I have too much time for doom scrolling on social media. It is a habit that is hard to combat, and it can lead to despair. I know many friends and colleagues who express similar emotions because of the crazy times we live in. We wish for all to live in abundance and peace.

Henri Nouwen reminds us in his book With Burning Hearts that, "The more we see the injustice of the world, the more we are tempted to use our own power to bring about justice, but in so doing we often create new forms of injustice." It becomes a vicious cycle which leads to even more despair.

Despite the craziness, I refuse to succumb to the angst and despair all around us. I have found a way to keep me grounded and sane. A simple spiritual exercise that I learned during my spiritual direction training is called the "Consciousness Examen." I use it to dispel the dark clouds that tend to gather when I am exposed to too much doom scrolling. I simply look back upon the day, or the week, and ask my self: "Where have I experienced God?", or where have I been distracted from experiencing God?

So here I list my God experiences just today:

• The smile and jokes of the Russian garage mechanic as he greeted me at the door to receive the key for my car repair. 
• The welcoming smile of the barista at my favorite coffee shop who knows my order and my name. 
• The smile of the woman with four kids who came into the cafe struggling with her youngest, and the warmth that came over her whole being as I gave her a blessing when I left.
• The hugs I got from my two granddaughters who we were minding for the afternoon, and the mischievous grin of one of them when she played a trick on me.
• Solving a challenging New York times Sunday crossword without the help of the answer key, only the second of which I was able to do, out of 40 so far.
• The concern shown by the assistant at the garage where I picked up my car because of how much it cost, and the chuckle from her when I quipped that I bet they were glad they wouldn't have to see that car again. I had to take it back for the third time today until they finally figured out what was wrong.
• The waiter at a local restaurant who saved my credit card that I had left behind several days before and for which I had searched diligently without success, along with the beam on her face when I wished her God's blessing. 
• The Email we received from our church citing progress on our movement forward during a time of transition. 
• The receipt I received in the mail for our giving to a mission effort in Europe. 
• The gourmet meal Esther prepared for us out of a number of leftovers.
• The message exchanges with my siblings dealing memories of a wonderful childhood. 

This was only in the past 12 hours. I can recall countless moments in the past days and weeks. Perhaps you find my musings trivial. Perhaps they don't add up to God moments for you. Nevertheless, they provide for me a way to make me feel better emotionally and spiritually, and to help me to mitigate my despair from the craziness of the world.

Do have ways to deal with the craziness, or do you succumb to despair?

Tribute to Dwight Emmanuel Roth 1945-2025

Dwight Emmanuel Roth died peacefully in his sleep on December 29 in the presence of his loving wife, Lynette. 

I have been friends with Dwight for nearly 50 years. Although we grew up within six miles of each other, a county border divided us and we went to different public high schools.

I first met Dwight at a faculty retreat in the fall of 1976 for instructors of Hesston College at a retreat just west of Wichita, Kansas. He always dressed quite distinctly, and the retreat was no exception. I was not impressed. I decided immediately that I would stay as far away from this "clown" as I could. We were both single, and he was clustered around most of the single faculty. Little did I know that I would eventually room with him for some four years and we would become inseparable.

Dwight and I in 2016 in Reading, PA

My first impression was dramatically changed when he invited me to join him for dinner at the local restaurant, the Colonial House. I don't remember my feelings about accepting the dinner reservation, but we became so engrossed in our conversation that the time flew by, and we had to be advised by the management of the restaurant that they were closing and that we had to leave. We had spent three and a half hours together. This was "kairos" time.

We had an enormous amount of things in common. It started with our mutual love for the Phillies, a professional baseball team from Philadelphia. Those years were filled with playoff runs, culminating with their appearance for the first time in the World Series in 1980. It continued with our experiences in Voluntary Service as conscientious objectors during the Vietnam War; he in Washington, DC, and I in Honduras. We agreed on the injustice of our world.

Another commonality between us was his knowing my grand uncle Rueben Clymer, who lived just up the road from his boyhood home. After Dwight lost his father at age eight, uncle Rueben looked out for Dwight's family who was struggling financially and emotionally.

In 1980, both of us got married. I fell in love with a woman from Switzerland, and he with a more local woman from from Hillsboro. I stood with him at his wedding, then left for a year to pursue my own romance. Esther and I got married and settled in Switzerland for a year. Later during my year in Switzerland, Dwight and his new bride visited, and we took a camping trip together from Amsterdam, through Germany and ended up in Switzerland. I could tell many interesting tales about this time together, and Dwight and I would recount these moments together in ensuing years to much laughter. 

