Connecticut Conference Staff Blog

Eric Anderson: "Sermon: Focused on the Fire"

Mon, 20 May 2013 12:35:00 -0500

Yes, I do know that my Spirit Calendar reflection last Monday had the same title. Strangely (or so it seems to me), this is the first time that my turn to write a Spirit Calendar reflection has coincided with a preaching invitation the following Sunday. And yes, I followed the same idea from the reflection to the sermon.

- Eric Anderson

'Focused on the Fire'

Preached at the Plainville Congregational Church UCC
Plainville, CT

May 19, 2013: Pentecost Sunday

Primary text: Acts 2:1-21

Signs and wonders, wonders and marvels. That's where we start today.

One moment they're just gathered together, those disciples of Jesus, and the next moment the room is filled with the sound of a mighty wind. They look up, and there they see the tongues of fire dancing above the heads of their friends, and above their own.

We tend to focus on the fire.

That's the sort of thing that will change people and these people need changing. On Good Friday they were terrified, hunted fugitives, looking for a place to hide, looking for a place to cry with sorrow and self-loathing.

Then on Easter Sunday -- or a week later, for Thomas -- they become relieved and rejoicing friends, celebrating the unlooked for return of their best friend and leader. Then at the Ascension, they become awed and wondering... looker-uppers.

But in all this, they've remained disciples. Followers. They have not become apostles, messengers, yet. Not until the tongues of fire.

We tend to focus on the fire.

They're filled with a mad energy, and they rush outside into the street. There they start telling everyone they meet about what God has done: sent us Jesus, sent us the gracious words of Jesus, sent us Jesus resurrected, sent us the Savior of the world. The crowd grows like a wildfire.

We tend to focus on the fire.

The onlookers are amazed, but here's the strange thing. They're not amazed by the fire. That's not what they comment on. They're amazed by the words, and by the language. 'How is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? We hear them speaking about God's deeds of power.'

Speaking in other languages, of course, is not a miracle. It is a gift, and it's one that I don't have very much of. I've studied four foreign languages in my life in addition to English, and the one I'm fairly good with is... English. I went to Korea recently and I spoke two words: Kimchee and bulgoki. Those two will get me fed in a restaurant, but they're not much for anything else. I came home with nine words of Korean, and two of them both mean good-bye. And people always smiled when I said anything at all in Korean.

So those devout residents of and visitors to Jerusalem didn't think they were experiencing a miracle. It was a wonder and a mystery, but not a miracle, and so some turned to the easy explanation for out-of-the-normal behavior. They're drunk. Out of control. They've been up all night with too much wine. It's a pity they're ruining the holy day. Scandalous. But they'll pay for it with a hangover in the morning!

And so Peter has to stand up there and say, no, they're not drunk. I've always found his first explanation, that it's too early in the morning to be intoxicated, rather naive, particularly for a fisherman. What's astonishing is that he has to make it at all. With the mighty wind and the tongues of fire and all, shouldn't it have been abundantly clear what was going on? That the power of God had arrived, the Holy Spirit manifest, the world made new?

But no. It's not obvious. The Holy Spirit had indeed arrived, but not with clarity. The Holy Spirit had come with mystery.

It's not obvious. And so Peter has to explain.

Yet we tend to focus on the fire.

We focus on the fire because it changed so much in the life of the church. It really did transform those variously terrified, wondering, awed looker-upper disciples into apostles.

What it didn't do was transform the entire world. That became the job of the newly commissioned apostles.

They were sort of in the position of Ole and Sven on a fishing vacation. They rented a boat, filled it with bait, fishing tackle, and lunch, and went out on the lakes. They motored around, fished some, ate a lot, told old jokes they'd both heard before, and bickered about bait and lures. And then they found the spot. One after the other, they hauled fish after fish out of the water and stuffed their creels. They were practically jumping into the boat to catch the newly baited hook before it hit the water.

'How are we going to find this place again tomorrow, Ole?' asked Sven.

Ole thought about it, then reached into a bag and drew out a marker. With it he drew a big 'X' on the bottom of the boat. 'There!' he said. 'That'll do it!'

But Sven wasn't satisfied. 'Hold on there, Ole,' he said. 'What if we don't rent the same boat?'

