ICE Hockey

Like almost every other kid in Canada, I learned how to skate on a frozen pond or a homemade rink in the yard. I froze my toes every time I went skating. I never played organized hockey because it was too expensive for my family, so I played on the neighbourhood outdoor rink with others who did not play on a real team. Even there, I was not one of the better hockey players. My hockey career had humble beginnings. My first stick was made of leftover lumber, my pads were pieces of old sponge held onto my knees with red jar-sealing rubber bands. My mom sewed my first and only hockey jersey: blue, with a maple leaf, and #10 on the back (#10 was worn by George Armstrong, captain of the Leafs at the time).

As you could tell by my jersey, I cheered for the Toronto Maple Leafs because in Canada you had only one other choice at the time—the Montreal Canadiens, and in our part of the country it was not acceptable to cheer for a French team. The Leafs won the Stanley Cup in 1967, just when I might have first become aware of hockey, and who does not want to cheer for a winner! (They have not won since!) We did not have a TV, so I listened to Foster Hewitt and Bob Cole on Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights. When the Winnipeg Jets got into the NHL (The WHA and the Avco Cup never seemed quite legitimate), I became a Jets fan. When we lost the Jets not many years later, I lost some interest in the NHL, so it was easy to cheer for the Calgary Flames when we moved to Calgary, and the Vancouver Canucks when we moved to the west coast. Now, I’ve kind of adopted all the Canadian teams as my own.

I am not particularly patriotic or nationalistic in any other area, just when it comes to hockey. It’s really all about the ice for me. Hockey is played on ice. I celebrate that players like Auston Mathews and Thatcher Demko who were born in the warm south have come to excel in a sport played on cold ice, but it just seems wrong for cities in the southern USA who never have natural ice to have hockey teams, so I just can’t cheer for them; indeed, I cheer against them! (e.g. Anaheim, Los Angeles, Miami, Tampa Bay, Dallas, Las Vegas, Phoenix) I cried along with Wayne Gretzky when he was traded to Los Angeles, even if it “opened up new markets.” I cried again when the Jets moved to Phoenix. The only redeeming aspect of Las Vegas winning the Cup last year was that they had the most Canadian players of any NHL team. Now that we have a continental professional women’s league, it is entirely appropriate that half of the teams are Canadian, and all of them are in the playoffs! This is the way it should be.

Speaking of hockey on frozen ponds, I do like the idea of the outdoor games being played in recent years, and I do like 3 on 3 overtime—they should do this in the playoffs as well, just minus the shoot-out. It would make overtime more exciting and shorter, and more like pond hockey.

One more opinion piece about ice. NHL playoffs should be over by the end of May because even Winnipeg and Edmonton rarely get frost in June. Make the first-round best-of-three, second-round best-of-five, then best-of-seven after that. Hockey is a winter sport.

BTW, if you look at my previous post you will note that my accuracy in predicting the playoffs in the east was almost perfect, within a few goals! I’m happy I was wrong about Vegas, but other than that I did pretty well in the west as well—although Vancouver goaltending did surprise me.

Canada’s National Religion

With the NHL playoffs having begun with hockey to watch every night of the week, I thought it might be appropriate to do a few blogs about hockey. And if my memory serves me correctly, a post from a few years ago on this topic garnered a lot more attention than did my posts about much more important topics! This seems to prove that hockey is Canada’s national religion because people get more passionate about it than God, politics, or religion.

So, before we get too far into the playoffs, here are my predictions:

I hope, along with all Leaf fans that the curse will be broken, and they will win at least the East, but more likely is that they will take Boston to seven games, and in the seventh game they will lead 4-1 going into the third period, only to give up three goals and lose in overtime.

The Rangers, Carolina, and Florida will all roll over their opponents in the first round. The Rangers will emerge victorious in the East.

I hope Vancouver, Edmonton, and Winnipeg, all win in the first round but it is more likely that only one of them will. I would have picked Vancouver to beat Nashville before Demko got injured; now, I’m not so confident. Sadly, Hellebuyck can’t seem to play Vezina-worthy in the playoffs. Don’t fling tomatoes, my fellow Canucks and Jets fans, I hope I’m wrong! There is nothing I would like more in NHL hockey than for one of these two teams to hoist their first Stanley Cup. Vancouver is on the way up and has a few more years to do it. I’m afraid time is running out for Winnipeg. Go Jets! That leaves us with the Oilers as the remaining Canadian dream to bring the Cup home, but…

Despite their little slump at the end of the season, Colorado is one of the best teams in the league and McKinnon is hot! They don’t need a good goaltender as was proven two years ago.

