February 25, 2004 (Ash Wednesday, C - Midweek Lenten Series)
There can be little doubt that most of us Lutherans in Lake Lillian are people who came from somewhere else. All of the Andersons and Olsons, Ericksons and Larsons, Jacobsons and Nelsons, Petersons and Johnsons give it away. And that's not to mention the Fischers and the Flanns, the Garberichs and the Gilhois, the Lindgrens and the Lundquists, the Pearts and the Portingas, and all the rest that go together to make up the wonderful and amazing mosaic of people who live in this area. By nationality, we're mostly Swedes and Norwegians, mixed in with a few Dutch and some Germans who wandered over from our neighboring communities, and sprinkled with a few others who found their way to this place, took a liking to it, and decided to stay. Of course, very few, if any, of us were born in one of those foreign countries. We were born right here in America. We're citizens of the United States. Most of us have been Minnesotans for a long, long time. Some have always lived in Kandiyohi county. And a few have hardly moved in all their lives. Yet, we carry with us an immigrant mentality. That's why we honor things like lutefisk and lefse. That's why we keep the "midsummer" tradition. That's why some of us eat bratwurst and sauerkraut. They are a part of our heritage, a heritage which was once packed into trunks, loaded onto ships, and moved from some far away place to where we find ourselves now. It may have taken a few detours along the way. Not everyone came here directly; but, all of us got here somehow. And all of us brought with us our histories and our traditions, our heritage and our identities. All of which has prompted me to ask the questions, "Who are we, anyway?" "What exactly is it that makes us the church?" And "How is it that such a diverse people can all blend together to be just one parish in Lake Lillian, Minnesota?"
From what I know of the story, my great-grandfather Wiese left Germany and came to the United States when he was just 12 years old. He was part of a great immigration of northern Europeans who left their homelands, following a period of political unrest and repeated crop failures, to seek a better way of life for themselves in the new world of America. I don't know if he traveled with his entire family or with just a few of his brothers, but I don't think that he came alone. His trunk, I am told, indicates that he had a little money. It's rounded top shows that this was a fairly expensive piece of luggage. Because nothing could be stacked on top of such a trunk, it afforded more wealthy travelers the relative luxury of being able to get to their belongings during the long days of an ocean voyage. Whatever may be the case, I imagine that when my great-grandfather Wiese made his way down to the boat docks to board the ship that would take him on his journey to the new world, either he or more likely his mother had filled this trunk with all his worldly possessions, everything that was essential to him in his old life, and everything that would be necessary for him to make for himself a new life. I'm not going to tell you what is in the trunk tonight. That is something that we will save for the weeks to come as we unpack the trunk and examine what my great-grandfather might have brought with him. As we do that, we will be asking ourselves what would be essential for us to pack in our trunks and to take with us as we journey through our life together as the church. I can guarantee you that there will be at least seven things we will want to pack, the seven things which correspond to what Martin Luther called "the Seven Marks of the Church," the seven signs which, he said, point us to and make us to be "the holy people of God."
What I want to suggest to you tonight is that the trunk itself is an apt symbol of the people of God. From the very beginning, the people of God have been a people on the move. From Adam and Eve's expulsion from the Garden, to Noah's voyage with the Animals, to Abraham's call to the Promised Land, to the Exodus from Egypt, to the Wanderings in the Wilderness, to the Exile in Babylon, to the Reconstruction of Jerusalem, the people of God have been a pilgrim people, a people on a journey through life. Jesus himself was the subject of much travel. He is born at the end of his parents' trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem. They escape Herod's wrath by fleeing to Egypt. When it is safe, they return to Galilee. When he is twelve, they go again to the Temple. When he is baptized, he travels to the banks of the Jordan River. When he is tempted, he finds himself out in the wilderness. When his ministry begins, he teaches and heals as he moves about from place to place. When his time has come, he sets his face toward Jerusalem and he journeys in that direction on his way to his suffering and death on the cross. And after he is risen from the dead, he tells his followers that they will be his witnesses first "in Judea, then in Samaria, and finally to the ends of the earth" and he charges them to "go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." To fulfill those statements of commissioning, the church has had to move, to travel, to continue the journey. It cannot stay in one place. If it is to be the people of God, it must always be moving on, reaching out, and straining forward into the future God has intended for it.
Ash Wednesday itself is nothing more than a statement to each one of us individually of where we have come from and where we are going. The God who made each one of us created us from the dust of the earth. One day, we will return to that dust once again. In between, we are on a great adventure, traveling down the road of life and voyaging across the ocean of time. While on the way, we have been called to be the people of God, to live as the body of Christ, and to serve all of God's creation. As we journey, God goes with us just as surely as God went with the ancient Hebrews journeying with them as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Perhaps that is what my great-grandfather's trunk can symbolize. It can be the presence of God. It can represent God's love and care for those things that are essential to who we are. It can signify the provisions and the protections that God has made for each one of us on our journeys. When my great-grandfather Wiese boarded that ship, I'm sure there were more than a few prayers prayed by him and his family that God would watch over him and all who traveled with him, that they would make it safely to their journey's end, and that they would have everything they needed with them to be God's people in the new land. May that be our prayer as we begin our journey through Lent, and may we be blessed to be the church here in Lake Lillian.
Amen.