Hy-Lytes

JULY/AUGUST 2010

Exactly 35 years ago on July 1^st, 1975, I began working as Assistant Pastor at Bethel Church in Philadelphia. I shall never forget my interview with the Church Council when I was being considered for a call. The first question I was asked: “DO YOU BELIEVE IN THE RESURRECTION?” My answer: “Absolutely!” Next question: “DO YOU BOWL?” My answer: “No, but I’m willing to learn.” (The church had a bowling league and the person who asked the question hoped for a Good bowler.) Another question, asked by a teenager who was present: “Have you ever worked with youth?” My answer: “Yes, my last five-year term as a missionary in Argentina I worked exclusively with and for the youth in the entire Synod.” I don’t remember any more questions, but I guess my answers reassured them, because on the day of my trial sermon, the vote to issue a call was positive, but far from unanimous. Several people, young and old, still felt a woman should not be a pastor.

I remember also the first Church Council meeting I attended. One man refused to enter the room! His reason: “The constitution calls for 12 councilmen, and that means male! No woman should be there.” The Senior Pastor convinced him to participate by saying I wasn’t a councilman, I was a pastor. Eventually, as time passed, that gentleman became one of my most ardent supporters. But change comes slowly.

I remember the night I was ordained. When the Bishop of the Metropolitan New York Synod saw me, he asked, “Where is your clergy shirt?” My reply, “They only had men’s shirts, and I looked ridiculous! That’s why I’m wearing this white dress.” Eventually, women's clergy blouses  became available, so I bought every color they had in stock: black, white, tan, and light blue. I had a dear friend who made me blouses in all colors of the rainbow, yellow, shocking pink, old rose, green, purple, royal blue, brown, and grey. Now, I wear only the white, grey, old rose, and black. The others I gave away as I gained weight or just grew older!

I thank God that times do change, and now women are taking their place beside men in law, medicine, and the church, to mention just a few areas, and often the best person for the job is a woman. I pray that God will continue to enlighten us and open our minds and hearts to accept and appreciate the gifts God gives to us all, male and female.

There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all people.   1 Corinthians 12:4-6

MAY/JUNE 2010

My last article ended in 1963 when I returned home from my first term as a missionary in Argentina. I’ll skip rather quickly over the years 1963 to 1968 when I was employed as a parish worker in my home church, St. Paul’s in Port Chester, New York. Then in 1968 I headed back to Argentina for another five-year term, this time called by the national church there (Iglesia Evangélica Luterana Unida) to be Secretary for Youth for all 24 congregations, most located in the Greater Buenos Aires area, but one as far north as Eldorado in Misiones, and two in the south in Azul and Olavarría, with one each in Rosario and Córdoba. I was full-time, a young Argentine pastor was half-time, and another young Argentinian was quarter-time. Together with the youth, we planned programs, summer camps, work camps, and all kinds of activities. Another five years passed quickly and it was almost time for me to return home again.

One day the bishop called me into his office and told me the church was transferring me to Olavarría, about 300 kilometers from where I was living and working. There I would be working with a young Brazilian pastor, a graduate of the Lutheran seminary in José C. Paz.

I was surprised and said, “I have only six more months left. Wouldn’t it be wiser to train someone to do what I have been doing than to send me somewhere else?”

“Jacinta,” he said, “you can either go to Olavarría or take a one-way plane trip back to New York.”

“Well, since you put it that way, I’ll be glad to go,” I replied.

God knew what was best, because it was those last six months that confirmed in me the desire to continue my studies in Seminary and be ordained. It was in 1970 that the Lutheran Church in America made the momentous decision to ordain women! And it was now 1973.

Back home again, I met with the proper authorities and was encouraged to attend the Lutheran Seminary in Philadelphia. Fortunately, my previous studies at Biblical Seminary were accepted and an internship was waived, because of what I had done overseas. So on May 13, 1975, I graduated from the Lutheran Theological Seminary of Philadelphia, and on May 20, 1975, I was ordained in my home congregation. In July I began working at Bethel Church at 5th and Sedgley in Philadelphia, since I had been offered and accepted the call to be Assistant Pastor there.

It’s hard to believe that on May 20 I will celebrate the 35th anniversary of my ordination!

I’d like to share with you the Sacristy prayer which hangs in my office, a gift from the Senior Pastor and his wife at Bethel when I began my ministry there.

O Lord God, thou hast made me a pastor and teacher in the church. Thou seest how unfit I am to administer rightly this great and responsible office; and had I been without thy aid and counsel I would surely have ruined it all long ago.

Now gladly do I desire to yield and consecrate my heart and mouth to this ministry! I desire to teach the congregation. I, too, desire ever to learn and to keep thy Word my constant companion and to meditate thereupon earnestly.

Use me as thy instrument in thy service. Only do not thou forsake me, for if I am left to myself, I will certainly bring it all to destruction.  Amen.

When I first read it, it seemed far too heavy, but with the passing years, it has proved to be only too true. By God’s grace alone am I still a pastor!

MARCH/APRIL 2010

I am a Lutheran by birth (baptized at two months at St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church in the Bronx) and by choice. While my mother lived, we attended St. John’s Lutheran Church in Mamaroneck, New York. After she died I attended a Presbyterian Sunday School in my home town of Harrison, New York. By the time I was a teenager, my best girlfriend was a member of All Saints’ Episcopal Church, just several blocks from where we lived. I was confirmed there in January 1940 at the age of 13. I immediately began to sing in the choir, and several years later began teaching Sunday School. I loved just being in church and I loved the two priests, Father James Knapp and Father George Keith.

By the time I was 18 years old I had a burning desire to learn to play the organ. Fortunately, I had had enough piano to be able to do so. My teacher had an electronic organ in her home, and I could practice on it whenever I wanted to. It had something I could plug in and hear what I was playing, but no one else could. She and her husband had a beautiful St. Bernard dog, who completely filled the entranceway. He didn’t budge so I simply stepped over him. When she moved to another state, she recommended me for her job as organist at the Presbyterian Church in Port Chester, New York, a neighboring town. There was a small choir, and the anthem was selected by one of the choir members, but there was no choir director. Several years passed with joint services during Lent and in the summer with the other churches in the area.

One day the choir director of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Byram, Connecticut, just across the river from Port Chester, called and asked if I’d be interested in being the organist there. I was interviewed for the job and hired. The organ was an old tracker-action one in the balcony, and the choir and congregation were downstairs in the nave. (Eventually a modern organ was purchased and placed in the sanctuary also.) After several months and after a new pastor arrived, I finally asked, “What does one have to do to become a member here?” Attend a Pastor’s Class for new members, I was told. That’s how I became a Lutheran by choice. My sister and then brother-in-law also joined.

It felt like arriving home after a long vacation. I got involved immediately, taught Sunday School, and attended the Missionary Society’s monthly meetings. Because I was happiest when I was in church, I eventually wondered if God had a plan for my life. This led to at least a year of soul searching and prayer before I finally felt called by God to be a missionary. So I applied to the Board of Foreign Missions (as it was called then) and found to my chagrin I needed a college degree, which I didn’t have. I had taught shorthand and typing and business subjects in a private commercial school, and a college degree wasn’t necessary to do that. So at 26 years of age, I headed to Wagner College on Staten Island, graduated at 30, and was ready to head to any mission field. No, not yet, I was told. I needed one year of seminary. Women were not accepted at Lutheran Seminaries in the 1950s, so I attended Biblical Seminary in New York City, with emphasis on Methodical Bible Study and Missions.

