The Greying of the Light

It was an odd thing to watch the greying of the light as we descended between the ever darkening layers of clouds. What was once a bright and clear flight had now become ash and soot colored as we touched down in the paradoxical city of Berlin - a city that boldly tries to outlive the hauntingly grievous recent past by splattering modern fonts and slogans over aged buildings. And yet it was the further past that brought us presently to this place - a celebration of protesting, of reforming, of such paradigm altering hermeneutics that the waves of that seismic shift are still experienced in every corner of Christendom. However, there was one melancholy thought that rested on my mind throughout the days - a thought, planted by a minister, that I had been wrestling with, as Jacob strove with the angel. For many, this would not have bothered them. Unfortunately, I was unable to shrug this amassing phrase from my conscience as we drove through this water colored city.

It seemed unfathomable that both Luther, who’s bust would mantle upon the pantheon of Christendom’s most invaluable theologians and thinkers, and Hitler, who’s venomously infectious ideology of dominance and supremacy which still lingers today, would share a common mental thread, tethered and seemingly supported by similar personal interpretations of the Holy Scriptures: that the Jewish people are not really people. It was here the minister’s words reverberated through the corridors of my heavied heart -

Hitler quoted Luther.

——————————————————

The following days were a blur of history, theology, community, and story after story of God’s great presence in the variously represented denominations in attendance at the Wittenberg Congress. IPHC leaders and my own conference’s executive council was there ( in its entirety) and we mingled with Nazarenes, Lutherans, Presbyterians, and others in our branch of Christianity. We gathered to celebrate the defiance of one man, and how, through a new doctrine, brought Christ to the masses in an accessible and personal manner. We are the Children of the Reformation - and we came to rightly honor our father and mother. In this collage of of denominational men and women, in spite of color, tongue, or creed, we chorally and authentically affirmed the defiantly Protestant doctrine that man is saved from his sins and their consequences by faith alone.

"I pray not for the harvest; I tarry for laborers." Timothy Hill

"What does the church look like when its stops building walls?" Glen Burris

"You sow yourself into others." Alex Mitala

"Our call is not to filthiness, but to holiness." Samson Ayokunle

"Forgive us our sins, Oh God. Forgive us, we pray." Jo Anne Lyon

"We are preaching answers to questions no one is asking." Leon Fontaine

"Tribalism is the perversion of the Biblical function and purpose of tribes." Gustavo Crocker

"The reading aloud of Scripture is the soundtrack to life." Doug Beacham

"If you want to plant something that lasts for a season, plant flowers; a lifetime, trees; forever, churches!" Suliasi Kurulo

"What Muslims call an abomination, Christians call our greatest joy." Lazarus Yeghnazar

"After you read a book one hundred times you can immediately understand it." Byoungho Zoh

"I melted. I cried. I said that if this is God’s will, I will go." David Sobrepena

Hitler quoted Luther still raged in my mind.

——————————————————

I have not enough sole to tread through the heart of Berlin. A few days were far from enough time to drink in the culture, the tastes, the atmosphere of this odd city. The monolithic concrete remnants of the Wall grasped at pedestrians’ feet, as though blades of grass seeking nourishment under the steely branches of industry and national progress. The minimalism of the BauHaus movement, an critique that revolutionized the architectural, appliance, and art spheres of modern ascetics, continues to drive forward at an unrelenting pace. The monument to the Holocaust, a city square block of hundreds of concrete coffins systematically arranged to imitate a claustrophobic cemetery brought me to tears as I stood in the literal and figurative shadows of one of humanity’s greatest stains. And then to Wittenberg.

The rain drowned trees, parted by a medianed asphalt path, lead us to the womb of our great heritage of protestation. The Germanic countryside regularly reminded me of of a casual blend of Ozarkian groves and Carolinian shrub. Moss and leaves bled across the never bare forested terrain, as we snaked amidst the flat Great Woods. This was the landscape of Luther’s thoughts and words - how I wished to wander with him between the canopied heaven and soiled earth, longing to hear him speak.

——————————————————

Scattered lamps and headlights littered the sable silence as we meandered through shadowlands bathed in the thickening fog. The service had followed a similar evangelical pattern, with some minor revisions: an opening song (in latin by an Asian choir), the welcome and greeting, the sermon (of which there were three), another song (A Mighty Fortress is Our God), announcements, thank you’s, and dismal through the door.

The Door. That Door. Luther’s Door.

A once wooden door replaced centuries past on firmer hinges, which now hung and swung, etched in his native tongue, Luther’s 95 Theses. The experience was humbling - I cried as I touched the foreign words. History was, at this moment, tangible under my trembling fingers. I dare not ruin the moment by trying to describe its significance to me - but I know that God heard my thankful prayer under the great shadow cast by this portal.

During the service, a new thought took root in my mind, a thought that germinated and festered as an open wound as the speakers spoke and the congregation listened. A thought that now brings comfort to me - and as we departed from not only the church, but the city, the country, and the continent, the comfort of this new thought brought peace to my heart.

Yes, Hitler had indeed quoted Luther. But did not Satan use the words of God to the Israelites in his temptation of Christ?