Arthur and I have a wonderful understanding that from time to time either of us needs to head out on our own to relax or adventure. It peppers the delightful time we have together with the spice of separation and coming back together again. So, as I write this, Arthur is in Denver, Colorado, square dancing; something that he has thoroughly enjoyed from Prague to San Francisco. I am in Portland, Oregon, spending time with my brother, Tom, and his wife Lisa. On Saturday, 26 May 2007, Tom and I got in a car to run errands and to visit places of interest. This is an account of that day.
Our purpose is to rent a tank
of helium from a party supply store in Salem, Oregon. The helium will be
used to inflate balloons (hopefully red ones) that will be used in the Day
of Pentecost Liturgy at the church where he serves as Interim Pastor, Immanuel
Lutheran Church in Silverton, Oregon. With that goal in mind we get into
his Subaru, and head south on route 99? As we drive down the Willamette
River one might almost think that we were in New England, with the heavy
industry and mills that line the banks especially at Willamette Falls. As
we move along the river, Tom is offering an on-going commentary about what
we are passing by. There are old homes built by founding families who had
been early settlers in what was to become the Oregon Territory. And then
there are the trains. My brother is an inveterate train buff, and so the
trip is an on-going recital of all the lines, rights of way, and spurs that
are in the area. It is fascinating.
At Barlow
we suddenly we head east, wending our way toward Mt. Angel. I am amazed
at the green we encounter at every turn. We are truly in a rain forest,
and Tom is pointing out the place where mountains should be in the distance,
now hidden in a pervasive morning mist. There is the fault that stretches
from Barlow to Mollala that ruined St. Mary's Church in Mt. Angel. There
are stories about the crops that are grown, and the rotation of the same
in the rich fields that we pass by. Hops, seed flowers of several varieties,
Christmas trees, blazing fields of Iris, newly planted corn, and vineyards
all flash by my window, with islands of hardwood and evergreen trees in
the midst. It's magical.
On the way we pass a road called "Whiskey Hill Road", where, Tom says, there is a Mennonite Community. He is tickled with the thought of Mennonites on Whiskey Hill Road, and then relates an interesting tale of another Mennonite Church founded to the north and not very far from the Whiskey Hill Church. The truth is that at the IInd World War, some young Mennonite men joined the army and fought overseas. When they returned, they were shunned by the Mennonite community at Whiskey Hill, and thus formed a new Mennonite Church close by.
Mt. Angel is the site of a Benedictine
Abbey, actually two. One is for women, and the other on the mountain, is
for men. Seen from the distance, sitting on top of a slight mountain, it
almost appears that we're in Tuscany. We travel through the town, unnaturally
clean and European. Once at the abbey, having driven past Stations of the
Cross, each in its own little shrine, I am in a rush to get into the Abbey
Church, which I have visited before. The icons in the church, written by
one of the monks of the abbey, are quite wonderful. Especially fine are
the icon of "Christ the Teacher" in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel,
and "The Assembly of Archangels" at one of the side altars. One
of the brothers is practicing on a small tracker action organ in the choir
while a much larger version of the instrument looms in the loft. He is playing
a vorspiel on O filii et filiae which quickly embeds itself
into our consciousness and we find ourselves humming it as the afternoon
continues on. 
In the abbey church we are looking at the hymnal they are using, published by Oregon Catholic Press. As we skim through the hymns and liturgies, a brother walks by and wonders if we are wondering what the references on the hymn board are. My brother responds, "Oh, we're both Lutheran pastors we know the drill!"
The library (the Abbey has a seminary and a Retreat Center) is a wonderful building by Aalvar Aalto, and reminds us both of our days at Concordia Senior College in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, designed by Eero Saarinen. One of its oddities is a collection of Civil War memorabilia collected by one of the librarians in the past. The library is closed, however, and we cannot enter, so we are drawn to the bookstore. I make purchases. The first is a study of incarnational theology by Luigi Giussani, At the Origin of the Christian Claim, (McGill-Queen's University Press, Montreal, 1998, 115 pages). The second book is one that may prove to be a difficult read, The Reform of the Roman Liturgy, Its Problems and Background, by Msgr. Klaus Gamber + 1989, Director at the Institute of Liturgical Science in Regensburg (Roman Catholic Books, Ft. Collins, CO, undated, 198 pages). I will have to review this book on this site once I've finished reading it. From what I can tell it is a revisionist response to the reforms of Vatican II, concerned with the loss of transcendence, and questioning the celebration of the Mass versus populum. It should prove to be interesting.
