My grandmother's faith and the bread of life

The following is the sermon I gave Aug. 19, 2012, at Central Lutheran. It's the story of my grandmother's life and faith, combined with the text for that day, John 6:51-58, where Jesus says that he is the true bread from heaven. Those who abide in him, eat and drink of him, will have eternal life.

Grandma and I in 2006, with a prayer shawl from Central Lutheran

Before my sabbatical earlier this year, I knew very little about the life and faith story of my paternal grandmother, Janina Smith. I knew she was a survivor of a Soviet work camp during World War II and that she was separated from most of her family at a very young age. I knew she was a kind and loving grandmother who baked cookies, showed up at our concerts and sporting events and encouraged us to follow the path in life that would make us truly happy. I never asked her about her life or faith because my parents told me not to bother her. She died five years ago. On sabbatical, I finally viewed a video of my grandmother talking about her life and her faith. I also did an extensive interview with my aunt Barb, her daughter. Here's what I learned.

She was born in Jasna, Poland, which is now in the Ukraine, in 1926, the youngest of six children, five girls and one boy. In September of 1939, Nazi Germany invaded Poland from the West and the Soviet army invaded from the East. During the years of 1939-1941, as many as 1 million Polish people were either killed or deported to work camps in Siberia. In 1940, my grandmother and her family were taken. She was 14 years old.

Her family lived on a small farm. On the night the soldiers came, only her father, three sisters and one brother were home. Her mother was staying with her older sister, husband and family and helping look after the little ones. It was winter. Her father work them up one morning saying, “Children, wake up, there are soldiers coming.” A dog was barking. They watched the soldiers coming closer. They knocked and came in without waiting for an invitation. They searched her father and brother for guns, found nothing and ordered them to start packing. A soldier stood over them with a gun. They packed – bedding, clothes, food. The rest was left behind. My grandma remembers crying and being so confused what was happening. Then the bobsleds started coming and took them to the train depot, where they were loaded into boxcars, four families to a car.

It was a plain wooden boxcar, with some wooden bunks for sleeping. The train was headed for the next town, Lwow, where my grandma's older sister lived. One of their neighbors had escaped, Grandma doesn't know how, and was able to go to her sister's house, tell them what happened and tell them to meet up at the train station.

When they stopped at Lwow, my grandma's mother, older sister and her family met them there. They saw them through cracks in the windows. They screamed for each other. Soldiers opened the door. The ones outside of the train begged to join their family. The soldiers said no, and slammed the door. My grandmother said, “It was a terrible thing. There was not a thing we could do. It was a terrible day.” She never saw her mother again.

When the train crossed the Polish/Soviet border, everyone cried. People were praying and singing Polish religious songs. But the train kept going. They were cold. There was no privacy, though some Polish ladies had set up a curtained area in one of the boxcars for a bathroom. They were served a thin soup that smelled like fish and shared what little food they had brought along. Babies would cry. Some people died on the train. The soldiers would open the boxcar and haul out the bodies. They asked if there would be a funeral and the soldiers said, no, they would just put them all in one big hole. “It was very scary,” my grandma said. They were on that train for over a month. Then they arrived in Siberia.

They were assigned a small house, and several families shared it. My grandma said the only thing they could see was timber, timber and sky. Everyone went to work, except my grandmother, who was deemed too young, and another sister, Agnescia, who was sick with a kidney infection. Even so, it fell to Agnescia and my grandmother to do the cooking. They got one piece of bread about six inches long that was supposed to last for the whole week. They got a little bit of rice, barley and a few potatoes. Agnescia made a thin soup. It wasn't enough.

Grandma said: “It was pretty rough. We didn't know how long it was going to be or how many of us were going to survive. But we all Polish people stuck together and tried to help one another. And prayed that someday will come some kind of relief. Somebody will ask for us.”

After work, they went to meetings. Attendance was mandatory and the agenda was propaganda. The Soviets told them how lucky they were and how good they had it at the camp. They told them there was no God, that Stalin was a god. They told them that whenever they saw hair grow on their palms, that's the day they would see Poland again. Grandma said they just looked at each other and hoped it wasn't true.

Grandma got by one year without working, but the next year she was deemed old enough. She worked from sunup to sundown, picking up brush and burning it and collecting sap from trees. They got a lot of cheap labor out of us, she said. Her family was there for more than two years. At some point along the way, her sister Agnescia died. She doesn't go into detail about it.