The cross might mark the spot, but it's going to take more than that to find the source of fish. The Holy Spirit might give the gift of languages, but it takes the words of Peter to change dismissal and derision into understanding and commitment.

That's why Peter makes the case. That's why he pulls out his Bible, and looks for the connection that his hearers will understand. This is Scriptural, he says. This is what was promised. These are the men and women prophesying. These are the young seeing visions; these are the old dreaming dreams. And all you have to do is trust in God.

He goes on from there to tell about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, and to offer his hearers a place in this new community that would originally simply be called 'The Way.' 'For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls.'

That is still our task. To take the truth we know, and to bear it to a world that does not believe it, to testify, to explain, to convince, and to persuade. We tend to believe that all we have to do with truth is simply say it, but that's not the case. Studies have shown that roughly 40% of Americans believe that scientists are divided on the issue of climate change, that they still debate whether global temperatures are rising and whether human activity is responsible.

But a new study was released this past week that reviewed the scientific literature. In papers that take a position on climate change, 97% say that it is happening, and that we are warming the planet.

It's not enough just to say it.

There are a lot of things that we know or believe to be true. And please hear this: before you go to testify, explain, convince, or persuade, please do make sure it's true. I thought it used more electricity to turn fluorescent lights on than they used running, so that I'd leave them on for a brief time rather than turn them off. Well, it's not true. And in these days of easy sharing of information on the Internet, the number of rumors or deliberate falsehoods running around is mind-blowing. Really, really, really check it out first.

But God loves you. God loves your neighbor. God wants you to love your neighbor as yourself: That's true. You can say that.

We tend to focus on the fire because in it, the Holy Spirit has written a sign on the world, saying, 'I'm here!' It is our task to read and interpret that sign to those who have not seen it, who have not heard of it, who have not encountered its implications for loving community in the world. It's our task to testify to the love of God, to explain the manifold expressions of the love of God, to convince others that God loves them, and to persuade them that they can love God, and others, as well.

We tend to focus on the fire, but it is not the fire that spread the Word. It is Peter and the newly minted apostles. It is you. And it is me.

Amen.

Eric Anderson: "Spirit Calendar: Focused on the Fire"

Mon, 13 May 2013 13:56:05 -0500

This blog entry was first published as the Spirit Calendar meditation for the week of May 13, 2013, based on Acts 2:1-21.

We tend to focus on the fire.

Every year I served in the parish, we celebrated Pentecost with an 'apostle cake': a set of small figures, hand-molded in clay, with a lit birthday candle rising from their heads. In memory of those Pentecost flames and the birth of the church, we'd tell the story, we'd sing a happy birthday song, and then blow out the candles. They were ever-light candles, of course, which would relight themselves, and I'd declare, 'The flame of the Spirit never dies.'

Similarly, we've commemorated Pentecost in our Conference Meeting with a pillar of (flash paper) flame, the climax of a rising cacophony of voices and music: with a bright, unmistakable flash of light, we cheered the arrival of the Holy Spirit.

We tend to focus on the fire.

But strangely, in the story, nobody comments on the fire. Jerusalem's devout visitors and residents follow the sounds, and by the time they've discovered the newly commissioned apostles, the tongues of fire have faded away. They find a confused and chaotic scene, where even the realization of understanding ('They're speaking our language!') provokes further mystery, even bafflement. 'What does this mean?'

Is it any wonder that they seize the first explanation to hand? And doesn't Peter's first defense of his companions, it's too early in the day for drinking, seem remarkably naive for a gruff and hearty fisherman?

We tend to focus on the fire, in part, because it seems so clear -- though we might bear Moses' ability to bargain with a burning bush in mind. When the Holy Spirit comes, the end of doubt and confusion is at hand.

The Holy Spirit's mighty wind, however, doesn't rush in with clarity, but with mystery. Like Peter, we still have the task of using our newfound gifts to communicate God's deeds of power, mercy, and grace. The most likely response is the one that greeted our forebears that first Pentecost morning: sneers, derision, and dismissal.

But perhaps, just perhaps, someone might find, in the center of chaos, the echo of the still small voice that says:

'God loves you.'