We
go down the hill to have lunch in the town of Mt. Angel, where the public
school is called "St. Mary's School". This town is so Catholic
that when the Lutherans wanted to build a church here, they could only do
so outside of the city limits. And so it is. Trinity Lutheran Church sits
at the edge of town, heretics kept at the gates. I wanted to see the parish
church, so Tom takes me in. Following the earthquake, mentioned above, the
roof of the was damaged and replaced with a beautiful copper roof, slowly
mellowing with a deep patina. The narthex/baptistery, was carved out of
the old narthex and last fifth of the nave by a semi-circle of glass panels
that allows you to see the church, with out granting total access to the
space. As we looked at the impressive German windows and the restored ceilings
and arches, I noticed that in front of the altar were packages wrapped in
red and silver paper and ribbons. It was the Eve of Pentecost. There were
seven packages! For those not getting
this obscure reference click here.
We have lunch at a company that makes sausages, and it is there that I make my third purchase of a book, Recipes from a German Grandma, Aileen and Stephen Block, ed., (privately published, 136 pages). With several variations on Lebkuchen and Zimmstern, I couldn't resist. I'll publish some selections with the Christmass Cookie collection later this year. Tom and I had a wonderful Bratwurst sandwich, where the hostess/waitress/cook took fresh sausages and a huge cast iron skillet and prepared them right before our eyes. Fun!
During lunch my daughter, Anna, calls to wish me a happy birthday. She is proud that she has remembered the day, and I am honored by her call. She's working hard on a chapter for her dissertation, and I encourage the continued effort. The greetings are brief, but welcome.
After our lunch we drive to
Salem and pick up the helium. The downtown is filled with old Nineteenth
Century Blocks, with brick and iron fronts and ornamentation. The capitol
building is stunning, with the golden statue surmounting the rotunda gleaming
in the sun. Tom shows me some of the churches in town, and the buildings
as well knowing that I love architecture. We run over to Silverton,
where there are more buildings and churches. One former Apostolic Lutheran
Church is now a massage parlor! All of the Lutheran Churches in Silverton
(there were once three of them) are Norwegian. One wonders what the social
and political pressures there were to engender that.
Tom's church is Immanuel Church, who is now in it's third building. An older carpenter Gothic building burned in the seventies, and was replaced by a building designed by Pietro Belluschi. Unfortunately that building and its new pipe organ were burned by an arsonist in the nineties, and was replaced by the present building. It is in the semi-round with a very plain interior, and lots of space for music making. I can tell that Tom likes it here and is enjoying his interim role. I am able for the first time to look at Evangelical Lutheran Worship, the new hymnal published by the ELCA. I look it through briefly and realize that I am more and more separated from this church. Things are happening "without me".
We move on to Colton,
where my brother was pastor of Colton Lutheran Church, and where my father
died around Easter of 1992. There are many memories there, good ones, and
I take some time to savor them. Tom and I walk over to the Lutheran Cemetery
where part of my father lies (the other half of his ashes are interred in
Sky Lawn Cemetery near San Mateo, California). We have picked some wild
flowers and placed them at his memorial, and we remember.
The drive home is through pine forests and open fields that are giving way to strip malls and housing developments. At each bend in the road, however, Tom is ready with a new story or insight, a moving tale that I find terribly engaging. There's time for ice cream, and then home. I've had a wonderful day with my brother time that we don't often have together. Lisa meets us with a wild sockeye salmon dinner in the works, and a wonderful microwave chocolate pudding. All is well with the world. (And more about that wonderful Lisa later...)
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