What a great interview! Of course, this is the way things always are, I'm finally getting good at the language (German) and can conduct interviews relatively productively, and now I'm leaving (have left) Germany. In any event, it was great to visit with somebody on a theological faculty of a German university. Quite a different perspective on issues from the pastors I have questioned over the past few weeks, the concerns raised were more properly the responses I expect from Christians engaged in theological education at the graduate level.

To recap, the two basic interview questions are always, in some form or another a) what do you think of first when you think about the church in Germany, and b) what relationship do you see between the Reformation and the modern German church?

To question one, the faculty member responded that she thinks about the church's irrelevance. She finds the average worship service boring and of no interest to visitors, and the content of the service (particularly preaching) not centered sufficiently on the gospel. Instead, the church runs off and tries to be political or modernistic. We talked at length about the struggle the German church has to actually participate in the contemporary world, to actually be missionary. It's a common refrain/lament, and a worthwhile one. It's a bit of a paradox. Good pastors and theologians often say something similar, that the church cannot itself be focused in one political method or ideology, and yet the gospel must address the political world. It is, as always, the Christ and culture issue that crops up. So, for example, if you go to www.ekd.de, you can see the German Lutheran church's current advertising campaign. The question is, in trying to be a church that addresses "modern" questions, does the church end up saying anything at all of real value? Or does it instead produce dated fluff?

Of course, the irony here is that both of us were able to find many critiques, but not nearly as many solutions. Simply goes to show that the proper task of the Christian is not complaint but prayer.

To the 2nd question had a very clear response. Sees the Reformation functioning in today's church as fodder for Protestants to continually re-hash old arguments with the Catholics. This becomes problematic, because to freeze a conflict 500 years previous and then bring it directly into the present without translation immediately causes confusion and continuing strife. It also has the ironic function of turning Luther and his writing (or some idealized Reformation) into an interpretive tool/tradition that can be used in Protestant circles in a way similar to the Catholic churches relating of Scripture and tradition. Sola Scriptura, sola Luthera, or something like that.

She sees this playing itself out primarily with regards to curricular decisions (they read many more Protestant theologians than Catholic ones, and the center of the church history curriculum is the Reformation, not some other period like the Patristic). In this way, the evangelical faculty in Tubingen is quite similar to the Luther Seminary curriculum. Very heavy on a particular voice within protestantism.

Mentioned also a Schliermacher renaissance occuring in modern Germany that is already quite influential in the faculties, and may or may not be influential on the preaching of German pastors. Good question for those reading this: has phenomenology ever played out as a preached theology?

Like Marburg, Tubingen has a sincerely fairytale atmosphere to it, with steep hills, narrow cobbled streets, and the Neckar running through with students punts lined up for Saturday races. What an amazing town at which to attend university. Had a great evening the first night here eating sushi with a group of international students invited by Mari, my host. It was the week prior to the beginning of class, that is, the second week of October(!), but the campus was already alive with students. Still can't get used to how late classes start here. October 15. But then, they also continue classes into late June or early July, so...

The theological library at Tubingen is large, circular, and well-layed out. It also was quite full of students. Doctoral research has no seasons, only an endless and heavy progression until finally, a dissertation emerges, so the library was full of these bookish types with small bookstands and piles of manuscripts and texts. Enjoyed perusing the theological journals section, then wandered across the street to the cemetary. Wonder if the students at the theological faculty also wander over here and ponder their proximity to this collection of the saints, the cemetary next to the library, buried and remembered, shelved and read. The gardeners were hard at work sprucing up the cemetary for fall and wintering, plus the coming of All Saints day. Freshly cut pine branches to cover the grave site, flowers to bedeck the stone. I think if I was wise, I would study in a place like this and keep the dead buried here ever in mind. I thought of my grandfathers, for example, from whom I learned as much, more, than from all my store of books. There is a living conversation still present in my mind from these men different from my conversations with authors. Certainly, I appear to pursue the writers more, the ones who put their words down in texts bound to be read, but somewhere deeper inside of who I am, I know my grandfathers, who sleep now and are remembered by us daily and visited sometimes, are witnesses, they are members of the communion of saints, they are spoken of in our creed, between "the holy catholic church" and "the forgiveness of sins", and when I wander this cemetary in Tubingen this strikes me more deeply than the journals I read over lunch. Thanks be to God for all the saints in Christ throughout time, but especially as I think here and walk, for those buried here, and those I remember, my grandfathers.