Beware of Vegas. They had a mediocre season, but they are a solid playoff team.

Yet, for and with and because of McDavid, Edmonton will win the West, then the Stanley Cup Final over the Rangers, bringing the Cup home to Canada.

As one with very limited hockey knowledge, I will not claim any accuracy beyond the shadow of a doubt, but when have the experts all been right? Let the arguments begin.

And remember, it may be called Canada’s national religion; but really, it’s only a game.

Earth Day

Until a few weeks ago, I had never spent a week in a desert before. There is much to learn from the desert. There is perhaps no place on earth as inhospitable as a desert. If water is the basic necessity for life, then a place without water is more threatening than anywhere else on earth. One third of earth’s land surface is desert. To survive as a species, human beings will have to learn how to live in the desert.

The desert I am speaking of is the Mojave in southern Nevada that would also include the Joshua Tree National Monument and Death Valley in California as well as parts of Arizona. We might be the first people to land at the Las Vegas airport and never set foot in the city, drive the strip, or enter a casino! Instead, our explorations included the Lake Mead Recreation Area, Valley of Fire State Park, Red Rock Canyon and Sloan Canyon Conservation Areas, the towns of Henderson and Boulder City, and the Hoover Dam.

The Colorado River borders the eastern part of this desert. It carved out the Grand Canyon millions of years ago and has supported ancient desert dwelling peoples for thousands of years. The Hoover Dam on the Colorado River was an engineering marvel ahead of its time that sought to harness the power of the river—and indeed it was a great success toward that end. It was built by more than 5,000 laborers who worked 24/7/365 for two years during The Great Depression in the 1930s and now provides power and water for over 20 million people as far away as Los Angeles. No wonder it is one of the highest security zones in the USA apart from the White House! Las Vegas, Henderson, and Boulder City have literally sprung up in the middle of the desert because of the dam. All of the water used by these cities is treated and released back into Lake Mead (created by Hoover Dam) to continue the water cycle all over again. Human ingenuity and creativity have enabled millions of people to survive living in a desert. The sad part of the story is that the Colorado River no longer reaches the sea because all the water is used up before it gets there. This caused me a reflective pause.

I live in a temperate rainforest where we take an abundance of water for granted and sometimes complain about too much of it. My week in the desert made an indelible impression on me because it taught me the fragility of life. A desert gets less than four inches of rain in a year. Human beings can not survive without water and so we have developed ways to store water, transport water, and to recycle and reuse water. But we must remember that we live in relationship with water and the rest of creation: plants, animals, rocks, and trees. It is a relationship with a delicate balance.

“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.” We saw versions of this quote on a plaque in at least two nature centres in the area. It is from John Muir (1838-1914), a notable ecological philosopher and environmental advocate who spent time in the Mojave Desert, and whose writings became a personal guide into nature for generations after him. Today, we have an annual “Earth Day” to celebrate and reflect on the relationship between humans and the earth. In John Muir’s day he was a voice crying in the wilderness.

Changes

The barn in the picture below is no more. When I heard it was slated for demolition, I knew I had to paint it. It has been destroyed to make way for a new development in our area of the city. That one dairy farm of 80 acres or so, operated by one family, will now house 100s of families with some park space and playing fields, but there is also some sadness at seeing the end of a bit of country in the city. It was one of the few farms still left that was completely encircled by suburban development. Now it too is gone. The change was inevitable. Life is like that I suppose. I’m turning a year older tomorrow and my life has also had changes, mixed with sadness at what is left behind, lots of digging to prepare for new development, and wondering what is ahead.

Easter in Ordinary Time

Nothing spectacular happened on this day, 500 years ago. In fact, I have nothing on my Anabaptist timeline until August. It reminds me of the theme of my sermon this past Sunday on John 21:1-14. Here is my introduction and conclusion. Do your own reflection on the biblical story in between.