When the year was over, I appeared again at the Board of Foreign Missions to know where I would be going. The plans to send me to India to teach in a high school hadn’t materialized, so I was going to be sent to Argentina to teach in a Bible Institute there, but I didn't speak Spanish. More delay! So I spent several months at Columbia University studying Spanish seven hours a day, one hour with a professor and one hour on my own. While waiting for a Visa for Argentina, I took Spanish typing and had my portable typewriter equipped with the necessary keys. My date for departure was December 27, 1957, but then a health problem arose: I couldn’t keep food down, which necessitated first a GI series, then a visit to a psychiatrist. I finally sailed in March 1958, arriving in Argentina the day after Easter to begin a wonderful five years at the Lutheran Bible Institute in Villa Ballester.

I often marvel at how all those years God was patiently leading me to do and be what made me happiest. I’ve spent all this time and space taking you from my birth in 1926 to my first five years in Argentina, which ended with a furlough back home in January 1963. Stay tuned for further developments in the life of just one of God’s children—me! May your Lenten journey be a wonderful walk with the Lord Jesus and may he share with you the plan he has for your life, no matter what your age.

FEBRUARY 2010

 It’s been more than 50 years since I first arrived in Argentina, and I still vividly recall some first impressions. The death days (not birthdays) of their national heroes were celebrated. When a person died, they had to be buried within 24 hours, as they didn’t embalm, and a coffin was body-shaped. Cemeteries often had unframed pictures of the deceased on the tombstone.

It is a custom in the entire world to remember saints on the day of their death, their “heavenly birthday.” On February 18, 1546, Martin Luther died at the age of 62. For a time, he was an Augustinian monk, but it was his work as a Biblical scholar, translator of the Bible, reformer of the liturgy, theologian, educator, and father of German vernacular literature that holds him in remembrance. In Luther’s own judgment, the greatest of all his works was his catechism, written to instruct people in the basics of faith. And it was his baptism that sustained him in his trials as a reformer.

Pastor Kay Braun has written a wonderful book entitled On Earth As In Heaven, Praying at the Crossroads, and in it she often refers to Luther’s catechism. If you have not already read it, I encourage you to do so. What better time than in Lent?

May your Lenten walk, beginning with Ash Wednesday, February 17, be a very special experience for YOU this year!

Just a Closer Walk with Thee — ELW # 697

Just a closer walk with thee, grant it, Jesus, is my plea;

Daily walking close to thee, let it be, dear Lord, let it be.

JANUARY 2010

One of my earliest and fondest childhood memories is about attending St. John’s Lutheran Church in Mamaroneck, New York. (Harrison, the town we lived in, had only three churches: Episcopal, Presbyterian, and Roman Catholic.) I remember thinking the pew was hard and the sermon long, but it was good to be sitting between my parents. I felt secure.

I always wanted an older brother, but my parents presented me with a sister, whom they names Iris, when I was eight years old. I was happy, for I was no longer an only and lonely child. But two weeks after Iris was born, my mother died. Then Dad’s parents and their English Setter, Vicky, came to live with us. We no longer went to church, but my maternal grandfather, who lived around the corner, walked me to Sunday School in the Presbyterian church. One day the teacher was looking at the life lines in our hands and said to me, “Hyacinth, you’ll live to be at least 95!” Well, I’m certainly on my way.

After I celebrated my 80th birthday, I thought I should make plans for my demise, so I called Herb Craft of Erdenheim. We met. Herb thought I’d want to be buried at Sunset Memorial Park, where my beloved, Bill Imhof, is interred. “No,” I told Herb, “I’d like to stay close to Christ’s Church, I’d like to be cremated, and I’d like a sundial for my ashes.” Herb never heard of such a thing, so I told him that when a man in our congregation died, a sundial was placed before the altar, and when I asked what it was, Carl Maurer told me his dad’s ashes were in it, and his mother’s would be also when she died, and one of his brothers would keep the sundial in his garden. (Birdbaths can also be used for the same purpose.)

But lo and behold, our wonderful Christ’s Church came to the rescue. As soon as I heard of a proposed columbarium, I immediately supported the idea, not just for myself , but as a ministry of the church.

At Christ’s Church, babies are baptized, couples are married, individuals have funeral or memorial services in their memory, and, now, one’s cremains can be taken care of here also. I have paid for my niche and given Meg all the necessary details (Scripture, hymns, etc.) for my memorial service. So when the Lord calls, I’m ready to go.

Cremation, in my opinion, is the way to go. I think a memorial service is so much easier for a grieving family than a funeral service, and my perspective comes from 34 years in pastoral ministry.

So as not to end on a somber note, let me close with a story about a pastor who wanted to comfort a grieving widow as she stood looking at her deceased husband. He said, “My dear, this is only the shell. The nut has gone to heaven.”

Seriously, my friends, Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies…” (John 11:25)

So, if you haven’t already, hurry and make your plans. It’s LATER than you think. It’s already 2010!

Happy New Year!

DECEMBER 2009

“Christmas Day, and here I am, swimming in an outdoor swimming pool. And I’m not even a member of the Polar Bear Club!”

Well, the year was either 1958 or 1959, and I was in Argentina for my first term as a missionary of the Lutheran Church. But, since Argentina is below the equator, the seasons are just the reverse of ours, and it was summertime. It took a bit of time to get used to some of the differences between life in the USA and life in Argentina. Let me name just a few: 1. the school year ran from March through November, 2. all the national holidays were different (25 de mayo and 9 de julio , to name a few), 3. death days rather than birth days of their national heroes were celebrated, 4. no Thanksgiving, 5. no air conditioning and no screens on the windows in summer, so mosquitoes had free access, 6. no hot water by just turning on the faucet, so shower days were Wednesday and Saturday.

My Spanish was far from perfect. It seemed like everyone spoke so fast it took months to be able to keep up with everyone else while praying the Lord’s Prayer or saying the Apostles’ Creed. I didn’t get any of the jokes, either. I made many mistakes, like saying, “the clock gave birth,” instead of, “the clock stopped.” One vowel can make all the difference. (PARAR - to stop; PARIR - to give birth) Once I meant to say, “I’m embarrassed,” and instead said, “I’m pregnant.”

But with the passing of time, a sense of humor, and the hard work of learning another language, I came to love the people and the land.

When I was there, I missed my family and friends back home, and now I miss the friends I made there.

At Christmas time, when families are separated by war or other circumstances, we need to be especially aware of those who are hurting because a loved one is no longer near.

As we welcome the Christ Child into our hearts and homes again this year, may our prayers for peace circle the globe, and may we make sure that no one is alone or lonely if we can do something about it. “I was a stranger and you invited me in …” (Matthew 25:35c)

God’s richest blessings to you and yours now and always!