Finally, relief came. Grandma credits Winston Churchill and FDR for their liberation. They were sent somewhere in Asia first, Grandma doesn't say where, then the family was sent to Iran, where the Red Cross provided for them. Unfortunately, Grandma wasn't strong enough to go on to Iran right away; she was held back because she was too sick. She could barely move her legs; she was skin and bones. She was starving to death. When she was finally nursed back to health, she was sent to Iran, but her family was gone. The Red Cross sent people wherever there was room – Argentina, Brazil and Africa. Her sisters Marie and Honia and their father were sent to Kenya. Her brother volunteered for the British Army and later died in the D-Day invasion. One of my cousins found his grave in Loreto, Italy. My grandma's father didn't want to stay in Africa and eventually set out for Poland, where his wife and oldest daughter still lived. He got as far as London, where he died of pneumonia. No one in my family knows where he is buried.

Meanwhile, my grandmother was alone in Iran, though there were other Polish refugees there. She signed up to work as a waitress in a US Army mess hall for officers. There she met a young technical sergeant from Iowa there who was in charge of the warehouse of food and supplies. They fell in love and had to cross the border into Iraq to get married because that was the nearest US embassy. The date was June 15, 1946. When they both finally got back to Iowa (traveling separately), they started their new life together in rural Northeast Iowa. They farmed 240 acres and had four children. I am the eldest daughter of their eldest son, and I was raised on that same 240 acres and in the same house. My grandmother would return to Poland four times as an adult, but she didn't make it while her mother was still alive. Those were the days of the Cold War and travel to Poland was forbidden. My grandma wrote letters to her mother and her eldest sister in Poland, sending money and gifts. They later found out the money never made it. My grandmother did reunite with the three sisters who survived the war, but they all preceded her in death. She also remained close with her nieces and nephews, who live in Toronto, Chicago and Australia. Someday, I hope to visit them where they live.

My grandparents were very much in love. When my grandmother was dying of pancreatic cancer in 2007, she took my grandfather by the shoulders and said, “make sure you eat good and don't go down those basement steps.” She died in 2007; my grandfather followed in 2008, still carrying a picture of her in his wallet and telling everyone that she was the most beautiful girl and the most wonderful wife.

These past few weeks we've been focusing on the bread of life text from John 6. We've heard about Jesus feeding the 5,000 and about the throngs of people who follow him, looking for bread but missing the sign that Jesus himself is God incarnate and that Jesus will feed them with his own self. This week, Jesus makes the shocking statement that moves us from bread and fish to flesh and blood. He's not just a magician who multiplies, but he is the one who feeds us by getting into us in a real and tangible way.

John 6:56 may be the heart of the whole thing: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” John uses the word “abide” 40 times in his gospel, though sometimes it's translated “remain” or “stay.” The body and blood of Jesus reminds us in a tangible way that Jesus abides in us. Maybe the harder thing to realize is that we also abide in God. Abiding goes both ways and it lasts forever. You belong to God and you abide in God. That is the good news.

You can never really know another person's faith. You can only hear their stories and see the fruit that is their life's work. I never asked my grandma about her faith; I sure wish I had. But my aunt Barb did and she said that my grandmother was never bitter. Raised, Catholic, Grandma kept the picture of the Virgin Mary up in her bedroom and a rosary on her dresser, even though she and Grandpa attended the Methodist church near their home. Though they attended for years, it wasn't until my grandmother was sick that my grandfather finally decided to get baptized. He was 87 years old. Grandma said that her faith helped her survive the ordeal in Siberia. The one thing the Soviets couldn't take from them was their faith. My grandmother forgave the soldiers and chose not to be angry with God. She said that God didn't take them to Siberia. I would add: God was abiding with her from Siberia to Iran to Iowa.

Someone once said that Christianity is the most incarnational religion. We have a God who came down to earth and was incarnate, born, of woman. He lived, breathed, ate, laughed, cried, suffered and died. Now we eat of this bread and drink of this cup, as a way of getting Jesus inside of us. Then we go out, and serve as as Jesus' hands and feet in this world. As my Grandma learned, when God is in you this deeply and you are in God, there is no one and no thing that can pull you away from the safe place where you truly abide. Amen.

Grandma's story: Coming August 19

I'm not a fan of shameless self-promotion, but since many of you have asked, I'm letting you know that I'll be telling my grandmother's faith story as part of the sermon on Sunday, Aug. 19, at Central Lutheran. The service starts at 9:30 AM. I'll also be speaking about the texts of the day, from Proverbs, Ephesians and John 6.

Victory Bible Camp, Day 5

We're gathered.

Casta, Karen and our blueberry haul.