Call me crazy, call me drunk, but that's worth a little derision to me. Even without the fire.

Prayer:

Holy One, renew your people. Send your Holy Spirit like the rush of a mighty wind, and send us forth to proclaim your deeds of power, mercy, and grace before all people. Let them call us crazy, let them call us drunk: but let them never lack for assurance of your love for all your people and for all your Creation. In Jesus' name: Amen.

Eric Anderson: "Pepper and Pickling Spice; Salt and Sugar"

Wed, 08 May 2013 17:41:15 -0500

One of the first full meals I had in the United States after returning from South Korea was breakfast in a restaurant in Boston. I took a fried potato on my fork, placed it in my mouth, and my eyes flew wide.

It was salty. Noticeably salty. Startlingly salty.

I really enjoyed the Korean food during my visit, and although I was never as adept with chopsticks and long spoon as my hosts, I never had serious difficulties. At one meal, a pastor warned me against one dish I'd just helped myself from. It looked like rather long, rounded noodles with some shrimp in a creamy sauce.

'You may not like that,' he said.

'What is it?' I asked.

'Jellyfish.'

Well, I wasn't in Korea to not try things, so I did. Mostly, it tasted like pickling spice to me, and I found it rather tasty. My Korean hosts later made a point of telling me that they'd appreciated the fact that I not only tried their cuisine, but clearly enjoyed it a great deal.

Korean tables have a lot of food on them. The chefs are liberal with peppers, pickling processes, and of course the fermentation process called kimchee (which they apply to more than cabbage). The flavors tend to be quite strong, though they also appreciate a very plain rice and water soup as well. But the only times I had much in the way of salt at a Korean table was when the dish had a dipping sauce based on soy or miso (which was fairly rare).

Korean meals mostly lack sweet desserts as well. They like sweets, but don't make a habit of them. The snacks we enjoyed while singing karaoke were mostly nuts and dried fruits. Breakfast appears to be incomplete with fruit (we had oranges and strawberries), but there's very little processed sugar.

And Koreans, by and large, are thinner than Americans.

I'm still uncertain whether those Boston hashed brown potatoes were overly salty, but to my Korean-influenced taste buds, the difference was eye-popping. My eyes have stayed open, to note that Westerners put flavor into their cooking with sugar, with fat, and with salt. All three, we note, have real health consequences.

In contrast, dishes in Korea rely on pepper and pickling.

Hm.

Michael Ciba: "Learning in Anxious Times"

Tue, 07 May 2013 18:25:40 -0500

I spent the week of April 15-19 in the Boston area. I'd scheduled this week of continuing education several months before and had been looking forward to it all winter. Like many of you, I find that attending seminars is one of the ways I renew my spirit. After a winter that was hard in every possible way, I was ready for my spirit to be renewed.

On Monday, I attended a meeting at the Massachusetts Conference Office in Framingham. I learned about the explosions when I arrived at my motel room late in the afternoon. On Tuesday morning, when I exited the Mass Pike and drove through Cambridge toward the Episcopal Divinity School, I immediately noticed the enhanced police presence. I remember thinking, 'this is not the last of these. There will be another act of senseless violence that seems to come out of nowhere for no apparent reason. This is world in which we live now.'

Later, I realized that the world has always been this way. I am just more aware of the impact of violence now.

Half of the workshop participants were from the Boston area and the rest were from other places. The workshop leaders graciously realized that participants needed to talk about what was happening in the city as well as the materials we were supposed to be discussing. As I listened to folks, particularly those who were local, talk about what they were feeling, I was reminded of the kinds of responses I heard in the days following the Sandy Hook tragedy, from anxiety to questioning to shaken belief systems to outrage at the media. I tried to be a pastoral presence to folks who were feeling the effects of violence in their own community or the community in which they were guests.

I was eating a cheeseburger in a restaurant on Thursday night when the pictures of the suspects were first published. Like everyone else, I strained to look at them, and wondered if it would be hours or months before they were caught. I suppose that I, and everyone else, peeked at our neighbors, too.