Possibly one of the most intriguing responses I got to interviews while visiting congregations was to the Reformation/modern church question as put in Heilbronn. The pastor there responded that when he thought of the home of the Reformation, he thought, not of Germany and Luther, but rather of the Huguenots in France. These are his genealogical roots, many Huguenots fled to places like Swabia and Potsdam during the persecutions in France, and so are still in Germany today. This was something of a shock, for I was normally prepared to hear either the response, "No, I don't think of the connection at all," or, "Yes, I think about the connection, but we live in different times," but not, "The Reformation is really centered elsewhere." Of course, there is a progression of Reformations in Europe, the earliest probably being in Prague with Jan Hus, then the 2nd with Wycliffe and others in England, then third chronologically, the Reformation centered in Wittenberg, and finally, the Calvinists in Geneva who had their influence also in France. So it is correct to think of multiple centers of Reformation. Nevertheless, it was de-centering for me, having just come from Wittenberg, to have this reminder set forth so plainly.

What is particularly interesting in this formulation is this further point. Although the Reformation occured in Germany, the French Revolution occured, well, in France. And it would be quite easy to argue, with much sincerity, that the French Revolution had a greater practical and religious impact on our modern lives than the Reformation itself. Concepts such as religious freedom for the individual, some kind of democratic rule of the people, etc., all of this comes out of the French Revolution, and we have incorporated these ideas and beliefs wholesale into our modern church practices. Germany, at best in its time came up with the cuius regio, eius religio, to each region, its own religion (and before those of you with considerable historical astuteness jump on this point and argue that this was a compromise only, made in Augsburg, and not really central to the reformation itself or its central tenets of faith, I say I agree, but nevertheless, the practical ramifications still play themselves out differently than the ideal). The radicality of the revolution in France was its move to "to each man, his religion."

Our conversations then turned to the dividing line between Catholics and Protestants and the continuing divide between the protestant claim for justification as that which makes for the catholicity of the church, and the Catholic move to authority. Although we disagreed on some of our formulations of faith, we did agree that the two churches remain ships passing in the night and not really hearing each other.

I'm jumping over a couple of blogs in order to let my "readership" know the following:

1) I'm no longer in Germany
2) the trip home to Madison was safe, uneventful, but happy, because I'm now back with my spouse
3) those of you who feel reading the blog was worth a subscription price can certainly pay a freewill subscription fee! :)

I'll be posting some remaining notes here in the next week or so. Lots happened between departing Wittenberg and getting on the plane, a very satisfying last week in Germany. Weird too how once you fly across the Atlantic, experiences, people, etc., feel distant not only in miles but also minutes, hours, time.

Currently visiting a friend from Japan who is a student in Tübingen. Funny, but it turned out to be a Japanese fellow student who made me feel most like a missionary in my time here. We spent a number of hours back in Wittenberg talking about the church and the Reformation, and I had invited her one Sunday to a worship service. She had mentioned a couple times in passing that she didnt have a religious community. So, she loved the music of worship, and when she came down to Tubingen, she immediately hooked up with a local congregation. She has a chart of her classes hanging on the wall of her dorm room, and she has blocked out time especially for Sunday morning worship, Wednesday evening organ music, and Tuesday choir. She also helps the congregation by assisting elderly members with hymnbooks, getting around in the church, etc. It is remarkable, namely, worth remarking, that the same thing couldnt happen, or would happen rarely, with a German that I would meet. Theres an oppenness to talking about and entertaining participation in the faith of the church from the Asian side that I just never see when speaking with agnostic Europeans. Most of the time they are either completely skeptical, outright hostile, or patently indifferent. And the preceding list of adjectives does a good job of describing the frustration that would be involved with being a missionary in contemporary Germany.

The local congregation near my host families house in Wittenberg has a worship service once a month presided by a retired pastor. I was able to catch one of these prior to leaving Wittenberg, and it was a beautiful, simple affair. There were about 20 of us, the organist was sick so we sang all the hymns ourselves. It was St. Michael and All Angels Sunday, so the pastor preached on the role and function of angels in Gods work of salvation. The service was splendidly clear on this point, angels as speakers and servants through whom God works creative and redemptive work, but not allowing angels to somehow supplant the function of God and make Jesus or the Trinity surpufluous. This is always an important question in Christian theology, because we must distinguish at all times between how and what God uses for Gods purposes, and the things themselves as in the hands of God but not gods. Very nicely done, and Im at work on a translation of a Reformation era hymn on this theme(Melanchthon), hopefully to be posted next week.

Also partook of what was probably my last Eucharist service in Germany, as the southern part of Germany, at least in the evangelical church, has been informed by the Reformed tradition and only conducts the Lords Supper occasionally, rather than as an integral part of the weekly worship life of a congregation.

