Roots
(I wrote this a day or so ago and hope to provide you with another blog and pictures soon enough. Keep checking back...I know you have nothing better to do.)
3 May 2007
I’m sure by now the only readers of this blog are my family and the aspiring Shakespeare actor who thought this was ads for a Hamlet performance. I suppose that is good enough for me to keep writing.
I left you in Rome. A long, long night in the Ciampino airport outside the city left me grouchy, tired, dirty and ready to leave the sweaty Italians and arrive, hopefully, in a nicer part of Europe.
The flight to Frankfurt took about two hours. Ryan Air is cheap and doesn’t provide me with bags of peanuts, but they make up for it in small steps by getting me to my destination 15 minutes early, only then to regress by making me wait for my luggage for 45 minutes. Note to self: Become wealthy so I don’t have to travel in cheap transportation.
We were greeted by members of Alex’s family. They have abundantly provided for all my needs and then some. Living in the lap of luxury is certainly nice, but I don’t think it was made for me nor I for it.
I am staying west of Frankfurt in the comfortable town of Weisbaden, north of the Rhine River, also north of Mainz, the home of Johannes Gutenberg. I could tell you more about my happenings the first few days here in Germany, but they kind of went by in a daze of euphoria which was brought on mostly by not having to worry about anything; food, transportation, housing, its all been taken care of.
The real joys of my travels have been church history.
I think roots are important. We all have a history. We all come from some place, some people, some era that brought about the circumstances in which we find ourselves today. Many of us take pride in our family’s heritage, our nation, our birthplace. These are all wonderful things. Certainly they can be taken to terrifying extremes. The citizens in Germany in the middle of the 20th century found themselves swept up in a tide of racism because they considered themselves mankind’s elite; the pinnacle of the evolutionary chain of the human race.
Of course we love our histories. I’ve grown up in a Dutch community for some time now and always find it fascinating (an a bit overwhelming) how large and historical a Dutch family can become. They are proud of their windmills, their dikes, and their wooden shoes (I’m proud to eat their stroopwaffels). And perhaps that is a healthy kind of pride.
I don’t know my family’s history. I’ve heard I have Norwegian, English, Scottish roots. My last name sounds (a little embarrassingly) French, so we pronounce it “chapel,” but I really don’t know my bloodline. Now it’s not to say that I don’t care or I don’t love my family, but I’ve been thinking a lot about roots and I’ve come to an understanding that these things really don’t matter.
I have now been to Heidelberg and Worms; two small towns with large scale importance to the history of my family. In Heidelberg, I saw the castle, the quaint town, the cute little bridge. But I also saw the Church of the Holy Ghost were the Heidelberg Catechism was written to provide instruction for generations to come in the doctrines of Holy Scripture.
In Worms, I saw the Reformation monument (well, as best I could, it was under reconstruction) and the place where Luther said “Here I stand.” Those three words have always caused my hair to stand on end, it sends a rush through my spirit, and a longing to one day be put to such an amazing test, such a wonderful defense of the faith.
I love the Reformation. Not because I consider it to be “elite” (though I do think it is true), but because therein lies my roots. Martin Luther, the spark that set Catholic Europe on fire and changed the course of history, could be seen as a father of the faith. I view him as a great, great granddad. That’s where my roots lie; they lie in the catholic Church of Jesus Christ, past, present, and on into the future. It is a bloodline that has always been since God promised the chosen seed to Adam’s race. It is a bloodline that has been brought under the direst of times, yet emerged victorious. It is a bloodline which will most assuredly never die out. The Christian stands confident and boasts not in a family, or country, or ancestor, but in the gospel of Christ. We don’t boast in names like Smith, or Van Whatnot, or some other surname, but we boast in the name of Jesus.
I stood in the place where Luther faced the Diet of Worms. I walked in the halls where one of the church’s great catechisms was forged. I look forward to visiting several more places of significance to history in general, but more importantly, to the history of my people, the Church.
It won’t always be exciting for you. Many times it will be merely a house where some guy named Phil Melanchthon lived, or some place where a dude nailed a piece of paper, or burned a papal bull. But to me, it’s the history of my family, where my roots come from, the story of the people of God in some of their most trying circumstances. I hope God will use this as a lesson in His Providence. I pray He shows me where I come from and continues to assure me that mid toil, tribulation, and tumult of her war, the Church is waiting the consummation of all things and peace forevermore with our Blessed Savior.
Stay with me these last few days of my travels. I would love for you to live these things along with me.
3 May 2007
I’m sure by now the only readers of this blog are my family and the aspiring Shakespeare actor who thought this was ads for a Hamlet performance. I suppose that is good enough for me to keep writing.