We just finished celebrating Easter just over a week ago. Now, it’s back to the daily grind of ordinary life. Students and teachers have gone back to school after spring break. Does God come to us during ordinary time? What relevance does Easter have for my daily existence? Does menial life have any meaning? The resurrection seems so far away and impractical.

The disciples were no doubt somewhat confused, aimless, disillusioned, and disheartened by the whirl of tragic and dramatic events just a few days prior. “So, what do we do now?” They too were left wondering what it all meant. As the story opens in John 21, we find them waiting for Jesus to “show himself” at the Sea of Galilee as he had instructed them. Are we also waiting for Jesus to reveal himself to us today?

The interesting thing about this miraculous catch of fish is that it takes place in an ordinary “pre-resurrection-like” scene in the former occupations of the majority of the disciples. Even in the daily material world, Jesus is at work. We also struggle with our faith in the everyday world, but as we trust and obey, God provides abundantly and miraculously for our needs.

How might this story look for us today?

If you are a fisher, go fishing, obey Jesus commands, and recognize God’s handiwork in God’s miraculous provisions… like the catching of a fish!

If you are a gardener or a farmer, go plant your seeds or go prune your berry bushes, obey Jesus commands, and recognize God’s handiwork in God’s miraculous provisions… like an abundant harvest.

If you are an administrator, go to your office, obey Jesus commands, and recognize God’s handiwork in God’s miraculous provisions… like things coming together for the completion of a task!

If you are a student, go study, obey Jesus commands, and recognize God’s handiwork in God’s miraculous provisions… like the passing of a test!

If you are a teacher, go teach, obey Jesus commands, and recognize God’s handiwork in God’s miraculous provisions… like the transformation of a student’s life.

All of us, each one of us is accepted by God with our different personalities, qualities, interests and vocations. God accepts us with our failures and struggles of faith.

God is interested in our daily, ordinary, bodily lives. Jesus is present in our working and playing, eating, and sleeping, in all that we do! As we put our faith in Jesus and obey his commands, we will begin to notice the presence of Christ in our lives.

Will you be like John and recognize him?  Will you be like Peter and do something about it? Jesus comes to us, not so much in great meetings or through great people, but simply, as we give him the fruit of our menial service and as we recognize the divine touch in our earthy, daily experiences.

Easter Sunday, 500 years ago

Wilhelm Reublin was the first known person to preach openly against the baptism of infants early in 1524 and practiced what he preached by refusing to baptize infants at the Easter service that spring. Parents who had to delay what to them meant the security of salvation for their newborn children were probably not pleased, even though he would have assured them that salvation did not depend on the application of water. His act of resistance was a break with over a thousand years of tradition. Easter this year is the 500^th anniversary of that act of resistance.* A few months later Reublin was imprisoned for this act. It was almost a year later in Zurich that the now more famous incident took place with Conrad Grebel baptizing George Blaurock on January 21, 1525.

Reublin went on to become a pioneering, outspoken early Anabaptist leader. He was an idealist, not afraid to speak and act out when he saw religious and socio-economic injustices. Reublin traveled and ministered widely in Strasbourg, the Alsace, cities and towns in the Pallatinate of southern Germany, in the Black Forest, the Inn Valley of Austria, and east to Moravia. Reublin was influential in setting up the Schleitheim meetings where a historic agreement about church practices was penned in 1527.

In the movie, The Radicals, which features Michael and Margareta Sattler as the heroes of the Schleitheim story, Wilhelm Reublin is depicted as the more militant and outspoken counterfoil to Sattler’s more pious and pacifistic personality. This may have been accurate, and it is also true that in the 1530s Reublin left the Anabaptists and rejoined the Reformers, and perhaps even Catholicism in his dying days. It seems to have paid off literally and also with a long life and a dignified death.

The last half of his life has not left him in a positive light among later generations of Anabaptist. Did Reublin change churches and theology to avoid persecution? Did he sell out on his radical convictions for the sake of money and an easier life? Are we too hard on Reublin? Maybe there is a bit of Wilhelm Rueblin in all of us. How many of us in the modern era have switched churches or denominations to be more in line with our changing convictions? How many of us preachers and teachers have softened our messages to keep a job? How many of us have left a faith community where we did not feel appreciated? How many of us have worked hard to protect a nest egg for retirement?