November 2009

Ever since I was a child I have loved boats. My dad had a canoe and we single-paddled, double-paddled, and sailed it. He also had an outboard motor for it. Then he graduated to a sailboat. Since Harrison, NY, the town I spent the first 30 years of my life in, had no waterfront, the boat, named Whitecap, was moored in Mamaroneck, the town closest to us, which was located on the Long Island Sound. Many happy hours were spent in both the canoe and sailboat.

My first cruise was to Nassau with a girlfriend many eons ago. I think the next one was to the Caribbean, with stays in the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico, once with my step-mother and once with my husband, Bill Imhof. I’ve cruised through the Panama Canal (from west to east), been to Bermuda, Alaska, and, most recently, to Canada, Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia.

My latest cruise was with Norwegian Cruise Line, which is noted for casual cruising. You never have to dress up, and can eat whenever and wherever you want. (No tank tops or shorts allowed in the dining room, but OK for the Royal Buffet on Deck 10.) four times around the ship on Deck 7 was equivalent to a mile. I original intent to do that every day went by the wayside, or should I say seaside? I did it about four times in all. One day was so windy I never made it around the bow.

Norwegian had no midnight buffets, but one chocolate buffet at 11 pm, Wednesday, September 30. Believe it or not, I was quite controlled, eating only one small éclair, one small cream puff, and one scoop of chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce. There were ice carvings and chocolate carvings. The only chocolate one I remember was the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Still, I managed to gain four or five pounds in 10 days.

On Saturday, September 26, at 5 pm, there was a Roman Catholic mass in the Fireworks Lounge. When my traveling companion and I arrived, it was standing room only. A very king lady and gentleman gave us their seats. A priest from Philadelphia presided. He asked for two lay people to assist. Two men volunteered and were lectors and assisted with Holy Communion. There were three lessons (Old Testament, Epistle, and Gospel), a five-minute homily, and then Holy Communion. The priest and his assistants drank all the wine (about half of a small plastic glass), and the rest of us received a broken piece of a wafer. Although it was better than nothing, I missed my well-loved Lutheran version of the Lord’s Supper!

There was also a Rabbi aboard, to celebrate Yom Kippur. I was tempted, but I didn’t go.

We made five stops in all, and on two of them it rained. We got soaked on the first excursion at the Bay of Fundy, and toured the Anne of Green gables house and barn in the rain. My very favorite land excursion was in Halifax. It was Lobsters & Lighthouses. We had a nice cruise, saw how lobsters are caught, and ended up with a super delicious lobster lunch once we docked. We also saw some beautiful scenery in Maine, and saw Kennebunkport by land and sea. The elder Bushes were in residence as George, Sr. had dedicated an anchor the day before. We saw the boat he uses for fishing and the Secret Service boat that follows him when he goes out, and he’s an avid fisherman. We also saw Barbara Bush’s favorite fried clam place, but we had wonderful New England clam chowder at Federal Jack’s.

I’ve gone on far too long already, but, as you can tell, I am addicted to cruising. Where will I go next? God alone knows. But keep tuned and, meanwhile, let’s sing, “Jesus, Savior, pilot me, over life’s tempestuous sea.”

OCTOBER 2009

On my refrigerator there is a magnet that reads LIFE IS UNCERTAIN: EAT DESSERT FIRST. How true it is that life is uncertain. We never know when our life on earth will end. This fact was brought home to me when just recently our beloved Flo Nowak so quickly transferred her church membership from Christ’s Oreland to the Church Triumphant in heaven. While we grieve her passing because as a church family we will miss her lovely presence in so many different ways, yet we also rejoice because God spared her a long, painful illness and the indignities of living in a comatose or vegetative state. My prayers go out to her family and all who loved her dearly.

When I turned 80 years old I decided it was time to make arrangements for my demise. I called Herb Craft and we met. When I arrived he had already made out some preliminary papers, thinking I would want to be buried at Sunset Memorial where my beloved Bill Imhof was buried. I told him that was not what I wanted. My wish was to be cremated and remain somewhere at or near Christ’s Church. (Thank God we all now have that option, thanks to John Frantz and the plans for a columbarium here on our own grounds.)

Then I decided to go one step further, and plan my memorial service. I knew what hymns and scripture passages I wanted. I knew I didn’t want A Mighty Fortress, never one of my favorite hymns, but I did want Spirit of God, Descend Upon My Heart, sung at my ordination in 1975. A few other details were added, and I gave it to Meg. So that’s finalized, and my family will not have to be concerned about it.

Every day that God gives us is a gift, and every year when we celebrate another birthday is an even bigger gift. God alone knows how long we will live on earth, but the sincere Christian knows he/she will live eternally because Jesus promised that all who truly believe in him will live, even though we die (John 11:25-26).

SEPTEMBER 2009

September is such a lovely time of the year. The hot, humid days of summer are usually over. Every September my thoughts take me back to when I was working as a teacher in a private business school and also as a church organist. Every Labor Day weekend after church on Sunday a friend and I would head for Cape Cod. For three years we rented a lovely cottage in Orleans, half way between the bay and the ocean. I still cherish those memories from my early twenties.

Then my memories jump several decades to September 1975, for that was when it was my responsibility as assistant pastor at Bethel to begin worship services in Spanish. The service was quite simple, one that I adapted, especially the music, written by several seminarians at the Facultad Luterana de Teología in José C. Paz in Argentina. I wish I could say that the church was immediately filled with joyful worshippers. The (mainly Caucasian) members of Bethel were sure we would soon be over-run with Puerto Ricans. NOT SO! Our best attendance at any service in the 13 years of my ministry was 40 people, but on many Sundays four generations were in attendance.

My memories then carry me to September 1984, when Bill Imhof, whom I had been dating over the summer, told me we were going to be married. “Be still, my heart!” We set the date for November 23, the day after Thanksgiving, and he gave me a beautiful engagement ring with two diamonds. His father had been the owner of a ring with two diamonds and a sapphire. Bill gave the sapphire to his daughter, Marty Frantz, to save for her daughter, Karin, then only nine years old, as it was her birthstone, and had the diamonds made into a ring for me. I cherished the ring and was heartbroken when I lost one of the diamonds while cleaning one day.

Now we come to September 2009. What’s on my agenda, vacation or any wise? A CRUISE on a Norwegian line that leaves from Philadelphia on September 23 at 4 pm.

The itinerary is as follows:

Thursday, September 24                                   At sea

Friday, September 25              10 am-8 pm      St. John, Bay of Fundy, Canada

Saturday, September 26                                   At sea

Sunday, September 27             9 am-6 pm       Sydney, Nova Scotia, Canada

Monday, September 28            8 am-4 pm       Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Canada

Tuesday, September 29                                    At sea

Wednesday, September 30     8 am-4 pm       Halifax, Canada

Thursday, October 1               12 pm-7 pm      Portland, Maine, US

Friday, October 2                                               At sea

Saturday, October 3                      8 am            Ship arrives back in Philadelphia

A good friend of mine, Elsie Mueller, will be my travelling companion.

I’m looking forward to another memorable September. I hope you are, too!

Hasta la vista!

