“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”
(Hebrews 12:1-2 NRSV) 

I went to the farm last week to help pour 5 ½ yards of concrete into what was once our milking parlor. Larry, Dad and Kenny are renovating the old parlor and making it into a storage room, complete with an overhead door (garage door style) so that supplies, seed and such can be brought into the room on pallets carried by our loader tractor. The pour itself only lasted about an hour, the work of finishing the room took a bit longer and, after completing some other odd jobs around the farm, I found myself with a bit of time in the late afternoon of a warm winter’s day – so I took a drive to the Darmstadt Cemetery.

Now, for most people a drive to the cemetery, any cemetery, isn’t exactly the way they would spend extra time, but (unapologetically) the Darmstadt Cemetery is one of my favorite places to go and think. There, among all of the tombstones, nearly in the center of the cemetery, is a large vacant space where no burials will ever occur. A large tree stands on the West edge of the space and one tombstone (the site of the first burial in the cemetery, J. Georg Heberer) is on the North side of the space, turned 90 degrees to all of the others in the cemetery, something of an honor I suppose. As I walk through that space, sometimes just standing there, quiet before God and listening, I hear the fullness of that space: the voices, mostly of German immigrants, gathered in worship singing the old, old story in a new, new land; voices of children running outside as parents share news of the day with each other after worship; the voices of preachers calling for faithfulness and dedication to God; and prayers quietly lifting heavenward on the lips of parents whose children’s graves dot the adjoining landscape, the cost of being sick in a place and time when there was little medical attention available.

That ‘empty’ space is the original site of the Holy Ghost Evangelical Church, organized in 1843. My memory of exact dates is not very clear, but, as the story goes, the first structure was built of wood, was struck by lightning and burnt down. The congregation decided to rebuild on the same spot and that structure, also built of wood, was blown down in the latter 1800’s by a tornado. A new structure, of brick, was built on the present site of the church in Darmstadt, which in the 1930’s was also blown down by a tornado. In that second tornado, the entire structure was blown down except for the bell tower, which still today anchors the building which was built in its place – from the rubble of the first building. Over the years I have heard the story, more than once, about the bricks being picked up one by one and the mortar from the first building being chipped off of the bricks by hand, then stacked, ready for placement in the ‘new’ building.

I walk in that space in awe and humility of those who first dared to say, ‘Here! Here we take a stand in our faith and choose to worship God.’ ‘Here! Here we dare to sing Hei-lig, hei-lig, hei-lig! Gott, E-wig Ba-ter! Hur’ wie dei-ner kin-der Lied dich Ew’-gen ftau-nend preift. Hei-lig, hei-lig, hei-lig! Gna-dig und all-mach-tig! Herr, Gott Je-ho-vah, Ba-ter, Son und Geift.’ ‘Here! Here we remember Whose we are in a land which knows little of us.’  

I walk in that space, in the midst of so great a cloud of witnesses, martyrs of the faith whose lives are known only by the names etched on stone with beginning and ending dates, yet whose faith lives on in the legacy of a congregation and a community who continues the song in a new, new way. There in that space I have dared to sing with them, to pray with them, to listen with them, to laugh with them, and to cry with them. There I hear the clopping of horse’s hooves pulling the wagon on the way to worship in the same instant that I hear the roaring of motors on the not-too-distant highway, carrying folks with ease to ‘distant’ lands. There I hear the chatter of children’s games once played out on the distant lawn, even as I hear the sound of squirrels barking at me from trees that once, long ago held the ropes of a tree swing no longer swaying in the breeze. There I am surrounded by the holy, the sacred, the perseverance of those whose Root was more than a place or a time and, there, I meet the martyrs, the cloud of witnesses who prod me mightily to be as bold, to be as faithful, to be as diligent – not to the building which once stood there, but to the God toward Whom the cross on the steeple still points today.

So it is that I invite you to enter into the Lenten journey this year: with the knowledge that you are not alone; with the comfort that those who have gone before have set a path of faithfulness not dependent upon traditions, but established in ongoing discernment of God’s Will for this place and time; with an awe of Whose fields it is that you are entering; and, with a wonder of Who it is that works with you side by side. I encourage you to enter this time quietly, respectfully, attentively: Listening with all of the care that you would give to the smallest of baby’s coos, breathing in the very Breath of God as God’s Spirit reveals in this age the Love that stands for evermore. I encourage you, in the midst of lightning’s terror, in the midst of tornado’s power, in the midst of changing times, to drink deeply from the Creek, which runs right down the center of this journey, the Stream of God’s own Goodness pouring out that your every thirst would be quenched, your every hope be heard, and your every prayer be answered.

Come. If ever your soul longed to be a part of the very God who forms you: Come. If ever you wondered what it would be like to see Salvation: Come. If ever you uttered a word that only your heart understood and you prayed that God would understand: Come.

Jesus is waiting on the path for you, the path to Jerusalem, the path to the salvation of your soul. Come . . . and may the cloud of witnesses, the martyrs of the faith throughout all the years, go with you always. Come . . . cemeteries may be a nice place to visit, think and pray, but faith is lived in community and now, in this season of repentance and reconciliation, is the time to gather as God’s growing congregation in this land of the living. Come. The martyrs have shown you the way in Christ, so dare to sing their song in a new land, Holy, Holy, Holy! Lord God Almighty! Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee: Holy, Holy, Holy! Merciful and mighty! God in Three Persons, blessed Trinity!