St. Paul's Episcopal Church

St. Paul's Episcopal Church
425 Cleveland Ave SW
Canton, Ohio 44702
Phone: 330-455-0286
Fax: 330-455-9818
E-mail: office@stpaulscanton.org

23 Pentecost
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Canton OH
I Kings 17:8-16, Psalm 146, Mark 12:38-44

November 8, 2009
The Rev. Barbara L Bond

From so little, so much

From so little, comes so much. I love the story from Elijah – it sounds a little like the story of “stone soup” – you know, where the hobo says he is making soup by placing a stone in water, and bringing it to a boil. And each person who comes along adds a little more, maybe some carrots, maybe a turnip, perhaps a little barley – and eventually, with the participation of many people adding just a bit, a real soup emerges. A story of community and faith and participation. When Elijah encounters a poor widow, she claims she has nothing, but she acts in faith to his request, and receives abundance. The Gospel story likewise tells us to cherish whatever contributions we can make to the good of the whole. A poor widow contributes a small amount, but it is a high percentage of her income. Jesus praises her generosity. Her small contribution becomes a great example. From so little, comes so much.

I am remembering this day, 20 years ago. In 1989, the early days of November were charged with emotion in Europe. What had started as a small movement was growing. People had been gathering in churches in Eastern European countries, had been meeting with a small hope that was growing. The people met, and encouraged each other, and streamed into the streets in demonstrations. I had been watching the newspapers for days, wondering where this could lead. On November 9, 20 years ago tomorrow, it came to a head. I woke up in America the next morning, Nov. 10, and casually turned on the televised news. And I could hardly believe my eyes. People were dancing on top of the Berlin wall. Tears came to my eyes – and still do whenever I think about it. The fall of the Berlin wall, 20 years ago tomorrow, was, and remains, a huge symbol of change, of redemption, of something huge coming out of something small.

Berlin itself is a potent symbol. The city is now about 770 years old, with an interesting history, but its 20th century history has been riveting to the whole world. Towards the end of World War II, the Allied Powers, quite sure they would win the war with Germany, made plans to divide up Germany after the war. The problem was who was at the negotiating table: England, the United States, France and (dum-ta-dum-dum) the Soviet Union, represented by Stalin.    I guess the other three were a little naïve, but the division of Germany became a nightmare that played into Stalin’s hands. Imagine Germany like a big circle, divided into quarters. One quarter to each of the Allies. The Soviet Quarter is where the capital city, Berlin was located. And Berlin was divided into four parts, too. The result: Three-quarters of Berlin, which we called West Berlin, was an island in the middle of Soviet-controlled East Germany. The safety of West Berlin became an international issue almost immediately. In 1948 the Soviets blockaded West Berlin from the rest of West Germany, the population faced starvation, and Americans rushed to help by airlifting supplies to the populace. The Berliners have not forgotten this generosity. The island of West Berlin was always vulnerable, but the situation worsened considerably on August 13, 1961, when the Soviets and their puppets, the East German regime, built a wall around West Berlin, to prevent Easterners from escaping to the West. The wall went up overnight, and shocked the world. Our U.S. president, John Kennedy, flew to Berlin, to hold their hand, and declared himself and the western world to be in solidarity with them. I’m a Berliner, he declared. The Berliners have not forgotten what he said.

Six years later, in 1967, I went to live in West Berlin for ten years. In 1968, the Soviet-ruled troops marched into Prague, Czechoslovakia, to crush a movement for freedom. The Berliners panicked – and rushed to the same city square where Kennedy had spoken seven years before, now named John F. Kennedy Platz, where they waited to see if they would be next. But no, there was no move into West Berlin. They remained a nervous center, however, for themselves, and for the world. The American military was a strong presence in Berlin, a major deterrent against East-Block incursion. Berliners were grateful for their presence.

Living in West Berlin, behind the wall, was something of a surreal experience for me. We all developed a kind of black humor, and joked about the precariousness of the city’s position. I remember telling someone, “Oh, don’t worry. You can’t get lost in Berlin. Eventually you run into The Wall!” But I felt strongly about the city and its people.

And thus when that telecast came, the morning of Nov. 10, 1989, I was moved to tears of joy, and thankfulness for the perseverance of the free world in guarding this small piece of real estate, this powerful symbol of freedom and resilience.

And now I want to tell you about my first trip back. About three months after the Berlin Wall fell, I was offered a free plane ticket to Germany. In early February, 1990, I flew to Hamburg, and from there took a train to Berlin. It was an odd train ride. Back when the wall around East Germany up still standing, the train took forever – stopping at the borders, with East German border guards giving the passengers surly looks and growled instructions. This time, though, the border military didn’t seem to know what to do, since the rules had changed, and all the passengers and the guards themselves were a little giddy. And we didn’t stop at the borders. The train arrived in the center of West Berlin, the old Zoo station where I had been many, many times before, but that day it looked very different. As I walked out of the station, I was accosted by opportunists – people rushed up to me offering to exchange money. Since the East German monetary system had collapsed along with the wall, the exchange rate was in a curious state of flux, and these folks were trying to take advantage of it. I was not interested in exchanging money. I just wanted to see the church.

The center of Berlin holds an old relic, a bombed out church, left in ruins after World War II, left that way on purpose, with a modern church built around it, as a powerful symbol of the destructive power of war. It is a major landmark in the middle of West Berlin, and because I seemed to be afloat in a surreal situation, I was desperate to see the church, to know that I was REALLY there. But I had to walk through a sea of money changers to get to the church. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere. But I did indeed find what I was looking for, and immediately felt grounded.

The next day, my old friends in Berlin could hardly wait to tell me about it, how they had popped champagne bottles at the Brandenburg Gate on Nov. 9, about the fireworks and jubilation. They took me to a portion of the wall – it was still standing, but in pieces – and they handed me a hammer and a chisel. And I pounded on that damn wall for all my might, sending chunks flying. Here is one of them. It is red, because that part of the wall had a mural on it, and this is red paint, but to me it symbolizes all the blood spilled by East Berliners trying to escape tyranny by climbing over the wall. It is like the blood of martyrs.

Thank you for listening to my reminiscences. In them is tied up enormous gratitude to the military personnel who guarded the city, to the resilient spirit of the people themselves, to the resistance that started in East European churches, to the spirit of God at work in so many ways. I feel privileged to have had these first-hand experiences, and I can say to you, whatever is challenging you in your life: remember Berlin, remember those 28 years of captivity behind a wall, remember that God works for good, remember that from something small, something great can come.

AMEN