JULY 2009

Exactly 34 years ago this July 9 I began my ministry as a pastor at Bethel Church in Philadelphia. I moved in to a lovely apartment, located above the Thrift Shop run by volunteers of the church. The building was located on three streets, 5th Street, Sedgley Avenue, and Tioga Street, and it was directly across the street from the church. I loved my apartment and had an open house shortly after moving in, as I wanted the congregation to see it. One day several friends were visiting and as I showed off my living quarters one of them asked “Where does the Real pastor live?” “I am a Real pastor,” I replied. “Do you mean ‘Where does the Senior pastor live?’ “ Women pastors were still a novelty in 1975, at least in the Lutheran Church. Thank God that is no longer true!

I often think of those early days, and one or two harrowing experiences in that apartment. I awoke one night to see a man standing beside my bed. I’m not a screamer but I sure held my breath and prayed, “God, Please Help Me!” God heard and answered immediately, because whoever it was, who had broken in to the Thrift Shop and found the key to the door to my apartment, just turned and ran down the stairs and out the way he had gotten in. But I didn’t sleep anymore that night!

Another night I woke up because I heard a noise and a voice asking, “Are you all right?” I jumped out of bed, went to the living room, and two policemen were standing in the vestibule downstairs. One said, “Lady, your door was wide open!” Petrified, I asked them to come up and search my apartment to see if anyone was there. No one was, but another sleepless night! To this day, I can’t explain how the door could have been wide open, as it had a lock and two dead bolts, or maybe the dead bolts were added after those experiences.

At any rate, those memories remind me also of a favorite hymn:

Thy holy wings, O Savior, spread gently over me,

and let me rest securely through good and ill in thee.

Oh, be my strength and portion, my rock and hiding place,

and let my ev’ry moment be lived within thy grace.

JUNE 2009

Shortly after I arrived as Assistant Pastor at Bethel Church in 1975, I became known as having long prayers. As the Senior Pastor had long sermons (and short prayers) and I long prayers (and short sermons), if he preached and I prayed, the people knew they were in for a long worship service!

I remember one occasion when I was visiting a member in Trevose who no longer attended church because of advanced age. Before giving him Holy Communion, I always had an extemporaneous prayer. Right in the middle of it he said, “Amen,” so I figured he was urging me to wind it up. I later apologized for being so long-winded but he assured me he was only agreeing with what I said, hence the “Amen.” Other denominations do have the custom of saying “Amen,” during sermon or prayer, but in my experience in the Lutheran church, it was unusual.

I remember the first prayer I learned (in German) as a child: I am small, my heart is pure, nobody lives in it but Jesus alone.

Speaking of prayer, I have just finished reading a wonderful book that has impacted my prayer life entitled Ten Prayers God Always Answers Yes To (Divine Answers to Life’s Most Difficult Problems), by Anthony DeStefano. They are:

      1.   God, Show Me That You Exist

      2.   God, Make Me An Instrument

      3.   God, Outdo Me In Generosity

      4.   God, Get Me Through This Suffering

      5.   God, Forgive Me

      6.   God, Give Me Peace

      7.   God, Give Me Courage

      8.   God, Give Me Wisdom

      9.   God, Bring Good Out Of This Bad Situation

    10.   God, Lead Me To My Destiny (Why Am I Here Anyway?)

I strongly encourage everyone who has ever prayed any of these prayers to read this book. You’ll be glad you did, as it is fascinating reading. And you just might learn something about prayer. I know I did.

MAY 2009

PRIDE is one of the seven “deadly” sins, along with anger, envy, gluttony, greed, lust, and sloth. I’ve found in my life journey that God has interesting ways of humbling me whenever I get thinking too highly of myself.

I remember one occasion in particular that happened when I was the sole pastor at Bethel Church in Philadelphia. It occurred on a rainy Saturday when I was about to leave on vacation after services the next day. My Saturday routine was to put the finishing touches on Sunday’s sermon, and do my laundry, dressed very casually. After completing both tasks, I always walked through the church building to make sure everything was in order for the next day.

As I passed the kitchen, I noticed the floor was quite wet. When I went in to the next room, it was covered with water. I immediately sought out the sexton, who lived next door in the Community Center, where the church office and my office were located. I knew he couldn’t do anything about it as he was still recovering from open-heart surgery, a quadruple bypass, but I thought he would at least call the committee head responsible for such an emergency.

“That’s no problem,” he said. “Probably the drain outside the door is clogged with leaves. All you have to do is sweep away the leaves, and then put down newspapers to soak up the water.”

Well, rather annoyed that I, the Pastor, had to do such menial work, I put on my charming rain bonnet and began sweeping away the leaves from the drain.

But suddenly the door slammed shut behind me, and there I was, without the keys, locked out! I went around to the front of the church, and the gate on the wrought-iron spiked fence was padlocked also. What to do? I couldn’t get IN or OUT. Just then a man who lived around the corner passed by, and I asked him to please tell the sexton at 517 W. Tioga Street that I was locked out of the church.

Soon the sexton’s wife came, laughing her head off, and let me in. When she could contain herself long enough she said, “The man said the cleaning lady is locked out of the church.”
Since then I have never thought any job was beneath my dignity, especially when I recall Psalm 84:10b (The Message), when the psalmist writes: “I’d rather scrub floors in the house of my God than be an honored guest in the palace of sin.”

 APRIL 2009

Let me share a few more memories from my years as the sole pastor of Bethel Church at 5th & Sedgley in Philadelphia. From 1975 to 1978 I was assistant pastor, but the senior pastor retired in 1978 and the congregation elected me to serve as the only pastor.

First, let me say that from 1933 to 1963, during the pastorate of the Rev. Ivan Hagedorn, Bethel experienced great growth. The people lived in the area and could walk to church. There were several women's Bible classes and one men's Bible class on Sunday mornings. The church was always packed, even the balcony, and if you didn't arrive early, you wouldn't find a seat, so I was told. Confirmation classes were large, and there were many baptisms and weddings. But the neighborhood changed, and by the time I arrived, the congregation had shrunk considerably and kept on shrinking.  No matter what I did, I couldn't stop people from moving out of the area or dying. My ministry was mainly to the sick, the dying, the grieving, and I preached to more empty pews than people. In my lowest times, I remember consoling myself with the thought that God didn't ask me to be successful, but only faithful. I loved the people and they loved me in return.

The small Hispanic group was the joy of my life. Attendance never reached more than 40 people on a Sunday, often with four generations present, and a small group was very faithful in Bible Study. We'd meet weekly in the homes of Hispanic members and always ended with everyone praying. I knew my people prayed for me, and I felt no fear living and working in the area, although I had a few hair-raising experiences I'll save for another time. I had a lovely apartment right across the street from the church, over a thrift shop, open on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and run by volunteers.

There were three services every Sunday morning: 8:15, a service with practically no liturgy, using a Presbyterian hymnal; 9:30, a service in Spanish; and 11, a service using the red Service Book & Hymnal.

One Sunday morning, the 11 am service ran over a bit, ending at 12:15 pm. Upon greeting me at the door, one of the men said, “Pastor, I have a luncheon engagement every Sunday, and when the service is more than an hour, I'm INCONVENIENCED!” I assured him I'd TRY to keep the service to no more than 60 minutes.