I always knew that Dwight had a spiritual depth beyond most people, but it was only after I experienced a mid-life crisis, that we explored these depths together. We explored the depth psychology of Carl Jung, and found much to converse about. My crisis led me on a sojourn to Eastern Mennonite University and then for a three-year term with Mennonite Central Committee in Mexico. Throughout that time, Dwight and I corresponded by mail. A few years ago, when Dwight was downsizing, he sent me all the letters he had received from me from Mexico. How delightful it was to recall the discussions we shared together in that correspondence. We shared dreams and their Jungian meanings.

I returned to Hesston after Mexico and our friendship picked right up. We had offices side-by-side in two different buildings. We continued and deepened our friendship. Dwight would recount to me out-of-the-world experiences that he had had, and I shared with him some of mine. Eventually I wrote a book about spirituality with my sister, developing concepts that Dwight and I had discussed.

Dwight showing both conventional
and unorthodox clothing at a graduation

As a sociologist, Dwight always felt guilty for his lack of international experience in comparison to my many years overseas. Yet over the years he befriended more international students and other marginalized people than any other individual I know. I had to remind him that he didn’t need to go overseas to understand cross-cultural dynamics. He was Jesus to many students who passed through this often exclusive, homogeneous town in central Kansas. 

On one occasion Dwight attended a gathering of students and faculty consisting of mostly Spanish speakers; he being the exception. Always a keen observer, he told me: "You have an entirely different personality when you speak Spanish." This was a new concept for me, and made me reflect on language learning at a new depth.

Since leaving Kansas to move east to be closer to family, Dwight and I have kept in contact by calling each other at least every other month. I was saddened by what transpired after his diagnosis of Parkinson's. I followed his moves and his program of exercise in combating the disease. During the month leading up to his death, I had him on my mind and wanted to call him once again. I failed to do so. Therefore, his death shocked me. I had no idea he was approaching his last days. My only comfort, even though I am crying in grief as I write this, is knowing that Dwight, who knew realities beyond the physical realm better than most people, had entered into that reality in peace. He loved his middle name Emmanuel, because it means "God with us." Now Dwight is with God. RIP brother Dwight.

I'm Too Old for This

Hiking with Esther and her sister while dealing with my neuropathy

October 1, 2025 dawned with great anticipation. We were leaving to join an Anabaptist Heritage Tour with Masthof, guiding the way for people with Clemmer/Clymer, and Huber/Hoober family names; all with roots in both Switzerland and Anabaptism.

We arrived at the airport in plenty of time to board our United Airlines flight from Washington, DC to Zürich, Switzerland. We were looking forward to joining the group that had left the same day from Philadelphia. Our planes were scheduled to arrive in Zürich within an hour of each other. 

Our plane left on time as we headed along the east coast of the United States and heading toward the ocean as we left Canada. We were over Maine when we received word from the captain that something was wrong with the aircraft and we had to return to DC. Our plans to join the group were dashed. However, little did we know by how much that would mean. The captain assured us that another plane was being prepared to take us to Zürich.

When we landed in DC, the landing was quite bumpy. We later learned that we didn't land on a typical runway, but rather on a gravel one. The plane limped along to the gate from which we had left. Before entering the gate, fire trucks surrounded the plane on both sides and sprayed water all over the wheels of the plane. It was scary to behold, but one of United's goals is safety, so we were glad that we had avoided any more serious event.

We deplaned and waited for the replacement jet to arrive. After some time, we re-boarded the replacement plane. As we waited, the new crew kept telling us when they thought we would leave. First they announced that we had to wait until the plane was refueled. We waited some more. Then they announced that food for the flight had to be loaded and we waited some more. We now had been waiting for more than an hour.  

Suddenly, all the lights on the plane went out. They announced that there was a mechanical problem that needed to be fixed. By now we were waiting on the plane for two hours. We kept being encouraged by announcements that we would soon be on our way. It was getting hot and stuffy inside the plane. After three hours, they said that the mechanical problems couldn't be fixed, and we needed to deplane and rebook.

We were extremely lucky when a new line for rebooking was set up, and we were the first in line for rebooking. The earliest flight available for us was at the same time, but the next day. We were given vouchers to stay overnight in a nearby hotel. Exhausted, we finally arrived at our hotel at 4am. We had to leave the hotel by 11 am, so we got about four hours of sleep before we had to return to the airport.

The next morning, the shuttle bus to the airport was filled with others who had the same experience as we did. We shared our experiences and I was amazed at how everyone seemed to take into stride our inconveniences. We returned to the airport at around noon. United Airlines provided us with vouchers for a free meal back at the airport. We found a nice restaurant and asked if they accepted the vouchers, and they assured us that they did. We whiled away the time and asked for the check. Our waitress took the check along with our vouchers. We waited to leave, then waited some more. Finally she returned with the manager, who tried to explain why they couldn't accept the vouchers despite the fact that we were told up front that they could. It set us back $60, and more forms to fill out for reimbursement from United. What else could go wrong on this trip?  

