There's this stubborn stereotype that Lutherans just don't (or can't, or won't) change. We like our coffee and our hymnals and our organs. That isn't necessarily a bad thing: all three of those things are important common ground on which a whole lot of valuable relationships are founded. That said, I'm not convinced it's true. Not in the slightest.
I remember telling some of my "higher" music friends at Valpo about learning to use a microphone and play my guitar in front of my home church and the perplexed look I would sometime receive in return. It was almost as if to say, "...but you care about Bach and music theory and vocal pedagogy - you can't possibly come from a contemporary church."
I was inspired this morning by my breakfast (yes, you read that correctly). It consisted of three components; eggs, gallo pinto (that link won't work today - a whole separate issue - feel free to sign the petition), and coffee. First, I lit the stove and put on a tea kettle to make my coffee. I love listening to tea kettles - first the gassy simmer, then the bubbling, then the screaming whistle. It's almost exactly like telling a little child a secret; it starts as a whisper, threatens to boil out of them, and finally bursts out loud enough for the whole world to hear. Next, I heated up my refrigerated gallo pinto. As you can imagine, it sort of clumps together in a big block in the refrigerator. I put it in the microwave on 80% for 4 minutes (write that down if you ever plan on living in Costa Rica) and lit another burner for the eggs. I cracked them onto the pan, watching them slowly change from a clear and yellow liquid to a white and yellow solid.
As I ladled the coffee grounds into the filter, I began to think about what was really happening in my now cacophonous kitchenette. The solid I had put in the microwave was becoming more like a liquid. The liquids I had emptied into the pan were becoming solid, at different rates. One was changing in color, the other was not. Perhaps most amazing, the liquid I had poured into the kettle was becoming a gas to signal me that the remaining liquid could be combined with a solid to form a deliciously energizing liquid. I was providing them all the same basic energy (heat), but each substance was drastically changing its physical makeup based on its chemical blueprint. Some were capable of returning to their former state (or very close to it). Some were dramatically and irreversibly changed forever.
You see, change isn't a variable. It's a constant. It happens whenever a stimulus acts on an element, a substance, or even a human being. What defines us is not whether we change, but how.
I think this is one of the things Costa Rican (or Nicaraguan) Lutherans may understand better than their North American counterparts. I'm not saying they've got it all together or even that they're better off on the whole; any of you who've spoken with me about this subject know I have my reservations, but I remember vividly one of the first hymns or songs I learned here. It simply translates, "Everything Changes." Click here for a full translation.
I've been wrestling with this idea myself, especially since coming back on December 30th from an incredible few weeks in my home country. I have to have changed. It would be impossible not to, and I think trying to understand those changes is vastly superior to denying their existence. I feel very much like the poet who penned this song: my loves have never wavered, but the fabric of my being (or at least its expression) must have. The last few weeks have been a bit dramatic; a fallen soldier, a suicide among my high school graduating class, a (distant) young relative being diagnosed with lymphoma, a week of new friends and rewarding work, and the vacation of a lifetime. It feels less like I'm on a roller coaster and more like I've gone through a washer/dryer combo. I'm trying to understand the inevitable changes through my own pen, and I'm sorry for those of you getting caught in the crossfire. It is my prayer that a disjointed rambling like this post will give you clarity or confusion: whichever will bring you closer to a greater awareness of yourself, your creator, and the world he put you into.
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