I shall never forget one Good Friday. I had a problem with diarrhea in the morning, but didn't think anything about it. The Good Friday service was at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. The sermon was sort of a dialogue between one of our male members in the balcony and me in the pulpit. I felt rather queasy as the sermon went on, and fought passing out. At first everyone thought it was part of the message. Finally, one of the members came up into the chancel and said, “Pastor, sit down.” Someone called 911, and before I knew it, they arrived, set me up with an IV, and I spent the rest of the afternoon in the ER of Temple Hospital. I guess it was a temporary dehydration, because on Easter Sunday I was fine. I was grateful for the brief “hospital visit” where I was the patient. Enough of reminiscing for this month. HAPPY EASTER  to you, and you, and especially to YOU!

MARCH 2009

I graduated from Wagner College in 1956 at the age of 30. Unlike the flower for which I was named, I am a late bloomer!

I knew I wanted to be a missionary, as I felt it was God's plan for my life. But in addition to college, I needed one year of seminary. In the 1950s, women were not accepted in Lutheran seminaries, so I was sent to Biblical Seminary in New York City, a non-denominational institution now know as New York Theological Seminary. There the emphasis was on the Bible and problems encountered on the mission field. After I completed the year, the Board of Foreign Missions (as it was called then) wanted to send me to India to teach in a high school there. No visa was forthcoming from India, so it was suggested I go to Argentina and teach in the Bible Institute. After studying Spanish for several months, I eventually arrived in Argentina the day after Easter in 1958 and spent five very happy years there.

Now fast-forward to where I left off last month, when it was June 1973. I'm home again and ready to enter the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia at 7301 Germantown Avenue. I'm 47 years old and have not been a student for more than a decade and a half. But God is good! The Seminary accepted my prior Seminary training and waived internship because of my experience overseas and at home. By the grace of God I graduated May 13, 1975, and was ordained May 20, 1975, in my home congregation because I had a call to be Assistant Pastor at Bethel at 5th & Sedgley in Philadelphia, mainly because I was fluent in Spanish and the area had turned from white to black to Hispanic.

I remember well the night of my ordination. The Bishop noticed that I was wearing a white dress, and asked where my clergy shirt was. “They only had men's shirts, and I looked ridiculous in it.” It took a while, but eventually women's blouses were available, so I bought several, a white, a black, a light blue, and a tan. Then a friend, an excellent sewer, made clergy blouses for me in just about every color of the rainbow. I remember getting on an elevator at Temple Hospital one afternoon to visit a parishioner there. Another woman looked at me, with my clergy blouse, and said, “What are you, anyway?” I replied, “I'm a Lutheran pastor.” “Oh,” she said, “Only Lutherans would be crazy enough to ordain a woman!”
Another time, while walking toward Northeast Hospital, I passed two young boys, wearing a black clergy blouse. “Oh look,” one said, “a priest lady.”

In 1975 female Lutheran pastors were a rarity. I was one of the first 50 ordained, I believe, maybe even the first in the Metropolitan New York Synod, my home synod. Now there are as many female as male students in seminary, and fortunate the congregation to have a “priest lady.”

I remember the first church council meeting I attended at Bethel. One man wouldn't come in because I was there. “The Constitution calls for 18 councilMEN and that means MEN!” Believe it or not, with the passing of time, he became one of my best supporters.

We all have our biases, our prejudices, and even our “Druthers,” but happy the person who can accept male or female doctors, lawyers, and pastors!

FEBRUARY 2009

The year was 1973. I was nearing the end of my second five-year term as a missionary in Argentina. The job description for my second term was quite different from my first term, when I taught at the Lutheran Bible Institute, a school for training Argentine young women to be parish workers. From 1968 to 1973 I was to be Secretary for Youth in the 24 congregations that made up the Argentine Lutheran Church. I was full-time, a young Argentine pastor of German descent, Osvaldo Hirschmann, was to be half-time, and another young man, Roberto Papini, was one-quarter time. Together we were to plan programs for and with the youth of the church.

The majority of the congregations were in the Greater Buenos Aires area, with others scattered to the north and south of the Argentine Republic, even as far north as the province of Misiones. We traveled to Eldorado, Posadas, Córdoba, and Rosario. We also traveled south to Tandil, Azul, and Olavarría. Once we even had a work camp in Bariloche, where wealthy Europeans and North Americans went to ski.

I was thrilled to be back in a country and with a people I dearly loved. Every summer (which there, because the seasons are the reverse of ours, was in December, January, and February) was camping time in Azul. But I also enjoyed going up north to Misiones where the soil was red, leading to its being labeled La Tierra Colorado. On my first term there, I had even seen the very beautiful Iguaza Falls, still in its pristine beauty, unspoiled by commercialism. (I have a picture of the Falls which I bought in Ocean City one summer. It was a National Geographic print that cost more to frame than the actual print.)

But I digress. One day I was called into the Bishop's office. He lost no time getting to the purpose of the visit. “Jacinta,” he said, “We're going to send you to Olavarría where you will work with a young Brazilian pastor, Almirante Padilha. You will live right next door to the church with a married couple, and you will do whatever the pastor requests you to do.”

“But Juan,” I protested, “I'll be leaving in another six months. Wouldn't it be better to stay where I am in Buenos Aires and prepare someone to do my work when I leave on furlough?”

“Jacinta, you will either go to Olavarría, or you will take a one-way plane trip back to New York.”

“Well,” I replied, “since you put it that way, I'll be glad to go to Olavarría.”

So I packed up and traveled the 300 kilometers to Olavarría. And I must say that it was the experience of those last six months that confirmed in me the desire to be ordained, even though it would mean more studies. For you see, at least by 1973 it was possible for a woman to seek ordination and serve as a pastor, for in 1970 the Lutheran Church in America in convention decided there was no Biblical reason why a woman couldn't be ordained. And believe me, a very thorough study was conducted before the conclusion was reached. (To be continued … in the March issue.)

DECEMBER 2008

At this time of the year you and I are besieged by every charity in existence to contribute to many worthwhile causes. It's hard for me to decide which to support, but in the last month or so I had the delightful experience of being able to donate not money but furniture to ONE HOUSE AT A TIME. I couldn't possibly fit everything from a six-room house with two porches into a one-bedroom apartment with patio. So - to the rescue - ONE HOUSE AT A TIME! Three men came one Saturday in October and took some heavy and lighter pieces. They seemed to enjoy joking with one another, and then when I forgot one item (a kitchen cabinet on the back porch), they returned to get it mid-week. Debbie Wilson, the director of the program, informed me they have 65 requests for furniture and only four can be accommodated any Saturday. They need volunteers as well as furniture. So from personal experience, I heartily recommend that you look at your apartment or home and see what maybe you aren't using or don't really need, and call 215-646-7812. Ask for Debi. You'll be glad you did, and so will the Lord Jesus, who, while he walked this earth, had no house to call his own. "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." (Matthew 8:20)

In November I learned of another fantastic ministry carried out by HAVEN OF HOPE, which is a Christian Discipleship Ministry for Chemically Dependent Women, located at 1600 Germantown Avenue, in Philadelphia. Their mission is to encourage and lead impoverished women in their recovery from drug and alcohol abuse to become disciples of Christ and be women of character, strength, and dignity.