I left you in Rome. A long, long night in the Ciampino airport outside the city left me grouchy, tired, dirty and ready to leave the sweaty Italians and arrive, hopefully, in a nicer part of Europe.
The flight to Frankfurt took about two hours. Ryan Air is cheap and doesn’t provide me with bags of peanuts, but they make up for it in small steps by getting me to my destination 15 minutes early, only then to regress by making me wait for my luggage for 45 minutes. Note to self: Become wealthy so I don’t have to travel in cheap transportation.
We were greeted by members of Alex’s family. They have abundantly provided for all my needs and then some. Living in the lap of luxury is certainly nice, but I don’t think it was made for me nor I for it.
I am staying west of Frankfurt in the comfortable town of Weisbaden, north of the Rhine River, also north of Mainz, the home of Johannes Gutenberg. I could tell you more about my happenings the first few days here in Germany, but they kind of went by in a daze of euphoria which was brought on mostly by not having to worry about anything; food, transportation, housing, its all been taken care of.
The real joys of my travels have been church history.
I think roots are important. We all have a history. We all come from some place, some people, some era that brought about the circumstances in which we find ourselves today. Many of us take pride in our family’s heritage, our nation, our birthplace. These are all wonderful things. Certainly they can be taken to terrifying extremes. The citizens in Germany in the middle of the 20th century found themselves swept up in a tide of racism because they considered themselves mankind’s elite; the pinnacle of the evolutionary chain of the human race.
Of course we love our histories. I’ve grown up in a Dutch community for some time now and always find it fascinating (an a bit overwhelming) how large and historical a Dutch family can become. They are proud of their windmills, their dikes, and their wooden shoes (I’m proud to eat their stroopwaffels). And perhaps that is a healthy kind of pride.
I don’t know my family’s history. I’ve heard I have Norwegian, English, Scottish roots. My last name sounds (a little embarrassingly) French, so we pronounce it “chapel,” but I really don’t know my bloodline. Now it’s not to say that I don’t care or I don’t love my family, but I’ve been thinking a lot about roots and I’ve come to an understanding that these things really don’t matter.
I have now been to Heidelberg and Worms; two small towns with large scale importance to the history of my family. In Heidelberg, I saw the castle, the quaint town, the cute little bridge. But I also saw the Church of the Holy Ghost were the Heidelberg Catechism was written to provide instruction for generations to come in the doctrines of Holy Scripture.
In Worms, I saw the Reformation monument (well, as best I could, it was under reconstruction) and the place where Luther said “Here I stand.” Those three words have always caused my hair to stand on end, it sends a rush through my spirit, and a longing to one day be put to such an amazing test, such a wonderful defense of the faith.
I love the Reformation. Not because I consider it to be “elite” (though I do think it is true), but because therein lies my roots. Martin Luther, the spark that set Catholic Europe on fire and changed the course of history, could be seen as a father of the faith. I view him as a great, great granddad. That’s where my roots lie; they lie in the catholic Church of Jesus Christ, past, present, and on into the future. It is a bloodline that has always been since God promised the chosen seed to Adam’s race. It is a bloodline that has been brought under the direst of times, yet emerged victorious. It is a bloodline which will most assuredly never die out. The Christian stands confident and boasts not in a family, or country, or ancestor, but in the gospel of Christ. We don’t boast in names like Smith, or Van Whatnot, or some other surname, but we boast in the name of Jesus.
I stood in the place where Luther faced the Diet of Worms. I walked in the halls where one of the church’s great catechisms was forged. I look forward to visiting several more places of significance to history in general, but more importantly, to the history of my people, the Church.
It won’t always be exciting for you. Many times it will be merely a house where some guy named Phil Melanchthon lived, or some place where a dude nailed a piece of paper, or burned a papal bull. But to me, it’s the history of my family, where my roots come from, the story of the people of God in some of their most trying circumstances. I hope God will use this as a lesson in His Providence. I pray He shows me where I come from and continues to assure me that mid toil, tribulation, and tumult of her war, the Church is waiting the consummation of all things and peace forevermore with our Blessed Savior.
Stay with me these last few days of my travels. I would love for you to live these things along with me.
2 Comments:
I won't get tired of your blogs Eric, they are helping me to see more of God's grace, glory and blessings! There is one body and one Spirit-just as you were called to one hope when you were called-one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. Eph.4:4-6. These are our roots and heritage. Praise God!
Eric- while technically not family, I regularly read your blog and enjoy it.
Blog on my good man. Blog on.
Rudi
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home