That evening, in my hotel room, I was reminded of C.S. Lewis' sermon, 'Learning in War-Time', which he preached at St. Mary's Church in Oxford in the fall of 1939. At the beginning of the Second World War, Lewis was speaking to young adults who were asking why they should study literature and science when the world around them was falling apart and they felt called to extraordinary action. These men and women knew that, soon, they would have to leave their place of study to participate in the war effort, in some form or another. They also understood that some of them would survive the war and others would not. All of them knew they would be significantly changed by whatever would happen next.

Lewis invited the students to recognize that the times in which they lived were no more or less extraordinary than any other time. Some pressing topic, like a war or some other crisis, can always distract us from what we should be doing. He reminded the students that fear of pain or death should not hinder their learning. All of us will experience death and most of us will suffer significant pain at some point in our lives. In conclusion, Lewis wrote, '�if we thought that for some souls, and at some times, the life of learning, humbly offered to God, was, in its own small way, one of the appointed approaches to the Divine reality and the Divine beauty which we hope to enjoy hereafter, we can still think so.'

Lewis and the university students most likely understood learning in the academic sense. But it is important to remember that the word most frequently used in the New Testament to describe the followers of Jesus is disciple, a word that essentially means learner. The kind of education God calls us to undertake is not merely the education of our intellect but, of our whole selves: 'heart, soul, and might.' [Deut 6:5]. The goal is not merely to understand the world but to transform it, even as we learn how God can transform us and how we can transform ourselves and one another. God calls us to undertake this kind of learning in circumstances that are confusing, uncertain, and threatening. God calls us to be disciples and to continue in discipleship even when events seem to distract us.

I heard sirens throughout the early hours of Friday morning and struggled to remain asleep. At about 7 AM I learned that we were to 'shelter in place' while the police sought to capture the remaining suspect. The final day of the workshop did not happen. We headed home without completing our commitments to ourselves and one another and without saying farewell.

Events interfered with our learning. But that is no reason to give up on learning.

Life has always been like this. But so has God and God's call.

Eric Anderson: "Last Night in Korea"

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 09:34:35 -0500

Tonight is the last one I'll sleep in South Korea this trip. The bags are packed, with just the traveling clothes left out. It's after 10 pm here, so this post will have to be brief, though heaven knows I will be spending a lot of time doing nothing but sitting in an airliner seat tomorrow.

In just five days (thanks to a huge delay in our arrival), I've done a great deal. I've preached twice. I've addressed the Kyung-Ki Presbytery meeting. I've had tours of the National War Memorial Museum, the royal palace in Seoul, and an ancient set of royal tombs. I've spoken with members of the Presbytery's Overseas Committee, its ministerial authorization committee, the General Secretary of the Presbyterian Church in Korea and the head of ecumenical relations, as well as the dean and the head of the international studies program at Hanshin University.

I've visited the home and memorial to the women forced, during World War II, to provide sexual services to Japanese troops. I've seen two of them at a protest outside the Japanese embassy in Seoul. I've spoken with the leader of the protest movement, which is asking for a simple admission and apology from Japan.

I've been to the Demilitarized Zone, and witnessed how hope refuses to whither amidst a human tragedy of separation. I've seen and walked one of the tunnels dug by North Korean forces to prepare for an invasion. It made me both very aware of the real danger faced by my hosts, who live very close to the border, and the resilience of hope.

I've made my hosts very pleased that I thoroughly enjoyed each Korean meal they served me.

I have a great deal of stories to tell. One regret I've had is that I've had so little time to tell them!

But the final comment for the night has to be this, and it was made by Professor Yeung Mee Lee at Hanshin University who, when she heard that our visit was only five days, exclaimed, 'But that's not enough!'

And she's right.

Eric Anderson: "Having Fun in Korea"

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 08:50:22 -0500

What do you get when you combine a Methodist, a Presbyterian, and two UCCs?

Wait for it...

Pretty darned good music.

Yesterday, after attending the Kyung-Ki Presbytery meeting, held at Immanuel Church in Suwon, delivering our greetings (in the previous blog post), and speaking with Dr. Bae, the General Secretary of the Presbyterian Church in the Republic of Korea (PROK; more on that later), the Presbytery's Overseas Ministry Committee (more on that later, too), and Dr. Min, the ecumenical affairs officers for the PROK, it was time for some sightseeing. Rev. Lee and a good friend of his, a Methodist pastor, whisked us away to Seoul.

