TToT: European Sensibilities

Last night I attended the annual Holocaust Remembrance Service at our local temple. Afterwards, I went through old photographs I took during our visit to Dachau Concentration Camp in Germany.  I also ran across this Ten Things of Thankful post I wrote shortly after that visit and decided it was worth a second look.

Ten things the Europeans reminded me for which I am grateful…

SUVs and huge club-cab vehicles are a choice, not a necessity.

Water should be preserved.

(Run off from the mountain is captured in Salzburg, Austria.)

A person should walk—for his or her own good as well as the planet’s.

Beauty all around us improves life.

(Konstanz, Germany)

You make yourself rich, by keeping your needs few. (Apologies to Thoreau who said this better.)

             (Sweet little home amid multi-storied buildings in Lindau, Germany)

Honor those who have gone before you.

(Every grave we saw in Germany and Austria was immaculately kept no matter its age.)

Laugh much.

          (Top of a carousel at the Christmas market in Friedrichshaffen, Germany)

Celebrate what you have.

       (Scene on the famed Glockenspiel of Munich depicting a dance celebrating the     survival of those who made it through a dread disease that devastated the city.)

Do not let the past define you.

(Dachau, Germany Concentration Camp)

Make your faith known.

(Church in Liechtenstein)

Prayer from last night's memorial service...

Fully Compassionate God on high:

To our six million brothers and sisters murdered because they were Jews,

grant clear and certain rest with You

in the lofty heights of the sacred and pure

whose brightness shines like the very glow of heaven.

Source of mercy:

Forever enfold them in the embrace of Your wings;

secure their souls in eternity.

Adonai: they are Yours.  They will rest in peace.

Amen

TToT

Going to the Chapel

Danforth Chapel on the campus of Kansas State University

It is safe to say that I am not the woman that my in-laws envisioned as their son's wife. There were regional differences, religious differences, and political differences.  Despite these differences there was one very fundamental commonality we did share.  We all loved their son.

I do believe that they knew this fact to be true by the end of their lives; they seemed less certain at the outset of ours.

There was much tension during the planning of our nuptials.  To make the day easier on all of us we decided to have a small wedding for immediate family only.  We would hold it in the "all faiths" chapel on the campus where we met.

The morning of the wedding there were a few last minute details to see to.  My groom and I had agreed to tackle the tasks together, but he could not be reached that morning. Miffed, I finished the jobs on my own and prepared myself for the ceremony.

It wasn't until much later that I learned he was tackling something much more difficult than any of the tasks I had in mind.  He was standing up to the parents he loved as they attempted to persuade him not to go through with the wedding.

While waiting with my sisters for our cue to enter the chapel word came that the men of the bridal party were ready whenever we were.

As I stepped into the aisle at the back of the chapel, I linked arms with my dad and took a deep breath.  I looked up and saw the man I loved waiting for me.  He looked small and uncertain until he looked into my eyes.

A smile crossed his face and lines crinkled in the corners of his eyes.  I stepped forward moving towards him, moving towards our future.  The closer I came to both, the tighter my chest felt.

I was overwhelmed with emotion.  When it came time for my vows I could not speak. My tears flowed unchecked.  Silently, he reached into the pocket on the inside of his tux and removed a white handkerchief.  Gently, while looking into my eyes and smiling he wiped my tears away.

Struggling, I could only speak loudly enough to make my vows known to the kindly priest.  That was enough.  He proclaimed us husband and wife.

What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.  Thirty-three years, one month and nine days later no man has.

In that time there have been many tears, some of joy, some of sorrow.  Without fail, my wonderful husband has been right by my side to dry my eyes.

For my valentine:  When love is certain it can overcome obstacles.  In overcoming obstacles, love becomes more certain.

Small Town Kansas

I was born in a small town

And I can breathe in a small town

Gonna die in this small town

That's probably where they'll bury me

Small Town by John Mellencamp    

Maple Hill, KS

We have been all over small town Kansas this week, trekking from the Northeast to the Southwest corners of the state.  Several of my siblings met at the grave site of our brother in a remote part of the state--a place too few of us have visited in the twenty-five years since we lost him. That gathering served as a wonderful reminder of the importance of family, the gift of sibling love, and the kind of small town town that shaped us in our formative years.  Rather than attempt to put into words all that I am feeling thankful for, I will let these Kansas images speak for me.

Maple Hill, KS

Ulysses, KS

Ulysses, KS

Maple Hill, KS

Burdett, KS

Ellinwood, KS

Ellsworth, KS

Ellinwood, KS

Ellinwood, KS

TToT

Thankful: The Language Arts Edition

On a road trip years ago we had ventured into unchartered (by us) territory.  I was behind the wheel; my husband was navigating.  Anticipating our exit, we were uncertain whether it would be on the left or the right ahead.  Scouring the map, my husband gave a command which I wasn’t sure I had heard correctly.  “The left?”, I asked as it drew ever nearer.  “Right, right, right”, he shouted as I changed lanes looking for a non-existent exit on ….ahem…the right.

Turns out it would have been more productive if he had shouted, correct, correct, correct when I asked if the exit was on the left.  Language is funny that way, it is only as helpful as our ability to use it well.

It has been a week of language used well, and for this I am truly thankful.

It was Youth Sunday at my church last Sunday.  (I didn’t have a photo of my church, but this window at Notre Dame provides an acceptable substitution.) Three of our high school seniors told their personal story about growing in their faith.  I was Director of Children’s Ministry for ten years and watched these kids grow up which was a joy in itself, but when they spoke about the experience, it affirmed years of my work.