Didnt realize how interesting and beautiful the Neckar wine valley in SW Germany is, but now I know. Of course, the Black Forest is world renowned, but the whole valley down the Neckar is amazing. Many of the grape growing vineyards stand on such steep hills that the vines run parallel to rather than up and down the hills. Theyre so steep that parallel vines still receive equal light, whereas often grapes are grown on rows ascending a hill in order to catch more light. And these vines blanket virtually every hill thrughout the whole valley. Its quite different here in western southern Germany. Around Munich everything is completely flat. Here you really feel like youre in this environmental wonderland. Rode the train between Heilbronn and Tubingen today, and didnt get much reading done because I was gawking out the window the whole time. Ive tasted the wine now, and disagree with Mark Twains description that the wine is indestinguishable from vinegar. Also disagree with his assessment of German newspapers. The Suddeutsch Zeitung is a wonderful paper, read it on both of my train trips down into this area. Course, cant be too hard on Twain. He described papers published 120 years ago.

This reminds me that Germany needs to be described Bundesland by Bundesland in order to provide a correct picture of what is actually a very diverse country.

This past weekend was the equivalent of Thanksigiving in Germany. Literal translation would be the harvest thanks festival. Like many harvest festivals in churches int he states, they gather a lot of produce together and display it in front of the altar. In the case of the congregation I visited, they also brought in a fleet of cute kindergarten children to sing songs and do miniature skits. Normally, on any given Sunday, the church (I think most churches) has about 50 people in attendance, max, most of them older. This particular Sunday is the Easter or Christmas of Germany, with lots of adults coming to see their children, nieces, and nephews sing. It was so interesting to observe this, because at least a couple of itmes Ive worked in congregations where it was the norm for half of the congregation to be children, but Ive never seen anything like this in Germany. What was weird, and I think this was true of my feelings as well as the pastors, was that by the end of hte service, you kind of yearn for the quiet and peace of the smaller service, and wonder why the children have to be so noisy all the time. Which goes to show how much the missionary impulse can be quelled by weaks of getting used to small numbers in the building.

After the service, attended a very nice one year celebration of the installation of new church bells. More on this to come, but the basics can be uttered now, because they are so interesting. Last year the whole congregation gathered to see the smelting and production of the new church bells, four in all. Then they gathered a few weeks later to see them lifted up and installed in the steeple. The largest of the bells weighs approximately 6000 pounds! The first bell is called the Dominican bell, the second is the prayer bell, the third is the cross bell, and the fourth is the baptism bell. Each is decorated with appropriate insignias and art. Gorgeous. These are the bells that ring every fifteen minutes in teh village, and for ten minutes prior to each worship service in teh church. Altogether, the bells cost $230,000 dollars, not including installation! But bells are an essential part of the architectural life of virtually any community in Germany, so...

We watched a video of last years celebration and installation, drank coffee and new wine, had a wonderful time. I interviewed the pastor on Saturday and Sunday, and answers to both of my primary questions were fascinating. More to come.

that one of my first, Gestalt clarifying German experiences came before I got on the plane. Luther Seminary hired a professor of missions this past spring, and I was present for his open-to-the-public trial lecture. Luther usually brings in a fleet of faculty possibilities for a given professorship, and then has them lecture publicly. They also get grilled later by the faculty. Anyway, said German prof stands up and delivers an in-depth, thoughtful, and very dry account of German missions in Nigeria. I learned a lot, the analysis was first-rate, but one could fall asleep given the style of presentation and tone of voice. But this is not yet what made it German. In fact, the presentation style was understandable, given that he was presenting in a foreign language, was seeking to be reserved in order to be respectful to his audience, etc.

After the lecture, the questions came. We have another prof at Luther Seminary, Craig Van Gelder, who is a leading North American missions theologian and publicist. He, along with most American missions theologians, constantly asks the question, "How does this hit the road?" The American mind always wants to take an abstract concept, an historical datum, anything, and apply it, make it "work". The German theologian, on the other hand, wants to make sure the historical claim was made correctly and truthfully in and of itself for the sake of historical inquiry, and the German theologian only sometimes concerns himself with how the rubber hits the road. Karl Barth even famously said that, to paraphrase, that the theologian shouldn't concern him or herself with how the general public will understand the theology, but rather, should be concerned with the theological centerpoint itself, which is inquiry into theos, that is, God. You don't expect a TV repairman to be able to explain in great detail how a vacuum tube works to a layman. You only expect that he understands it and knows how to fix it. So too a theologian who prepares tools for preachers and other theologians for the sake of the discipline itself (like every other academic discipline), not immediately for the sake of the masses. Should we tell quantum physicists to stop doing their research just because most of us don't have a clue what they're doing?