Fortunately our plane left on time, and we arrived in Zürich at the time allotted. On the plane, the woman who sat beside my wife shared how she was returning to Switzerland to attend her graduation, and how she would barely make it to her ceremony. I wonder how other passenger's experiences were.

Through constant emails between me and our tour leader, we were able to arrange a place for us to meet the group in Zürich to join up with them. This required us to navigate our huge suitcases through the airport to the train station, then walk quite a few blocks with them to where the tour bus was parked. We were glad to finally be able to get rid of our suitcases and join the group for a walking tour of Anabaptist places of interest.

Then followed a wonderful time exploring our roots in Switzerland and other places in France and Germany where our ancestors lived.

Esther and I stayed two more weeks beyond the tour to visit her family and several friends. On the 27th of October, we returned to the states. Thus began the second part of our travel problems. It started by trying to check in 24 hours before our flight. We had booked with United, but our flight from Zürich to Amsterdam was run by their partner airline: Swiss International. As per normal, they asked for our confirmation number. I carefully typed in the number we had for United, but it wasn't accepted. They needed a confirmation number for Swiss International. I had never been given that number. I searched their rather unintuitive website (unusual for the Swiss) until I finally found the number, and we were checked in. Or so I thought.

We arrived at the airport in Zürich in plenty of time to make our 7:15 am flight to Amsterdam before changing planes to get to our final destination. However, nothing that I had done on SI's unintuitive webesite was valid. Our boarding passes were rejected and new ones had to be issued. On impulse, decided to have a light snack and a cup of coffee before boarding. Our flight was to be two hours long, so we expected to receive some food on our way to Amsterdam. We soon learned that high winds in Amsterdam delayed our flight by an hour. Looked like we would have a difficult time making the flight to DC.

As we approached the airport in Amsterdam, we were buffeted by those high winds, and had a very unusual, but safe landing. We had little time to make our flight, and depending where the gate was, it might be impossible. And we received no food on the flight. So much for the "high quality" of Swiss International. We found the gate and started walking to it. We nearly ran, but every time we thought we were approaching the gate, there were more signs that pointed to more distant places in the terminal.

Time was getting short. We speed walked nearly .75 miles until we arrived at our gate, sweaty, exhausted and hungry. The gate was closed by the time we arrived, but since we were in the last group to board, we made it. 

By now it had been more than two hours since I was able to use the bathroom, and I thought I had time to do so before we boarded, but alas, the bathroom was closed! I had to wait until after I boarded to use a facility. 

We were taken to the airplane by bus, and then had to walk a few yards to the stairs to board. It was rainy and cold, and since passengers with overhead bags took forever to get seated, we were in the rain and wind for a long time before we could finally get into a sheltered place. The plane ride to DC was uneventful and we arrived right on time despite leaving a little late. And we had loads of food and drinks. 

I knew that the chance of our bags arriving with us was slim since our plane from Zürich to Amsterdam had arrived late, so I was prepared for the worst. Sure enough, our bags were still in Amsterdam, and we had to go through the process of claiming them. The assured us that they would be delivered to our doorstep the next day. Our bags were filled mostly with dirty clothes, along with quite a stash of cheese and chocolate. I guess those items could wait for a day. (update on our bags. I checked United's bag tracking this morning, and one of them appears to be in Chicago. Too bad for the cheese and chocolate).

The next hurdle was paying for long-term parking. Some where along our month-long journey, I had lost our parking ticket. I had googled what to do if this happened, and google assured me that it wouldn't be a problem, that all I had to do was push the help button at the pay station. I wasn't at all sure that this would work. To my surprise, they knew exactly how long my stay in the parking lot was, and I paid and we continued our journey. Despite my anxiety, the process only took a few minutes, and we were on our way.

After nearly 22 hours of anxiety, we arrived home safely, but rather exhausted. Yes, I think I am too old for this. 

Musings on Anabaptism from Recent Trip

 

Our group posing in front of Konrad Grebel's
house in Zürich, Switzerland

My wife and I recently participated in an Anabaptist Heritage Tour led by Masthof tours. We were exploring the roots of the Clymer/Clemmer and Huber/Hoober in Switzerland, Germany and France. At each of the places we visited, we had an historian give us lectures on the history of the area. I learned a number of things about Anabaptism that were new for me. 

Over the years since the Constantinian Compromise (313 CE), when the church and the state became one, there were hundreds if not thousands of Bible study groups that arose trying to live faithfully the teachings of Jesus. 

The Catholic Church which became the official church of the Roman Empire, repressed any of these efforts. One exception was the movement started by Francis of Assisi. His theology paralleled many Anabaptist themes. It was tolerated as the Catholic Franciscan order of monks.