Be easy on Wilhelm Reublin today and celebrate his courageous act of 500 years ago.

*Note: The Julian calendar, which was in use at the time, marks the 27^th of March as the day of Easter in 1524. According to the Gregorian calendar, for use since 1582, it was March 30. 500 years later it is March 31.

500 Years Ago Today

On March 26, 1524 Menno Menno Simons was ordained to the Roman Catholic priesthood. He was probably trained in a Franciscan monastery near his home. His first assignment was as an assistant to the priest in his hometown of Pingjum in the Netherlands, under occupation by the Spanish Empire at the time. I doubt that Menno Simons was ever a rebel, but from his own admission, he seems to have been a bit of a slacker in his early clerical career.

Menno did receive a copy of the Scriptures which he began to earnestly read and study, eventually finding out that “he had been deceived” on a number of matters, including baptism, communion, and the use of the sword. It took him more than a decade after this to finally leave the Catholic Church. Was it due to his slow and deliberate Frisian nature? Was it his careful and methodical personality? Was it the influence of his countryman, Erasmus, who stayed loyal to the church while still being critical?
Although Menno became the primary pastor and apostle of the 16th century Dutch Anabaptists and wrote more than any other Anabaptist of his era, I still see him as an ordinary rural pastor on a first name basis with his parishioners: unpretentious, plain, measured, vulnerable, and caring. Most other leaders in history are known by their last name; he is always known as “Menno.” I like this as a legacy for the few churches and denominations that still carry the nickname.

I present these light-hearted sonnets as my tribute to the man.

The Story of Saint Patrick

ST. PATRICK: A SEED THAT GREW INTO A MOUNTAIN

In the early church, Christians had refused to pay allegiance to the Roman emperor and instead proclaimed, “Jesus is Lord.” But at the beginning of the 4^th century, through a series of events over a few generations, Christianity became the official state religion of the Roman Empire under Emperor Constantine (300-332 CE) and later Theodosius (347-395). A few centuries later, the so-called Barbarian tribes of northern Europe were converted to Christianity on the edge of Charlemagne’s sword. Christianity became powerful and militant, aligned with emperors and kings. This version of Christianity is what our Anabaptist forbears rebelled against 1,000 years later, but there is a much older version of Christianity that also did not follow the Roman path. It was a more peaceful and humbler version of the Christian faith that developed on islands at the edge of the continent. This is the story of Patrick and his mission to Ireland.

In this story of St. Patrick, I have combined his own autobiographical writing, called “Saint Patrick’s Confession,” and a retelling of some of his missionary work based on the work done by Dr. Ralph L. Wilson. The translation of his Confession is from The Royal Irish Academy website.

Patrick was born in England around 385 and died on March 17, 461 in Ireland. This is why March 17 has become his feast day. His Confession (a personal testimony) were written late in his life and the oldest known hand-written manuscripts date back to 807 CE. Other stories and legends surrounding Patrick abound. Some, like the one that he chased the snakes out of Ireland, hold no historical evidence. What is certain, is that Patrick was influential in bringing Christianity to Ireland. It eventually became the prominent religion of almost the entire population—and it was a unique Irish/Celtic version of the Christian faith, hardly touched by the Roman Christianity that came to dominate the rest of western Europe.

As I tell his story, note the themes of our Scriptures in his story. Isaiah 2:1-5 is about all people streaming to the mountain of God for salvation. In Patrick’s case, it was all of Ireland. Note that Patrick won people to Christ through plowshare ministry: his humble and generous lifestyle, prayer, Scripture, and gift-giving. In Luke 13:18-21 the mustard seed grows into a tree and a kernel of yeast works through an entire batch of dough. Like a mustard seed or yeast, Patrick was a small, humble, rural man whom God used to win most of the people of Ireland to Christ.  

Let’s let Patrick begin his story in his own words.

My name is Patrick. I am a sinner, a simple country person, and the least of all believers. I am looked down upon by many. My father was Calpornius. He was a deacon, although I learned it was mostly for tax reasons rather than devotion to God. I lived near Bannavem Taburniae in Britain. I was about sixteen when I was captured and taken prisoner by pirates. At that time, I did not know the true God. I was taken into captivity to Ireland, along with thousands of others.