Today's theme at Bible camp was unity in Christ. That's unity, not uniformity. Since I was the only pastor left standing (read: here) I did the message at morning worship. I told two true stories about times when people helped me who were "unlikely suspects." Then I told the story of the Good Samaritan. We talked about how God made us different and that's a good thing. We all have different gifts, which is something to celebrate instead of fear.

I was tired this morning, since I was up late last night with some drama in the middle school girls cabin. A couple of girls were fighting and pulled others into it. When two of the counselors came over to find me (it was almost 11 pm), I walked back with them into a cabin FILLED with girls in a circle. I said a few words, prayed and dismissed everyone except the original two. We talked, they apologized, we all prayed and then went to bed (or at least I did). Whew. I thought about when I was in middle school. Everything was SO IMPORTANT and conflicts were TRAGIC. Whew.

This morning, another tragedy, but of the real kind. I got a Facebook message this morning from a member of Central to tell me this news: a woman in our congregation lost two sisters in a canoe accident in Eagle River yesterday. The husband of one of the sisters survived. I can't imagine the shock and sorrow. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. I talked to her today and there are no words.

I also spent time on the phone today following up with one of the parents from the bullying situation yesterday.

Today was the last full day at camp. The weather was gorgeous, again! Campers spent their free time down at the waterfront on the boats and others bounced around in the gym on inflatables. I took another hike today on the ridge line above camp. Karen, Casta and I picked enough blueberries to fill Karen's hat; she promised to make jam enough to share.

Donovan in a skit at campfire tonight.

We had our last campfire this evening. Along with the usual songs and silliness, we also did a serious skit called "The Body Shop." It's the one where a person complains about not being happy with their body so they go to a "body shop" to try on a new one. Others are standing in various poses (athletic, musical, academic) and the person goes from one to another, "trying" them on. In the end, she decides her own one is the best. It's a good lesson, for all of us really, when we get distracted and wished we had someone else's gift, talent or ability.

Counselor Kevin and his duct tape shoes.

Now I'm sitting in Spruce Lodge, gathering place of the middle schoolers, for a talent show. Calvin just did a Justin Bieber impression and we're in the middle of a skit about goats that I don't understand. It's obvious the kids are having a blast, which is probably about all that matters.

Molly and Hanna Irish dancing at the talent show.

Victory Bible Camp, Day 3 and 4

The view from camp

We're Forgiven.
We're Loved.

Those were themes for yesterday and today, respectively, at Lutheran Summer Camp at Victory.

Matanuska Glacier

I didn't write last night because I was too exhausted. It's the middle of the week now, and things start to fray a little at the edges. The kids are getting tired. Some bicker and fight with each other. The big one happened yesterday and I can't talk too much about it on a public blog. Let's just say this: one middle school kid accused another of some pretty serious bullying. Investigation ensued, complete with conversations with parents. It was pretty exhausting. Meanwhile, I was dealing with a couple of things back home with very poor cell phone service, "Can you hear me now?" What does God's love and forgiveness mean in all of this? I'm consistently shocked at how mean kids can be to each other. We spend the morning and night singing songs about God's love. I hope someone is listening.

Hiking to the fossil fields with Karen, Kathy and Casta

On a brighter note, the weather yesterday (Tuesday) was incredible. Kathy Freeman and I offered to take kids and adults on a hike up to the fossil beds above camp. We got mostly adult takers and it was a wonderful time. Karen Emmel, who was a geologist in a former life, joined us and gave us great background in rock formations and glacial actions. We talked a lot on the hike about how our faith is big enough to believe in God and evolution, the constant presence of God in our lives and the slow-moving shift of the earth's crust as mountains and valleys are slowly made over millions of years. It's all part of the great mystery.

I'm amazed every year at the beauty of the valley where the camp rests. I went running this afternoon on a ridge line above camp. Below me, the Matanuska River flowed by and I could see the ribbon of the Glenn Highway below.  Across from me and much higher, there was another mountain range, with snow on its farthest reaches. It's all so big and any problems in my life seem pretty small.

Even though we may wonder if the kids are paying attention, worship time is becoming more and more rich. Kids are getting to know the songs and the belt them out. Our high school counselors are great at participating and getting the kids to do the same. I watched one high school counselor gently squeeze between a few misbehaving kids at campfire last night. I watched another counselor volunteer quickly during Bible study to participate in Bible readings and acting out a skit. We tell these high school that camp isn't about them, it's about the kids. It's true, in a way, but there's also some incredible formation and leadership that's being learned here. 

Lutheran Summer Camp, Day 2

We're gifted.

That was the theme of the day here at Lutheran Summer Camp, here at Victory Bible Camp, somewhere along the Glenn Highway between Palmer and Glenallen. Did I mention it's gorgeous here?