So, getting back to the point. Craig Van Gelder asked our visiting German professor, "How do you see your analysis of German missions in Nigeria informing the missiological situation in North America? What practical suggestions do you have?" With great sincerity and warmth, said German professor began to respond- "Well, last Sunday I attended worship here in St. Anthony park, and they have a wonderful thing that they do. They have small cards in the pews, and if you wish, you can fill these cards out with your name and address, and put them in the offering plate, and if you say you would like to be contacted, then the pastor or somebody in the church will contact you in the coming week. I think this is a great idea!" He actually elaborated even more than this, but you get the point. So, and this is why the story is exemplary (hopefully it is already self-evident how this story is exemplary/problematic), it is just a given to the average American church goer that there are such a thing as pew cards. Not so to the German. And herein lies a huge difference between our churches, a cultural rift so deep that it is almost hard to fathom. And it can be explained very simply by speaking of pew cards.

Started reading last night a portion of Mark Twain´s "A Tramp Abroad" which takes place, at least in part, in Germany, first of all in Heidelberg. Twain really is liberating to read. He just flows from thing to thing. A Tramp Abroad is an example of a blog that somebody, namely Samuel Clemens, was actually paid to publish. Funny. Anyway, the first two chapters of Tramp arent even about Germany. Instead, Twain´s walk in a forest outside Heidelberg becomes a segue, through the squawking of ravens, into a long a humorous story about a California man of the woods who learned the language of animals and then reports a weird story about bluejays arguing about a hole in a roof.

So you sit down to read a travel narrative about Germany, and you get stories from California for eight straight pages. And you love every minute of it.

Which re-confirms a theory I´ve long had that part of the joy of reading and writing is out of placeness. We read to be somewhere else, and we travel to be home. We travel to learn about our home, and we read to learn about somewhere else... for example, here in Germany I have learned...

Book recommendation:

Joseph Stiglitz, Globalization and It's Discontents

Attended a fascinating conference this past week on the issue of "Just War, Just Peace." Schorlemmer, a rather famous German theologian, was the convener, and had invited a variety of very interesting presenters. The central topic of the conference, aside from the theme, was the life and times and thought of Willy Brandt. Unfortunately, not enough time right now to post all my notes on the subject. But briefly, as a foretaste, know that the Germans are really struggling with the U.S. actions, or potential actions, in Iraq. They have too much experience with quotations like "the party is always right," which rings so close to George W.'s quote, "Whoever isn't with us, is against us." I wonder if GW knows he sounds like Communist party leaders of 20 or 30 years ago.

Have, ever since my first visit to Europe, been fascinated by the travelers' obsession with old buildings. Why does international travel always include, or even emphasize, the visiting of castles and palaces? I'm sure Twain has something clever to say on the subject, so I'll look there after I look into my own brain. Was in Potsdam two weekends ago for a language course visit. Potsdam is remarkable for the diversity and number of interesting buildings it contains all within walking distance of the Altstadt. The palaces built by Frederick II are ironic because they are examples of royalty, fascinated by buildings in another land, building buildings that look like buildings from another land, all so that tourists years later can visit buildings built by kings fascinated by buildings built by kings in a foreign land. Frederick II never got to travel to Italy as he so much desired to do, so instead he built castles, complete with Roman ruins so that he would have an idealized landscape to gaze out upon from his garden villa.

He was also a rather open-minded nobleman, and so welcomed a strange amalgamation of foreigners into Potsdam. French Huegenots fleeing the oppression of the counter-Reformation, Dutch dike builders, Russians who came and built beautiful wooden homes in the Russian quarter, and a quaint Orthodox church in the middle of woods. The first mosque in Germany was also built here in Potsdam.

Besides these very cool historic ethnic quarters, there are the various palaces, including Cecilia Schloss, where the Potsdam Conference of 1945 was held. By the time I had visited all the obligatory sites, I was both repelled by having spent a whole day in such an egrigriously touristy manner, but then also interested, as we slipped on large cotton footcovers and slid our way through the Neues Palais, listening all the while to a historical account of the life of the nobility in this building and their fascination with Roccocco design.

So what exactly is this fascination with buildings. Why does the Parthenon stand today still in Athens, white and bleached by the sun, and why do we keep rebuilding it, and maintaining it, and visiting it? Why would Athens not be Athens without it, in a sense? There are of course hundreds of possible responses, including a) vestigial class ressentiment, b) the false eternalness of great buildings, c) the ease and confidence with which one can visit buildings as opposed to more transient, ephemeral events in the life of a culture, etc. Or is it in fact the very It-ness of buildings, that they are available for us to stare at, and talk at, gook at and laugh at, and they will never make us feel the least uncomfortable, never talk back to us or scare us in any way, and so we walk in and over and through them, all the while confident that we are safely engaging a foreign land, snapping pictures, in order to say we have been there, all the while knowing secretly in our hearts, "You didn't learn a blessed thing because really, you could have been anywhere, and the building was just a disguise for the semblance of having been somewhere. It did not change you, because it can't, and you wouldn't let it even if it could." That, I think, is why we visit buildings. Or that's the dark, radical side of the coin.