It was there that the Lord opened up my awareness of my lack of faith. So I turned with all my heart to the Lord my God and he looked down on my lowliness and had mercy on my youthful ignorance. He guarded me before I knew him, and before I came to wisdom and could distinguish between good and evil.

After Patrick arrived in Ireland, he was sold as a slave to Miliucc, one of the pagan chieftain kings, and was made to take care of sheep among some gruff herdsmen who whipped him, literally, into shape. Patrick, with his “always-look-on-the-bright-side” personality talks more about his prayer life than his enslavement and hard labor.

I tended sheep every day and they became my companions, and I prayed frequently during the day. More and more the love of God increased, and my sense of awe before God. Faith grew, and my spirit was moved, so that in one day I would pray up to one hundred times, and at night perhaps the same. I even remained in the woods and on the mountain, and I would rise to pray before dawn in snow and ice and rain. I never felt the worse for it, and I never felt lazy – as I realise now, the spirit was burning in me at that time.

It was there one night in my sleep that I heard a voice saying to me: “You have prayed well. Very soon you will return to your native country.” Again, after a short while, I heard a someone saying to me: “Look – your ship is ready.” But the sea was not nearby, but a good two hundred miles away. I had never been to the place, nor did I know anyone there. So I ran away then, and left the man with whom I had been for six years. It was in the strength of God that I went – God who turned the direction of my life to good; I feared nothing while I was on the journey to that ship.

The day I arrived, the ship was about to leave the place. I said I needed to set sail with them because the Lord Jesus had spoken to me, but the captain was not at all pleased. He replied unpleasantly and angrily: “Don’t you dare try to come with us.” When I heard that, I left them and went back to the hut where I had lodgings.

I began to pray while I was going; and before I even finished the prayer, I heard one of them shout aloud at me: “Come quickly – those men are calling you!” I turned back right away, and they began to say to me: “Come, we have decided to trust you after all. This is how I got to go with them, and we set sail right away.

After three days we made it to land [Probably Gaul, today France), and then for twenty eight days we travelled through a wilderness. Food ran out, and great hunger came over them. The captain turned to me and said: “What about this, Christian? You tell us that your God is great and all-powerful – why can’t you pray for us, since we’re in a bad state with hunger? There’s no sign of us finding a human being anywhere!” Then I said to them with some confidence: “Turn in faith with all your hearts to the Lord my God, because nothing is impossible for him. God will put food in your way – even enough to make you fully satisfied! He has an abundance everywhere.” With the help of God, this is actually what happened! A herd of pigs appeared in the way before our eyes! They killed many of them and there they remained for two nights, and were fully restored. After this, they gave the greatest of thanks to God, and I was honoured in their eyes. From this day on, they had plenty of food.

It was here that I met the Bishop Germanus of Auxerre who taught me to learn and love the Scriptures.

A few years later I was again with my parents and my home community in Britain. They all welcomed me as a son, and they pleaded with me that, after all the many tribulations I had undergone, I should never leave them again. It was while I was there that I saw, in a vision in the night, a man coming as it were from Ireland with so many letters they could not be counted. He gave me one of these, and I read the beginning of the letter, the voice of the Irish people. While I was reading out the beginning of the letter, I heard a chorus of many voices calling out to me: “We beg you, holy boy, to come and walk again among us.” This touched my heart deeply, and I could not read any further; I woke up then. Thanks be to God, after many years the Lord granted them what they were calling for.

It’s a long story – to tell each and every deed of mine, or even parts of it. I’ll make it short, as I tell of how the good God often freed me from slavery, and from twelve dangers which threatened my life, as well as from hidden dangers and from things which I have no words to express.

In fact, in Patrick’s own confession he writes about very few of these dangers and adventures, preferring to praise God by quoting Scripture and focusing on God’s goodness and protection. Some of them have been written down and have gained legendary status.

One such story look place at the castle of Tara on a hill. Many local kings, generals, nobility, and druids were attending the pagan feast of Beltine there which coincided with Easter that year. Patrick encamped in full view of the castle to celebrate the Resurrection of his Christ.

On the eve of the pagan festival it was the custom, upon penalty of death, that the high king should light the first bonfire before any others in the land. Patrick, however, had kindled a great fire which gleamed through the darkness to the inhabitants of the plain as well as all those gathered in the hilltop castle.