There we visited the palace of the Joseon Dynasty, which is surrounded by the modern structures of this enormous city, and beautifully restored and maintained. Couples, families, and school groups flowed around us as we moved through the complex.

From there, we went to South Mountain, upon which stands a space needle-like observation tower. The view was incredible, despite a hazy day. It's very touristy - in fact, most of the signage is in English first, then Korean - but the locals clearly enjoy it, too. There was a duo singing as we left, and a local astronomy group had telescopes set up.

We enjoyed - really enjoyed - a late dinner at a little restaurant in Suwon. Around the tower, they'd offered plenty of tourist fare, but this was what the local residents really like to eat, and it was a bowl swimming in seafood and a hearty broth. Add some rice and various spiced vegetables, and we were a well satisfied group.

That leads us to the adventure of the night, which was 'no re bang,' the Korean equivalent of karaoke. Unlike what I've seen in the States, there's no stage. We were ushered into a smallish room with a table (and plenty of snacks), a big TV screen, song title books, a controller, and two microphones.

Irene Choi and I can carry a tune (she's an operatic quality soprano), and our two guides were enthusiastic and amazing. Rev. Lee loves music, both traditional Korean and American pop of the 60s, 70s, and 80s. So we sang the Beatles and Sinatra, Louis Armstrong and contemporary Korean pop, with the sound echoing around our little room.

We laughed and snacked and applauded each other. It made for a late night - we sing quite a while - but oh, it was worth it.

What do you get when you put together a Presbyterian, a Methodist, and two UCCs?

Amazing music: and a balm for the soul.

Eric Anderson: "Greetings to the Kyung-Ki Presbytery"

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 17:52:27 -0500

I delivered these official greetings of the Connecticut Conference, UCC, to the Kyung-Ki Presbytery of the Presbyterian Church in Korea yesterday afternoon:

On behalf of Interim Connecticut Conference Minister the Rev. Charles L. Wildman; the Board of Directors and their chairperson, Sara Sneed; the ordained, licensed, and commissioned ministers; and the people of the congregations of the Connecticut Conference of the United Church of Christ, I bring you our warm greetings and prayers of thanks to you on the occasion of this meeting of the Kyung-Ki Presbytery.

Since the visit of your Moderator, Rev. Kim, and Rev. Jeung of the Nong-Chun Church to us last October, the seasons of nature and of humanity have visited us in Connecticut. A February blizzard brought our state to a near halt, but just two days later, our church in Bolton celebrated the ordination of a talented young woman pastor. I didn't get there, because I was still digging my car out when the service ended.

Last December, a gunman killed twenty-seven people, twenty of them six and seven year old children, and then himself in an elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut. It left us all shocked and horrified, and with far too many mourning families to comfort with ministry and with prayer. But just days after that February blizzard, over 5,000 people came to the state capitol to declare that violence would not have the last word. We still struggle with the political process to reduce the harm that individuals can do, those who are determined on evil. More than law, however, we know that we must work on the heart, to build a society more likely to care for the mentally ill than drive them to violence, more likely to encourage people to resolve their anger with words than with a gun.

We are all too aware of the risks of violence here, in this place, in this nation, on this peninsula. You know far better than we what the threat is, and we hope that you know far better than we how to maintain a peace whose fragility has become apparent. We have no solutions to offer, beyond our prayers that God bring wisdom to national leaders here and elsewhere. May a conflict avoided in this time become a seed, one that when planted, watered, and nurtured, becomes the blossom and the fruit of a just and lasting peace.

The seasons have brought us a further blessing in Connecticut. On Saturday, at a Special Meeting of the Connecticut Conference, ministers and delegates elected the Rev. Kent Siladi to be our new Conference Minister. He will begin that ministry with us in late June, and we are looking forward to the blessings that God will give us through his leadership.

We are also looking ahead to next year, and the twentieth anniversary of our partnership. At that time, I was an interim pastor in our Conference, still a young man and rather new to the Christian ministry. Today my moustache is longer, and there is gray in it, and in my hair. I am rarely the youngest minister in the room when clergy meet.