Peter Waldo started a movement in Lyon, France, ca. 1170 which eventually was called the Waldensians. He had the New Testament translated into French and took on a vow of poverty. As he read the New Testament in his own language, he became bolder in his critique of the Catholic Church. His preaching attracted a large number of people, and he was eventually excommunicated in 1184. 

Peter Waldo portrayed on the Reformation
monument in Worms, Germany

According to Philip Schmuki, retired pastor of the Mennonite Church in Langnau, the Waldensians, who had now penetrated much of Europe, made their way across the Alps into Switzerland from Italy, fleeing persecution. Schmuki claims that the Waldensian ideas laid the groundwork for the influx of Anabaptism in the Emmental Valley. 

While staying at my brother-in-law's house in Gümligen, I was asked to give a presentation about Anabaptism to their small group. I was delighted to know that some of them knew that this year is the 500th anniversary of the movement. They also all knew who Ulrich Zwingli was, but no one knew who Konrad Grebel, Felix Manz, or Georg Blaurock were. I told them that despite agreement on many issues, they wanted a more radical reform than Zwingli, and wanted the reforms to be instituted more quickly than Zwingli wanted. The main issues that were too radical for Zwingli were adult baptism, not bearing arms, not swearing of oaths, and the separation of church and state.

I asked them if they were aware of the book by Katharina Zimmerman titled Die Furgge. An historical novel, this book traces the story of Christian Hershey, who immigrated in 1717 to the USA. It describes the situation of Anabaptists in the Emmental Valley in the 17th Century. It sold over 350,000 copies in Switzerland and raised the awareness of the Swiss people about the severe persecution that they endured for their faith. Before this book, the Anabaptist story had been mostly erased from the consciousness of the Swiss people.

I traced for them the real Christian Hershey story, since I am also a relative. Along with that, I talked to them about the 2.2 million Mennonites in the world, and described the celebration of the 500th Anniversary in the Grossmünster in Zürich. They were surprised to know that there were so many Mennonites in the world, and that the majority of us are people of color.

I am thankful for the opportunity to have my own understandings stretched, and to pass my knowledge on to others who are not so aware.

Longing and Legacy

Aeronka Defender Aircraft

Among other comments under my High School yearbook picture was written, "interested in aviation." Interested was an understatement. I was longing to fly.

I waited patiently for the monthly magazine "Flying" to appear in our school library. I would read every page, drooling over the latest small aircraft advertisements. I would ride my bicycle with a friend nearly six miles to the local airport and pay for rides in small Cessna aircraft. 

After High School, I began taking flying lessons at the same airport. I reached the amount of hours needed to begin to my solo flights. During that time a group of friends interested in getting our pilot's licenses, formed a club and bought an old 1945 Aeronka Defender (like the one pictured above) to fix up and get ready to fly. It would save us a lot of money to have our own aircraft to complete our training for a license. I was longing to fly.

Life interrupted my longings. I was drafted during the Vietnam War and ended up doing a two-year alternate service assignment in Honduras. I listed "flying" as an interest of mine, so I got assigned to a job that involved a lot of flying, despite the fact that I had no credentials for it. I enjoyed flying from place to place in Honduras in small planes. I got to know the pilots, and when I had a seat beside them, they often let me take the controls. What fun, feeling the aircraft respond to my touch! Although getting my own license was postponed, my longing to fly was still within me.

Those 2-plus years I spent in Honduras impacted me greatly. I wrote a memoir of this time titled Coming of Age in Honduras: A Young Adult's Struggle with Faith, Poverty and Sexuality.  When I returned home, I decided to go to college, now five years older than those who would be my peers. Unfortunately, this postponed my longing to fly. As the cost rose and the job market shrank, my dream to be an aviator died. I sold my share in the aviation club, and didn't look back. Eventually I became a Spanish teacher and taught for over thirty years. 

In a recent Sunday school class, I was leading a discussion of the longings of Leah and Rachel from the Old Testament. Neither got exactly what they longed for, but their legacies live on to this day. As I was sharing my longing to be an aviator and how I had to give it up, someone from the class piped up: "Your longing was unfulfilled, but your legacy of influencing hundreds of students over the years lives on." I choked up at the comment. 

Before I left Honduras, my best Honduran friend said to me: "Never forget what you learned

My best friend in Honduras

while you were here. Tell your story to everyone you meet." His comment became my new longing; to tell the story of Honduras. My years of teaching Spanish and leading students on cross-cultural adventures to Guatemala was the means by which I told their story. Later, I began writing about these experiences and got them published in religious magazines.

My father, upon reading these stories in national magazines commented: "Your experience in Honduras really changed your life, didn't it?" to which I replied, "Yes, dad, Honduras had changed my life forever." That is the last line in my Honduras memoir mentioned above.

My legacy didn't come from what I had planned or wanted. It came through events that I didn't control. Like Leah and Rachel, our longings may not be fully satisfied, but God can transform them into unexpected legacies.