Beyond the Silence

Just one week ago, on Inauguration Day, a group assembled at the New Hampshire State House.  It was not a time to protest but to be present for and with one another in a Silent Vigil of Hope and Concern.  Those ten minutes of silence on the same morning that our President was taking the oath of office were reverent, respectful, and prayerful. 

I have been thinking lately about the move from silence to speech.  A text from the baptismal homily of the First Epistle of Peter is the focus of my devotional time: "Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence"  (I Peter 3:15f., NRSV).  The Greek word that is translated "defense" is ἀπολογία (apologia).  Always be ready to make an apology?  I hear a parental echo, "Say you're sorry. Show some remorse and regret."  This sounds like something that belongs in a prayer of confession.  But apologia is the desire to make clear why you are taking a particular position or engaging in a particular action.  It is speaking that clarifies one's belief.  It is speech that follows the silence.

The late Eugene Wehrli, Professor of New Testament and President of Eden Seminary, taught me that actions without words are often ambiguous.  How does the faith inform my action?  Words are necessary.  Preachers are important:  "How will they hear without a preacher?" (Romans 10:14, KJV).  Prophets must offer an apologia for their actions in order to be effectively understood and to more deeply encourage and engage others in their witness.

So beyond last week's silent vigil at the State House, I believe people of faith must find the words to account for the hope that is in them: Words to inspire others, to lift their eyes so that they might see all the way to the horizon, to catch a glimpse of heaven that transforms the troubles of earth, to see the Sovereign God, who is faithful--King of kings and Lord of lords.  To make our apologia with gentleness and reverence, with courage and conviction, as people of great faith; this is our high and holy calling.  This is what is required of us now.

The next time we gather at the State House, I hope we will bring words--perhaps a single word on a piece of brightly colored card stock.  Just a single word written large for anyone who passes by to read.  A word that communicates our deepest values . . . a word that is rooted in our baptismal identity . . . a word that clarifies our action . . . a word that may inspire someone else to hope, to imagine, to take a stand, to find their voice, and to act.  What's the word you must speak today?

With gratitude for those who plan the silent vigils, pray the prayers, and find the words that change the world. Indeed, thank you God!

 

Can Anything Good Come from Bay?

There is often a skeptic in the crowd.  At the outset of Jesus' ministry, as he was gathering his disciples, some were not sure about him because he came from a little nowhere place called Nazareth.  Nathanael gave voice to the question:  "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"  Of course that question gets lost in the encounter that this skeptic has when he actually meets Jesus for himself.  Jesus reveals that he has already paid attention to Nathanael as he sat beneath the fig tree.  Nathanael turns from his skepticism to offer a profession of faith:  "Rabbi, you are the Son of God!  You are the King of Israel!"  (Jn. 1:43-51).

The first book that I read in this new year was by Don Waldecker, "Growing Up in Rural Missouri."  I'm a slow, ponderous reader, but these 98 pages with extra large type were read in an evening.  I selected the book after seeing an article about it in my hometown newspaper, The Gasconade County Republican.  Waldecker has written to chronicle his family's migration from Germany to Bay, Missouri in the 1830's and 1840's.  Bay was also my childhood home.

What I found interesting was that most men and women found their spouses within a ten mile radius.  Marriage between second cousins was permitted.  Houses, like the one where Don and his sister grew up, were roughly 1,000 square feet.  A large garden supplied produce for the year.  Schools were one-room with all eight grades, but often there were some grades with no children in them.  Books were scarce and were read numerous times.  Teachers were not that much older than their students and did not have much formal education.  It was a far different time.  The world was close.  The circle was tightly drawn.

Waldecker mentions how a favorite pastime was rehearsing the family relationships.  "How are we related to the Obergs or the Gumpers or the Ridders?"  And visiting, especially on Sunday afternoons, was what we did.  Folks did not wait to be invited, but often checked about coming over for a visit as they left church on Sunday morning.  "Will you be home this afternoon?  We'd like to drop by for a visit?"  That visit always included a mid afternoon lunch of coffeecake and coffee.

It was a different world.  Can anything good come from Nazareth?  Can anything good come from little villages like Bay?  Waldecker's family encouraged him to get an education beyond the eighth grade.  He ended up receiving an engineering degree from the Missouri School of Mines and Metallurgy at Rolla (now Missouri University of Science & Technology).  He went far from those hills of home to work as an engineer in Owego, NY.  But it is clear as he now approaches age 80, that the memories of his ancestors and the stories imparted in that close community shaped his life in profound ways.

So, my hope is that our communities--even our neighborhoods in the larger urban centers--might reclaim something of that same closeness.  It seems to me that the local church right in your community is the setting where folks meet one another and practice friendliness.  And, as they do that, often they have the experience of meeting Jesus there and discovering faith that abides for a lifetime.  May it be so for us! 

O God, restore in us and foster in us a desire for connection--not only to you but also to one another.  Fill us with the awareness and appreciation for those places that may, at first, seem small and insignificant but are, in fact, sanctuaries where your love and life abide.  Amen.