HAVEN OF HOPE has a residential bed capacity for 18 women. They presently have bedroom set-ups for 14 and are running at 12 to 14 residents and hope to move to 18 in the near future.

Ways to help: prayer support, teaching life skills, donations of cleaning supplies, personal care items, student furniture, mentoring students, transportation to outing events, and, finally, financial support. David Wampole, architect of our proposed columbarium, is the president of the Board of Directors!

On a personal note, my pictures are hung, I'm finally ready, willing, and able to receive visitors at my humble abode: F-9 at Fort Washington Estates. Just call 215- 643-6575 to be sure I'm there!

A truly blessed Christmas to one and all, and a New Year filled with health, happiness, and growth in grace for you and yours!

NOVEMBER 2008

“Praise God from whom ALL BLESSINGS FLOW…” My house sold on September 22, and closing is set for October 30 at 9:30 am in Newtown.

I moved into Ft. Washington Estates (Apt. F-9) on Friday, October 10. Thanks to the help of a wonderful daughter, Marty Frantz, I was all settled in within hours, with even the many emptied boxes in the dumpster. Dinner was brought to me in my apartment, a lovely touch for moving-in day.

On Saturday, October 11, my alarm, set or 5:30 am, failed to go off, hence I awoke at 6:15, but still managed to eat breakfast and get in a 40-minute swim at the Ambler YMCA before going to the hairdresser. I stopped at church, made one “Happy Birthday” call, and looked over the bulletin for the next day.

On to 310 Twining Road to take all the pictures off the walls. I barely finished that when three men arrived from ONE HOUSE AT A TIME, a program run for 10 years by Upper Dublin Lutheran Church. They took all the furniture (2 small sofas, 2 recliners, a table and lamp, a floor lamp, a desk and chair, a large chest of drawers, and several other miscellaneous pieces) I could not fit into my one-bedroom apartment. The young couple who are buying the house are glad to be getting the dining room furniture.

Practically every day I stop to pick up something I hadn't remembered to take the first day when moving: 2 plants, 2 vacuum cleaners, a bathroom scale, food in the refrigerator (umpteen bottles of salad dressing, a lemon cake in the freezer, plus other various and sundry things). Fortunately, I still have until the 30th. But the greatest of all is I just love my apartment. Everything is brand new and beautiful, and no mores steps to climb. And the food! Every dinner is a masterpiece: liver and onions, crab cakes, pot roast, and birthday night (always the 3rd Tuesday), shrimp cocktail, salmon or filet mignon, plus a delicious soup, veggies, and dessert. One night I couldn't decide between pumpkin pie or coffee ice cream, as I like both. So guess what! I had pumpkin pie WITH coffee ice cream. I'll have to cut back, exercise more, or I will soon look like a blimp!

Soon as I have all the pictures hung, I shall be glad to welcome visitors on Monday, or maybe even Sunday afternoon. Just call 215-643-6575 to be sure I'm home. I'll welcome you with a glass of wine and maybe a cracker and some cheese! (But please, no gifts!!)

OCTOBER 2008

 Time marches on, and as of September 10th, no buyer had appeared for my house. Many have come, looked, told me I have a lovely house, but no one even made an offer. So on September 21st and 28th, from 2 to 4 pm, I’m having an open house, something I had hoped to avoid.

I am trying not to get “antsy.” I know it is a bad time to sell a house, but I was hoping against hope that my house would be the exception, and sell immediately, if not sooner. Then when I speak with someone whose house sold (5 years ago, to be sure) in three days, I really get discouraged. That’s when I need to remember what I so often say and pray, publicly and privately, GOD’S TIMING IS ALWAYS PERFECT. And I think back to my ministry at Bethel Church at 5th & Sedgeley in Philadelphia. I was discouraged. I couldn’t stop people form dying or moving out of the neighborhood. I preached to more empty pews than to people. I sought a call to another congregation, in any one of six synods. None was forthcoming. But God knew my dilemma and desires, and God worked a miracle far greater than my fondest dreams. He brought Bill Imhof into my life, who became my husband, and role model in stewardship and devotion to Christ and Christ’s Church. Thanks to Bill, I have a house to sell, but more important I have a loving family that now includes a beloved daughter and son-in-law, three wonderful grandchildren and their mates, and five delightful great-grandchildren, with another on the way, plus a son and two more grandchildren in New Jersey.

In September the evening Bible Study class was based on Philippians 4:4-9. One of the questions was: WHAT ANXIOUS THOUGHTS HAVE TROUBLED YOU LATELY? My answer: WILL MY HOUSE SELL? That’s when one verse spoke to me very eloquently, “DO NOT BE ANXIOUS ABOUT ANYTHING, BUT IN EVERYTHING, BY PRAYER AND PETITION, WITH THANKSGIVING, PRESENT YOUR REQUESTS TO GOD. AND THE PEACE OF GOD, WHICH TRANSCENDS ALL UNDERSTANDING, WILL GUARD YOUR HEARTS AND MINDS IN CHRIST JESUS.”

SEPTEMBER 2008

The phone rang at 6:30 pm one evening in early July. I had just finished supper and supposed it was some charity wanting a donation.

“This is Carol Witt. We have a one-bedroom apartment available for you at Ft. Washington Estates.”

“I'll be right there,” I felt like saying, but restrained myself and made a date to meet with Carol and see the apartment on July 10th. Unfortunately, the current tenant was not feeling well so I saw a similar apartment two doors away. It's on the first floor, has a patio, and faces the Upper Dublin High School football field!

On July 31st, I had my ENTRANCE INTERVIEW. My house was put up for sale on August 2nd, and people started coming on August 6th. As of August 12th, two potential buyers have returned a second time, so I am hopeful that the “For Sale” sign in front of my house will soon have “Sold” on it! But all in God's time!

I like to think of the STOPS and STARTS of the Holy Spirit. I was always impressed by the fact that in the book of ACTS, at times the Holy Spirit prevented Paul and his companions from preaching the word in a particular place (see ACTS 16:6-10).

In our last Bible Study, the second week in August, based on 1 Corinthians 13, where the apostle Paul defines the qualities of what LOVE is, one of the questions was, “Which one are you most in need of cultivating?” For me, that was easy to answer: PATIENCE!

I continue to clean out drawers and closets, and pack boxes of books, music, etc., etc., etc. But I do truly look forward to moving in to my new home at Ft. Washington Estates on October 10, Apartment F9.

JULY 2008 

“Do you believe in the resurrection?” was the first question asked when I was being interviewed by the church council at Bethel Church at 5th Street and Sedgley Avenue in Philadelphia. My answer, “Absolutely!”

Second question: “Do you bowl?” My answer, “No, but I’m sure I could learn.”

Another question, asked by a teenager, “Have you ever worked with youth?” My answer, “Yes. My last five-year term as a missionary in Argentina, I had the title of Secretary for Youth for the Iglesia Evangélica Luterana Unida (United Evangelical Lutheran Church). With two other people, a young male pastor who worked half time, and another young man who worked quarter-time, we planned programs for and with the youth of he entire synod of 24 congregations.