In case you've never been to Lutheran Summer Camp, here's what we do all day.

Breakfast
Morning worship (lots of camp songs, skit by counselors, message by a pastor, prayers, more songs)
Bible study
Small groups
Games
Lunch
Free time (more on that later)
Dinner
Counselor staff meeting
Games (again)
Campfire
A little bit of of free time
Lights out

Ladies and gentlemen, we're here all week.

As camp pastor, I lead the Bible study. I do the Middle School, which is great because I really like middle school students. They're smart, they can think abstractly, they're discovering things and questioning things and they're not quite adults but not quite kids.

Bible study today went well. We read John 14, where Jesus tells the disciples he's going away but sending them the Advocate. We talked about how God is our advocate and when they have seen someone advocating for them or they have advocated for someone else. We talked about what advocacy is and how even kids can do it. I had them write in their prayer journals about these questions. The kids listened during Bible study, participated and then kept mostly quiet during journal time.

During free time, kids have a lot of options. They can visit the snack shop, go swimming in the lake, play games or play in the gym. On certain days we have special activities, like hiking, horseback rides and inflatables (last year it was sumo suits, not sure what this year has in store).

This year, I took the swim test, which is mandatory if one wants to swim in the lake (burr!) or use any of the boats or kayaks. This is no small feat (for me) since the water is FREEZING and I'm a below-average swimmer. For some reason, I decided this is the summer I'm doing things that previously scared me (see Crow Pass), so I took the plunge.

I watched two girls from Central take the test before me, then I did it. It was darn cold. I had to swim back and forth and tread water. As I got close to the end, my muscles really started shutting down and I had to force myself to keep moving. I can see how people drown in Alaska waters. It's very cold and sobering. I'm pretty excited about the plastic bracelet on my wrist, though. And I got to paddle around on the "funyaks."

We had some rain today, but it cleared up as evening came on. By the time we had campfire, the sun was peaking out a bit and the clouds were moving off the mountains nearby. On one of the taller peaks, there was a little termination dust. The mountains reflect in the lake that we can see from the campfire site. It's God's glory, all over the place.

At campfire, we sing more camp songs, see a silly skit and hear another message. I'm up there playing guitar with a couple other adult leaders. I can see the mountains reflected in the lake, feel the warmth of the fire on my side and hear the kids singing praise songs at the top of their lungs. This is why I come to camp. This is why we all come to camp. We're gifted.

Lutheran Summer Camp, The First Day

Just off Mile 95 of the Glenn Highway, past Palmer, Sutton and Chickaloon, and out in the middle of a range of gorgeous mountains, sits Victory Bible Camp. For most of the summer, the non-denominational camp runs its own programs. For one week of the summer, the Lutherans take over. It's Lutheran Summer Camp week, people!

I'm writing from Victory Bible Camp now, where the Wifi is great but the cell service is not. This is my fourth (I think) summer at camp.

I never went to Bible Camp as a kid, but I did go to 4-H Camp. I remember that I was terribly homesick and cried a lot. Then, as a college student, I worked at a Lutheran Bible Camp in Eastern Iowa (EWALU). I was a counselor and a program coordinator for three summers. It was a transformational time. I fell in love with hiking and camping. I learned to play guitar, find God in outdoor worship and how to improvise in front of a group of kids.

Now I'm the camp pastor. There are other youth directors and adult volunteers, too. We have about 40 campers from Lutheran churches across Anchorage. We also have about 12 high school youth serving as counselors.

The theme for this week is "Spirit Life." We're using the curriculum from the ELCA's national office. It's decent curriculum, though it's a little hard to teach about the Holy Spirit. I mean, it's pretty abstract for kids to get their brains around. It's hard for adults, too.

Here's the theme verse: "There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all." -- Ephesians 4:4-6

Here are the themes for each day: We're Gifted; We're Forgiven; We're Loved; We're Gathered; We're Sent. There are corresponding Bible verses for each day. I wish they were action-packed stories, but most are just reflections on the aspects of the Holy Spirit. I'll try to jazz it up a bit in Bible study.

I hope the kids have a good week. I always wonder about them as they arrive. Are they nervous? Excited? Intimidated? Do they know anything about God? Do they think church stuff is boring? I don't know what goes on inside their heads, but I do know they usually have a blast here. They laugh a lot. They sing songs and do hand motions. They splash around in the lake. They run and play games. They learn, I hope, that God loves them and so do we. They learn, I hope, that worship can be fun, that you can praise God outside and that God is with them, here and everywhere.