But our partnership still feels young to me. There is so much that might be tried, so much that might be done. Though the language barrier remains, the Internet has grown so rapidly in these nearly two decades that photographs can float across the Pacific Ocean in the blink of an eye. We can share stories more quickly and in more ways than we ever could before.

So I bring you these greetings in person. It is the blessing of God that I can do so. I thank you for your gracious hospitality, for your courage in frightening times, and for your witness to the risen Christ in all seasons. May God bless you. Amen.

Eric Anderson: "Sermon: Three Stories"

Sun, 21 Apr 2013 09:59:16 -0500

I preached this sermon twice today. The text is Luke 24:13-35, the story of Jesus walking with two of his disciples on Easter afternoon.

The text is familiar, the setting (to me, at least) was not. I preached it at the Chowoel Church and the Dongbu-Sun-Lin Church here in South Korea, where Irene Choi and I are currently representing the Connecticut Conference at the Annual Meeting of our ecumenical partners, the Kyung-Ki Presbytery.

I've been posting short videos the last few days, but tonight, I'm afraid, the day has been long and I probably look it. So instead, here is the text of today's sermon.

============

Scripture: Luke 24:13-35

Please forgive me the repetition if this Scripture is one that you've heard in recent weeks; in our churches it's frequently read on the first Sunday after Easter Sunday. But as one whose ministry is to tell stories, I can't resist this story.

In this story, Cleopas and his friend tell Jesus, whom they fail to recognize, his own story. And they get it wrong. Jesus, still unrecognized, tells them his story back, this time correctly. When they finally do realize who it is, Jesus has given them a new story to tell, so they run back to Jerusalem to share it -- and learn that there are yet more stories to hear, to take into themselves, and to share with others.

And each of these stories are the Great Story, the story of God's love so powerful in the world that no power, not even death, could overthrow it.

Today, I have three stories to share. Each is a part of the Great Story, in that each tell how the risen, living, loving Christ is still active and present in the world.

Last December 14th, it was not love and life, but death and despair that visited the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. We don't know why a young man collected thirty-round magazines and thousands of rounds of ammunition for a semi-automatic rifle. We don't know why he shot his mother to death as she slept that morning and drove in sunshine to the school. We don't know why he shot six educators to death as they struggled to protect the students in their charge. We don't know why he killed twenty children, who were just six and seven years old. We don't really know why he killed himself last of all, the twenty-eighth to die that day.

What we do know is that local clergy, including three of our pastors, were among those who sat with fearful, and all too often tearful parents at the Newtown firehouse, struggling with their own emotions as they offered a ministry of presence in grief. We know that two of the teachers who died, Lauren Rousseau and Victoria Soto, were raised in our congregations, and were well known for their commitment to and care for their students. We know that in their last moments, they put themselves between the gunman and the children.

We know that the pastor of the Newtown Congregational Church UCC, the Rev. Matthew Crebbin, had this to say the night after the shootings as his church gathered to pray:

'Even in the midst of the most difficult of circumstances, God's care, God's response, is one of love. One of grace... Tonight we need to trust that God can find not only each of us, but every person who is hurting and broken in this community, every child that was lost, every child of God that was lost. God finds us. God is with us.'

I have no need to tell you your own stories. This nation, this peninsula, is sadly acquainted with loss, grief, the memory of, and the threat of war. I can only echo pastor Crebbin's voice on a tragic winter night: God's care, God's response, is one of love. One of grace. God finds us, all of us. God is with us.

My second story: The most recent congregation to join the Connecticut Conference UCC is one that grew from our partnership. On the campus of the University of Connecticut, the Rev. Chang Ho Jun carries on what he calls a 'dandelion ministry,' serving those who come to study there from this country, people he knows will leave again when their degree program is done. As he says, he nurtures seeds that will fly away across the globe, and he never sees quite how and where they grow.

But in October 2011, pastor Chang brought a small group of drummers to our Annual Meeting in Guilford, Connecticut, and a new sound echoed in that two-hundred-year-old house of worship. The drama and movement of Korean drumming is familiar to you, but not so much to us, and they married it to a prayer of confession that pastor Chang sang to us.