I honestly don’t remember any other questions! But after my trial sermon one Sunday morning, the congregation voted to issue a call to me to be assistant pastor. The vote was not unanimous. At that time, Spring 1975, female pastors were not as well known and accepted as today. There were people at Bethel who took very literally St. Paul’s advice to young Timothy: “A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent.” (1 Timothy 2:11-12)

I also remember the first council meeting I attended there. One gentleman wouldn’t come in, because the constitution called for 12 councilmen, and that meant males! The senior pastor’s reply was that the constitution did, indeed, call for 12 councilmen, and pastor or pastors, and I was there as a pastor. Fortunately, it didn’t specify that the pastor had to be male, although at that time most were.

Just as an aside, as the years passed, and as we came to love and appreciate one another, that gentleman became one of my most ardent supporters!

We’ve come a long way! But I wonder how willing Christ’s Church would be to call a female senior pastor. Only you and every other member can answer that question. It is my prayer that God may guide both Synod and our call committee as we move forward in the call process!

JUNE 2008 

June 1975 held a very important event in my life. I had just graduated from Seminary, been ordained, and was provileged to participate in a Latin American Reality Seminar along with 19 other women of the Metropolitan New York Synod of the ELCA. My way was paid for, as I was to be the “theological resource” person to help the women reflect on the experiences we had as we visited selected areas in Chile, Argentina, and Brazil. My knowledge of Spanish also came in handy at times.

I recall two distinct impressions, one in Recife, Brazil, and one in Santiago, Chile.

The areas we visited were far from the cosmopolitan Buenos Aires I knew, or even the little village of Villa Ballester, where my first five years were spent teaching in a Bible Institute for women, where we didn’t have hot water by merely opening a spigot. We showered on Wednesdays and Saturdays, when the hot water heater was turned on. There were no dryers and only one old-fashioned washing machine that had no rinse cycle. But I digress.

I was amazed and saddened to learn that in Recife, Brazil, women had to walk eight miles to get water and carry it home. They did their laundry by beating the clothes on a rock in the river! I remember thinking how fortunate we are in the USA to have so many modern conveniences that make life so much easier.

The other lasting impression happened in a very poor barrio (La Faena) in Chile. We met in a church and were briefed about visiting the people in their homes. We were told not to expect any refreshments, as the people were too poor to provide anything. We were sent out in groups of two. My companion and I approached the hut where a widow and her 10-year old son lived. We were very graciously received by Doña María. We had to watch where we walked as the flooring was planks placed on the ground. But she had set a table (a crate), with other crates to sit on. As we chatted, Doña María set about preparing tea. We noticed there was only one bed in the one-room hut. Widow and son slept in the same bed, but she had wonderful dreams for her only son.

When it came time to partake of the tea and galletas (crackers), I asked if she would like me to ask a blessing. Her reply is indelibly etched in my mind and heart. “Oh yes, please. We always thank God for the much, the little, or the nothing that we have.”

Dear reader, you and I have so much for which to be thankful. I am reminded of Jesus’ words in Luke 12:48:

From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

MAY 2008 

In the life of the church, there are two important days in May:

On this day, the earthly Christ disappears but promises the disciples that power from on high will come to them. The disciples become the evidence of the Lord's presence and they carried the Lord's spirit and blessing to the ends of the earth, and to us. In word and sacrament, prayer, praise, and thanksgiving, and serving people in need, we continue to live as gifted, blessed and powerful witnesses of the resurrected Christ through the Spirit. As we “go in peace to serve the Lord,” like a stone cast in the water sends out ripples that continually spread, so those rippling waves continue to be seen and felt.

Pentecost was a Jewish harvest festival that marked the 50th day after Passover. Luke, the author of Acts, in Chapter 2, verses 1-21, portrays the Holy Spirit being poured out upon the disciples before the gathered and astonished people assembled in Jerusalem for the festival. Filled with the Spirit, the disciples were able to witness to the power of Christ's resurrection.

In my own personal life, there are also two important days in May:

I shall forever be grateful to God for my call, but I believe every Christian has a call by virtue of his or her baptism to love and serve God in any capacity or job that God gives the ability to do. I feel this is especially true of mothers and fathers. It is a divine calling to be a parent!

God has gifted me so far with 82 years, 12 more than the Biblical span of life, and I am grateful. I pray that however many more years God grants me, that they will be filled with loving thoughts, words, and deeds, and that I may be an instrument of peace, love, and joy, that God will use me for His glory.

A favorite hymn has always been Make Me a Blessing.

Out on the highways and byways of life,
many are weary and sad;
carry the sunshine where darkness is rife,
making the sorrowing glad.

Make me a blessing, make me a blessing,
Out of my life may Jesus shine;
Make me a blessing, O Savior, I pray.
Make me a blessing to someone today.

APRIL 2008 
 

When I returned from my first five-year term as an educational missionary in Argentina, I resigned from the Board of the Foreign Missions (as it was then called), and accepted a position as Parish Worker in my home congregation, St. Paul's in Port Chester, NY. My responsibilities were basically that of a Director of Christian Education. I loved the people and I loved the work. Then one day a pastor friend from Argentina visited me and asked me if I ever thought of returning to Argentina. “I would if the National Church there would issue a call for me to do something I would be qualified to do,” was my answer. The next thing I knew the Iglesia Evangelica Luterana Unida invited me to return as Secretary for Youth for the 24 congregations that comprised the IELU. I would have the help of a young pastor, working half time, and another young man, an expert in audio-visuals, working a quarter of the time. Together we would plan programs with and for the youth. It would mean another five-year term, from 1968 to 1973. I accepted the invitation and spent another five years very happily.

At first I lived in a very lovely little chalet near the seminary in José C. Paz. I had a car at my disposal and was able to do all the traveling the job required. There were no car washes and I wasn't too particular about keeping it spotless. One day I discovered the car exactly half washed, from front to back. So of course I had to wash the other half. Seminarians (only male then), I realized, have quite a sense of humor!

One day about six months before the end of my term, the bishop called me into his office and said I was going to be transferred to Olavarría where I would work with a young Brazilian pastor. I objected. “Wouldn't it be better to remain where I am and train someone to do my work?” His reply, “Jacinta, you can either go to Olavarría or take a one-way plane trip to New York.” “Well, since you put it that way, I'll be glad to go where you want to send me,” I replied. And it was those last six months that confirmed in me the desire to be ordained. I learned that God does indeed work in mysterious ways, and sometimes the thing we rebel against is just part of God's wonderful plan for our lives.

Enough of me. Now the question: What does a modern-day missionary do?

Today, ELCA global mission personnel walk hand-in-hand with our companion churches in a variety of ways. Serving as health care workers, English teachers and librarians, seminary professors, evangelists, communications assistants, agricultural consultants, and pastors of international congregations, all serve at the specific invitation of our 800 companion churches abroad.

Another question: How are missions supported?

Today the cost of a long-term missionary family of four, per year, is approximately $86,000. Because many costs are fixed, the cost of a long-term missionary individual is $47,000. A two-year missionary (GM2), sent under different provisions, costs between $30,000 and $40,000. It is only with generous support from congregations, individuals, and organizations that our mission personnel can continue to be sent.