“Sacrilege!” cried Loegaire, the chieftain. “Let him be put to death!” But the druids pronounced a foreboding word: “O king, live forever. This fire will never be put out unless it is put out this night on which it has been lit. He who lit the fire and the coming kingdom by which it was lit will overcome us all.” “Not so!” shouted the king. He yoked twenty-seven chariots for the druids, kings, and other guests, and drove for Patrick’s fire.

Patrick’s companions asked him whether they should arm themselves for a defense, but Patrick said, “No! Christ is my sword and my breastplate. Christ will protect me on every side.”

(This is the context that often accompanies the prayer that is attributed to him as “St. Patrick’s Breastplate.)

I arise today, through God’s strength to pilot me, God’s might to uphold me, God’s wisdom to guide me, God’s eye to look before me, God’s ear to hear me, God’s word to speak for me, God’s hand to guard me, God’s shield to protect me, God’s host to save me from snares of devils, from temptation of vices, from everyone who shall wish me ill, afar and near.

Patrick was summoned before the king. The druid Lochru started to insult Patrick viciously and to slander the Christian faith in the most arrogant terms. A holy boldness took hold of Patrick. Sensing God’s presence he shouted: “O Lord, who can do all things, who sent me here: May this wicked man who blasphemes Your name be carried up out of here and die straightway!” An unseen Power suddenly flipped the evil priest into the air and crashed him to the ground.

“Seize him!” the enraged king sputtered. Patrick stood and called, “May God arise and His enemies be scattered!” Darkness suddenly fell on the camp. Confused guards began to attack one another. The ground shook and frightened horses galloped off, smashing the chariots. A terrified king knelt before Patrick.

It is said that this confrontation marked the beginning of his mission to Ireland. Danger and hardship remained his constant companions. Many sought his life. Twice he was imprisoned by his enemies–once for two full months. Intimidated? Not Patrick.

Daily I expect murder, fraud, or captivity, but I fear none of these things because of the promises of heaven. I have cast myself into the hands of God Almighty who rules everywhere.

The victory at Tara earned Patrick a reputation. Ireland was dotted at the time with scores of tiny, warring kingdoms. Approaching a royal castle, Patrick would offer presents of money and fine gifts to secure an audience with the local king. Then he would tell the king and his family the wonderful news of Jesus’ salvation from sin, His death on the cross, and His resurrection from the dead. If the king gave his blessing, Patrick was free to preach throughout the realm. Despite fierce opposition from the druids, castle after castle became an outpost of the kingdom of God.

There was something about Patrick’s exuberant faith and steadfast character that attracted these warlike kings. Once he asked Daire, king of Armagh, for a hilltop site on which to build a church. The man offered a spot on lower ground instead. So, undaunted, Patrick began to build on the lower ground. One day Daire sent him a valuable three-gallon bronze pot, imported from the Continent. “Thanks be to God,” the missionary said. Daire raged when he heard of Patrick’s response. “Stupid man! Doesn’t he have any more grateful words for my gift than ‘Thanks be to God’?” He sent his servants to demand the pot’s return. “Thanks be to God, take it away,” was all Patrick would say. Daire was so astonished by the missionary’s humble reply that he came to the construction site himself. “This place isn’t good enough for your church, Holy Man. You wanted the hilltop on the Ridge of the Willows? I give it to you and to your God.”

By the time of his death he had baptized tens of thousands and established hundreds of churches throughout Ireland. Within a century this once pagan land became predominately Christian, possessing such a vigorous faith unique to Ireland and somewhat separate from Roman Christendom. He concludes his confession with tenderness as he addresses the people of his adopted homeland.

You all know, and God knows, how I have lived and loved among you since my youth, in true faith and in sincerity of heart. Towards the pagan people too among whom I live, I have lived in good faith, and will continue to do so. God knows that I have not been devious with even one of them, nor do I think of doing so, for the sake of God and his church. I would not want to arouse persecution of them and of all of us; nor would I want that the Lord’s name should be blasphemed on account of me.

I pray for those who believe in and have reverence for God. Some of them may happen to inspect or come upon this writing which I Patrick, a sinner without learning, wrote in Ireland. May none of them ever say that whatever little I did or made known to please God was done through ignorance or ill-will. Instead, you can judge and believe in all truth that it was a gift of God. This is my confession before I die.