Words fail me in my effort to describe how powerful a moment it was. Even those with prayer lives of extraordinary depth found that this prayer, this music, this movement, brought them to a new place of the Spirit. Some found a new, raw place, where they could see things they had hidden from themselves. Some found themselves abruptly emptied of pretense and delusion, and able to fill themselves from the cup of grace.

Words fail me. All I can do is assure you that nobody left that room unmoved or unchanged. Moments of such transforming power are rare in this life. We owe a great debt to pastor Chang, pastor Gwak, who celebrated communion, and to the gift of this partnership, for being bearers of the Holy Spirit.

The third story I have to share today is not, however, one that I will tell you. It's the story that I will tell about you when I get back home. That's my ministry: I tell stories.

I will tell the story of your astonishing hospitality to a person whose command of your language, when he arrived, was limited to two words: kim chee and bul go ki. I'm well aware that doesn't help much outside of mealtimes.

I will tell the story of your Christian commitment in a land of many faiths. I will tell the story of your courage in the midst of rumors of renewed war. I will tell the story of your dedication to the peace of Christ.

Like those pastors in Newtown after the shootings, like the inrushing of the Holy Spirit to a gathering in Guilford, Connecticut, these stories are part of the Great Story, the one in which love overcomes hate, the one in which peace overcomes war, the one in which life overcomes death.

Thank you for being part of that story, and for listening to my small portion of the Great Story of Jesus and his love.

Eric Anderson: "Welcome to Korea!"

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 09:15:15 -0500

Slightly early, to make up (I suppose) for all those flights that ran late, Irene Choi and I touched down at Incheon International Airport. After a straightforward trip through immigration and customs, we found the Rev. Dr. Bae Hyun-suck, pastor of the Cho-Wal Church, along with a seminary student also working there. They whisked us off in a church van to get some lunch - my first experience with bib-im-bap in Korea (it was delicious) and to visit the House of Sharing.

This is a story I need to tell at greater length later, but it comes down to this: during the Second World War, Japanese soldiers systematically deceived or seized women in the territories they occupied and sent them to brutal 'comfort houses,' where their mistreatment in every sense of the word is horrifying. The government of Japan denies to this day that it ever happened.

Today I visited a home where a few remaining survivors bear witness to the truth they assert against a lie.

I also spent time with the young people of the Cho-Wal church, and we talked about the differences in worship between Americans and Koreans (I couldn't answer that, because I haven't seen Koreans worship yet), about food and favorite ice creams, about music and dancing, and about the great sights of America. I could have gone hoarse just describing the Rocky Mountains.

Rev. Bae then brought us away to this amazing resort, where one of the church leaders is a member. We're staying here tonight to give us a bit of rejuvenation after all the travel. I'm very grateful. I also confess that, in truth, once I've completed this blog post, any flat surface would serve to let me sleep.

Tomorrow I preach at both Cho-Wal and at Don-Bu-Sun-Lin, followed by a dinner with the partnership committee (which was supposed to be last night, but had to be delayed).

But before that: sleep!

Eric Anderson: "Report from... Japan"

Fri, 19 Apr 2013 10:04:35 -0500

Only I'm supposed to be in South Korea...

This was not a fun day for the American aviation system. Shortly after Irene Choi and I boarded the plane to O'Hare for the first leg of our trip to Incheon airport, the captain announced that storms over Chicago had delayed us. So we got off the plane and waited, mostly in line for the gate agent, because we'd quickly realized that we probably would not make the transfer to our Korean Airlines flight.

Sure enough, we didn't. In fact, the delay got long enough for us to become concerned that we'd miss our new flight, one to Narita, Japan, where we'd get that last connection to Korea.

The storms turned out to have been pretty dramatic. By the time we arrived in Chicago, they were over, but as we came in for a landing we could standing water in a lot of places. Right near the airport a highway onramp was completely flooded and closed. As you might expect, O'Hare was jammed with people trying to figure out how to get where they were going.

We had no difficulty catching our flight to Narita, because it, too, was substantially delayed. We missed our connection here by a solid two hours, and the airline personnel immediately dispatched us to a nearby hotel for the night, with a new flight to catch in the morning.

We're now due into Incheon just after noon - or so we hope!

Thanks for all your prayers.