Missionary support covers a modest stipend, housing, insurance, any required language training, travel to and from the country of service, children's education, visas, etc.
Do you know that our congregation's contributions to benevolence, sent regularly to Synod, help to support ELCA missionaries in all parts of the world? So even before you and I met, you helped to support me in my two five-year terms. Thank you, and may God continue to use and bless us all as we live and witness to God's mighty acts in our daily lives.

 MARCH 2008

 Exactly 50 years ago this month, March, I left the USA for my first tour of duty as a missionary teacher in the Lutheran Bible Institute in Argentina, in the small town of Villa Ballester. In those days it was mandatory to travel by boat, and it was a three-week journey. It was also a far cry from today's cruise ships!

We left New York harbor the day after we were supposed to, as I remember looking out the porthole the next morning and seeing the Statue of Liberty. Scuttlebutt had it that when we crossed the equator, our heads would be shaved. Being the gullible person I am, I believed it, and didn't budge out of the stateroom that day until I was absolutely sure that we were well past the equator.

The crew (cabin stewards and waiters) were all Spanish speaking, and my Spanish was still quite limited, although I had spent several months the previous summer (seven hours a day) studying the language. One day there was no soap in our cabin. So I summoned the cabin steward and, pointing to the soap dish, said, “necesito sopa.” (“I need soap.”) I repeated it several times, and couldn't understand why he couldn't understand me. Actually I was asking for “soup.” The word for soap is “jabón.”

Another time in the dining room, a waiter was serving me spaghetti. Thinking I was saying “enough,” (“bastante”) he kept piling more spaghetti on my plate. What I was actually saying to him was “give me enough.” the word I should have used was “basta.” Oh well. Live and learn!

On Easter Sunday we docked in Montevideo, Uruguay. Looking for a church in which to worship, I came upon a huge Roman Catholic cathedral with standing room only. After a brief time of trying to follow the mass and feeling lost, I left. It was my worst ever Easter! The next morning we docked in Buenos Aires, and I was met by the director of the Bible Institute, Myrtle Wilke, where I would spend the next five years of my life, and a seminary professor, the Rev. Joseph Deibert, whom I had met previously in the States.

Missions have changed since the first Lutheran missionary, Pastor John Hayer, arrivedin Guntur, India, in 1842. A brief summary follows:

1845-1945    Sending/receiving ERA of missions
1945-1970    Growth of indigenous churches and native leadership
1970-1992    Age of interdependence
1993-Present    Entering a new era/age

Following is a summary of what the ELCA mission personnel are doing this year, hand-in-hand with our companion churches:
276 missionaries now serve in 50 countries
70% of our mission personnel are lay & 30% of our mission personnel are clergy
40 of our mission personnel are participants in the Young Adults in Global Mission Program
41 of our mission personnel are self-funding volunteers
111 of our mission personnel are long-term personnel
34 of our mission personnel are GM2 Personnel (serving with an initial two-year term)
Mission personnel serve in a variety of ministries throughout the world:
78 personnel in Africa
79 in Asia/Pacific
In Latin America/Caribbean
78 in Europe and the Middle East

Don't miss next month's edition of The Link for follow-up material on global mission today, plus a few personal tidbits of my second tour of duty, from 1968 to 1973.

FEBRUARY 2008 

Lent has always been a very special season of the church year for me. It is a time when I sincerely desire to draw closer to the Lord Jesus Christ. I have never developed the habit of fasting, though I believe it is helpful. All Christian mystics have practiced it. I have, however, tried to grow in my prayer life, and for several years prayed for the entire congregation, rising at 5 am to do so, and praying for about 8 to 10 individuals or families each day during Lent. Lent is a season often imagined as a journey, echoing the 40-day journey of Noah and his family in the flood, the 40-year journey of the Israelites in the wilderness, and the 40-day journey of Jesus in the desert.

Last year, at the very end of Lent, I suddenly decided I wanted to know more about the Stations of the Cross that our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters do. So I called a friend I made when I worked at Gloria Dei Church in Huntingdon Valley, as I remembered that she once told me she did it every Friday night during Lent at a church in her area. I called after the last Friday! So this year I am determined that I shall follow  the Way of the Cross as my Lenten discipline. Let me share the 14 stations with you.

First Station    Jesus is condemned to death

Second Station    Jesus carries his cross

Third Station    Jesus falls the first time

Fourth Station    Jesus meets his afflicted mother

Fifth Station    Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus to carry his cross

Sixth Station    Veronica wipes the face of Jesus

Seventh Station    Jesus falls the second time

Eighth Station    Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem

Ninth Station    Jesus falls the third time

Tenth Station    Jesus is stripped of his clothes

Eleventh Station    Jesus is nailed to the cross

Twelfth Station    Jesus dies on the cross

Thirteenth Station    The body of Jesus is taken down from the cross

Fourteenth Station    Jesus is laid in the tomb

However you plan your Lenten journey, may it be meaningful for you and lead you to a glorious Easter. I was delighted to discover that the Stations of the Cross will be the focus of our Wednesday evenings during Lent, after Soup Supper.

JANUARY 2008

In 1965 Malcolm Boyd wrote his first book of prayer, entitled Are You Running With Me Jesus? The prayer after which the book was titled follows:

It's morning, Jesus. It's morning, and here's that light and sound all over again.

I've got to move fast...get into the bathroom, wash up, grab a bite to eat, and run some more.

I just don't feel like it. What I really want to do is get back into bed, pull up the covers, and sleep. All I seem to want today is the big sleep, and here I've got to run all over again.

Where am I running? You know these things I can't understand. It's not that I need to have you tell me. What counts most is just that somebody knows, and it's you. That helps a lot.

So I'll follow along. OK? But lead, please. Now I've got to run. Are you running with me, Jesus?

Since that time he has written more. I have on my bookshelf in the office Prayers for the Later Years that especially speak to me because I'm beginning to feel my 81 years. Let me share some of his writing with you.

When I was forty, fifty, even sixty, I hadn't the least idea what it meant to grow old.

Meanwhile, however, I kept on growing older. There were changes in my body, mind, and spirit. Certain limitations and boundaries made their appearance. I couldn't understand them very well at first.

But then, with an onslaught of ever new aches and pains, problems and needed subsequent decisions, I got the message. I was growing older.

I have learned, in my own life, that growing older is perhaps the greatest blessing I have experienced. It is a time to forgive, to mellow, to understand, to make peace, and to figure out what life is all about. So it is a time of reflection and wonder, humor and grace - if we let it be. This becomes the finest legacy we can pass on to others.

Where did summer go, Jesus? What happened to last year? Time is racing.

An engagement for next Tuesday sneaked up on me. I had completely forgotten it until I noticed it scrawled on my calendar. It's all something of a hodgepodge….

Can I stop the rush of events and things to do, Jesus? Apparently not. But I can try to stay calm within the storm, prioritize duties on the basis of their significance, fence off quiet times, and keep my own pace manageable.

I can't run anymore, Jesus. Thank you for understanding this. I appreciate your matching your pace to mine when we walk together.

Thanks for walking with me, Jesus. Thanks for just staying here quietly with me.

Martin Luther once said, “When I know I'm going to have a busy day, I pray three hours instead of two!”
A happy and prayer-filled year to you and yours!

DECEMBER 2007