Anabaptist Women’s Day

“It is significant that the concept of the priesthood of all believers among Anabaptists elevated women to a role of partnership in the congregation of believers. In the state churches, Catholic and Protestant, the attitude toward women was as yet quite medieval and remained so for many years. However, in Anabaptist circles women were referred to as sisters, and were held in the highest respect. The freedom with which they lived and associated with the men in the work of the church accounts for the incorrect and slanderous charge made by the opponents that the Anabaptists had their women in common… Anabaptist women were not a bit behind the Anabaptist men in understanding the interpretation of the gospel or in steadfast suffering for the truth of Christ.” (Myron Augsburger)

In that spirit, and in commemoration of International Women’s Day, I give you three quotes from courageous 16^th century Anabaptist women.

Nelleken Jasper, age 19, responding to accusers who were seeking a recantation of her Anabaptist convictions.

“Go ahead, roast me on a rotisserie, boil me in oil, I will continue to trust that God’s grace will keep me in his truth till my dying breath. You might as well do it today rather than wait till tomorrow. I firmly hope and trust that God will help me.”

Helena von Freyburg was a more mature noble woman who did recant and is here renouncing what she did with great sorrow, asking God and her congregation for forgiveness.

“I am in the same position as the lost son, I have made a useless mistake and am no longer worthy to be called God’s child. I am sorry from the bottom of my heart for God knows what I have done. Therefore, I ask his holy congregation, especially here at Augsburg, whom I have offended greatly, to forgive and pardon what I have done against them. And now, I embrace the consolation and assurance in the shedding of the holy blood of Jesus Christ that promises sanctification and reconciliation. For he says that in the hour in which sinners sigh in their hearts over their sins, they are forgiven. To this I cling in faith.”

Maria and Ursula van Beckum, sisters-in-law, sang together before their public execution and said to onlookers:

“Weep not on account of what is inflicted upon us. We do not suffer as witches or other criminals, but because we adhere to Christ, and will not be separated from God; hence, be converted, and it shall be well with you forever.”

Check out this link to a poem about Augsburg where Helena von Freyburg lived for a time and one about another Anabaptist woman of the 16^th century, Aneken Jans.

Sausage during Lent

Christianity has developed some interesting customs unrelated to the life of its founder. Lent is one of them. Lent is the 40 days counting back from Easter, minus Sundays. Lent is to Easter what Advent is to Christmas—a time of preparation for the high holy day. Christmas and Easter are the biggest celebrations and involve feasting and drinking. Thus, it seems appropriate to engage in reflection, fasting, and “giving up” to prepare oneself for the big party. The celebration is then more deeply and meaningfully festive. The old cliché, “absence makes the heart grow fonder” might be true here.

It was common to give up rich and fatty foods during Lent. The tradition was that on Shrove Tuesday, people used the last of the flour and oil to make pancakes and to fry the last of their sausages because once Lent hit on Ash Wednesday, there was to be no more pancakes and sausage! No more fun. No more frivolity.

One could say that the Anabaptist movement began with the eating of sausage during Lent! 502 years ago, during Lent, a group of people gathered at the home of the printer, Christopher Froschauer, and ate sausage as a sign of rebellion against the perceived injustices and corruption of the church. This seems entirely appropriate for a movement whose descendants would later become known for their farmer sausage and fried dough pockets filled with cottage cheese, all smothered in milk fat. A few years after this sausage incident, many of those consumers of sausage baptized themselves as a sign of separation from the established church and were thus derided as “Anabaptists” (re-baptizers) and the rest is history, as they say.

Ironically, Mennonites themselves have made some strict and prudish rules regarding fun and frivolity during all months of the year. Drinking, dancing, and card-playing were verboten for me and my ancestors in our conservative Mennonite sect. A truly spiritual lifestyle was about ethical seriousness and giving up the pleasures of bodily life. For those like us, we need to remember that our movement began with enjoying some sausage during Lent, perhaps washed down with a glass of bold Bavarian beer or fine Rhine wine.

Lent practices such as fasting and prayer are good but when they become an end in themselves and breed a dead legalism instead of promoting the freshness of life, then perhaps we need to lighten up a bit with a bite of sausage or a square of dark chocolate.