They touched my heart with words of gratitude, words of promise, words of affirmation and words of love.  Not to mention their love of the word.

My son has me learning German online.  He hopes to study in Germany this fall and wants us to come and share some of the sights and experiences.  We are still in the planning stage and don’t know yet if it is all going to come together, but he set up an account for me at Duolingo.com so I can chat with the locals just in case.

I am thankful that the huge world is more manageable than it used to be to allow travel and the experience of other cultures.  I am thankful for the opportunities my kids have.  I am thankful they are eager to share their world with us.

I am thankful for the language of love which we celebrated with a very nice Valentine’s Day.  And for a new little person born on 2/12/14, my newest Great-niece, Charlotte Anne. And for Charlotte’s mom and dad, Laura and Nathan~may they enjoy parenthood.

                                        #355 through 365 of my 1000 Gifts.

From the archives...a list of blessings from 2014 that is still meaningful to me today having just seen little Charlotte over the weekend and knowing my son is looking into opportunities for grad school in Germany for next year.

Light in the Darkness of Dachau

Spoiler alert:  If you hope to visit Dachau some day and want to experience the memorials without any preconceived expectations,  don't read further.  I share not only photos, but interpretations of the message conveyed in each memorial as I understood them.  After the heavy sadness and disbelief of what we had seen in the camp,  I was very moved to discover the strength and faith that was palpable in each of the memorials at the end of the tour.

As you walk to the end of the gravel road that ran between the rows of barracks that housed prisoners, you arrive at the gathering of memorials.  The first is a Catholic memorial: Church of the Mortal Agony of Christ.  Many of the prisoners at Dachau were Catholics from Poland, Italy and France imprisoned for their anti-Nazi stance and resistance efforts.  The structure is concrete covered both inside and out with rocks from a nearby river.  A metal sculpture depicting Christ's crown of thorns hangs overhead in the entrance, and a cross hangs over an altar inside the structure.

The Jewish memorial was my favorite, though at first it seemed foreboding.  It is built of basalt lava, giving it a dark almost dingy look.  The floor of the interior is six feet underground which made me wonder if it was meant to signify the grave.  Instead, the underground positioning is a reminder of those who attempted to find hiding places from the Nazis.  You descend a wide ramp into the memorial.  Overhead is a railing that provides a clear reminder of the barbed wire enclosing Dachau.

I went down the ramp into the memorial with some reluctance.  Once inside I immediately saw the shaft of light from the topmost point of the prayer room illuminating a pillar of marble.  It took my breath away as I understood what the architect was saying-- the Holocaust pulled us down into the deep pit, the darkest depths of despair, yet even then there was hope and the promise of salvation.

The Church of Reconciliation is a haphazard looking structure made of gravel and unfinished concrete.  It stands as a protest against the Nazi insistence on order and tradition.  It is the Protestant memorial at Dachau.  After all we had seen and heard that day, it provided a much needed chance to light a candle and pray.

The Russian Orthodox Chapel: Resurrection of Our Lord was built on the 50th Anniversary of the liberation of Dachau by American soldiers.  It sits atop a mound of soil brought in from the Soviet Union, and honors the roughly 6,000 Russian prisoners who died here.

Thoughts from the Service of Remembrance at Temple Beth Sholom Topeka, Ks  Friday, May 6, 2016

If we were to begin tonight counting off each second of time in honor of someone who was killed during the Holocaust, we would need to continue counting seconds until August of this year.

The good suffer and the best suffer most, because it is the just and the true and the righteous that take upon themselves the task of bringing justice and truth into the world.

As we recall their unanswered cries, we must pledge ourselves never again to be silent in the face of tyranny or injustice.  We must transform grief into compassion.  We must give evidence of our remembering them through acts of kindness and courage.  Thus will our actions serve as monuments of the spirit to those who perished.  

Notre Dame

As I have been spending more time reading devotionals and my Bible during the season of Lent, I have been feeling the strength of my faith.  Thoughts of many of the great churches I have had the opportunity to visit have been filling my mind.  Notre Dame in Paris, France has to be one of the most memorable.  Huge as it is, symbols fill nearly every square inch of the place.

The facade includes The Gallery of Kings, a horizontal frieze of twenty-eight statues representing the ancestors of Christ.  Above the left entrance there is a gathering of prophets. As your eyes travel down the line you realize Sainte Denis is holding his head.  It is believed he was decapitated for his successful ministry converting Parisians to Catholicism around the year 258.  Despite losing his head, he continued preaching and walked six miles before collapsing.  I love the angel next to him who seems a little disconcerted by Denis's version of holding his head in his hands.

Inside there are so many beautiful areas for private prayer.  It is quiet and peaceful in the Cathedral despite a constant stream of visitors.  I was so caught up in the scale and loveliness of the place that I was hardly aware of the other people moving along with me as I toured.

So much of the light inside the sanctuary comes through the huge stained glass windows that fill the place.  The colors remind me of a kaleidoscope, and I was like a kid at Christmas when I noticed the rainbow reflections dancing on the stone interior wall.

I can't look through my photos of the old churches without remembering the smell.  It is a mixture of age, burning candles, and incense.  The scents blend together into a wonderful smell that feels safe and permanent.  It is a reminder of how long people have gathered to celebrate their faith or find comfort in their loss.  It evoked in me a very primal understanding of why a place like this is called sanctuary...and helps to explain what drew us three times during an eleven day stay in Paris.