Jews: From Prejudice to Partnership

I will be forever grateful for the habits and values I was taught by my parents and the small rather isolated German Lutheran community in which I was raised. From my parents, peers and elders I learned faith, honor, love of country, the importance of work and thrift and the need to care for others. Unfortunately that same community planted within me some seeds which were poisonous and hurtful.

Among those evil convictions is the scourge of prejudice. I grew up with seriously erroneous stereotypes and prejudices. I recall that when an adult from another branch of the Lutheran Church joined our particular branch of the Lutheran Church we described the process as “adult conversion”. I was not even allowed to compete in softball against the neighboring Catholic parochial school lest I become contaminated by their heresies. I could nor possibly imagine that a black person would ever be smart enough to be a lawyer. Persons whose sexual orientation was anything other than straight were evil misfits to be identified only by sexist slurs and to be avoided at all costs.

Jews were, of course, completely outside the pale and I was fed all the usual stereotypes. I had never met a Jew. I do remember being told that a Jewish merchant had opened a store in the near-by county seat and I mused, “I wonder what a Jew looks like? Would he just naturally charge me more for his goods because I was non-Jewish?”

It took me entirely too long to change. That change was facilitated by (among other things) some wonderful encounters with Jewish persons. I recall that when my wife Jane and I were living in Hong Kong she was diagnosed with a possible cerebral aneurysm. We were ordered back to the States immediately. Because of my involvement with The Hong Kong International School word of our distress reached the American community. I had been home from the hospital only a matter of hours before the phone rang. The voice on the other end said, “Mr. Kieschnick, my name is Jacob Rothstein. I don’t know if you remember me. We met a few weeks ago. But I have heard of your wife’s medical situation. She needs the best neurosurgeon in the world. He is at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York. I will introduce you and he will see your wife the moment she arrives at the hospital. And”, he added, "should you need help with paying for those airline tickets or for your wife’s medical care, just let me know. I will be pleased to assist.”

Later I conducted a Clergy Effectiveness Seminar for the Chaplains of the US Air Force. It was not surprising that the Protestants and also the Catholic chaplains asked me to join them for noonday prayer. What I appreciated especially though was when the lone Rabbi there invited me to join him in his prayer rituals, at the end of which he presented me with a gift copy of his personal prayer book, a book which I treasure to this day.

Personal contacts kept coming. When I served The Lutheran Schools of Metropolitan New York there was almost always a law suit or a threat of one for one our 51 schools. I always knew exactly whom to contact, namely, probably the best school law attorney in the state, Howard Capell. He always had time. And for me and many of my colleagues, a great deal of it was pro bono. “I care about your mission and your service to those urban kids” was all the explanation he chose to give. He is still one of my closest personal friends.

In all my dealings with the state or federal education offices I found personal and professional support from the Orthodox and the Reformed and from Agudath Israel.

Then it got even closer. One of our sons married a Jewish woman whom we love dearly. Next month a granddaughter will marry her Jerusalem born fiancé in a ritual presided over by her Christian pastor and his Jewish rabbi.

It is not just the Chinese who have taught me “Within the four sea all are brothers and sisters.”

And the Little Moments

My wife Jane still has that little book called “Select Songs for School and Home “: It has a Concordia Publishing House copyright date of 1922. I guess it is more than 70 years ago that I learned one of the songs-and it still resides gently in my consciousness. A few of the lines read: “Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the beauteous land.” Next verse: “And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity”

I have been reflecting on a few of “those little moments” today. I have had a bunch of them this week. I wasn’t even out of the sanctuary yet on Sunday when a friend stopped me. “Hey. Mel, on that trip you’re taking to China in a couple months. Got your ticket yet? Just send me the confirmation number and I will use some of my Frequent Flyer miles to upgrade you to Business Class. (What a nice moment.)

On Monday we took an excursion to the Anza Borrego Desert. I stood among the cactae, the unusually bountiful and beautiful spring colored flowers, the expanse of sand and rocks and hills - and for just a moment I was in contact with eons of time, the change from ocean floor to desert, the Indians, the Spaniards and us all. (For just a moment I was in touch with the ages of the universe.)

Yesterday I played golf with a new golfing buddy. For months we had been challenging each other about who will beat whom when we finally play. As we got to the last holes and I just needed a couple pars to shoot my age and I was lining up a long putt, I actually felt this new partner rooting for me to get it home (A simple, yet warm moment.)

Just few minutes ago we had a simple lunch. I once again made a tuna salad. Once again I had to ask Jane what she wanted and didn’t want in the salad. And she, oh so gently, told me for the 125th time” just tuna, celery and a little salt.’ No reminders about how often she had told me that, or any half humorous comment on long and or short-term memory. Just another repetition of what she has told me so often. (Another little moment to give a gentle positive stir in the soul.)

“And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages of eternity.”

Lahore, Pakistan: Pain, Pleasure and Prayer

The headline screams: 43 Killed in Pakistan Blasts. The story gives the details. Suicide bombers hit a military section and the crowded market known as the R. A. Bazaar in Lahore, Pakistan. I read the details of another wave of violence carried out by Islamic extremist. Even though I am removed by time and distance from the place and the events, I hurt inside.

Twenty years ago I was in that Lahore bazaar and in recalling it my mind floods with pleasant memories. I had done a series of workshops in Karachi with school, business and religious leaders from around the country. As I neared the end of my stay my host offered to fly me to Lahore. A class member said her uncle lived there and would be my host. And what a gracious host he was. He welcomed me to his home. Dinner was set before us and his wife who cooked it hurried back into the kitchen for it was deemed inappropriate for this woman to be in our presence while we ate. As I got better acquainted I told my host that I enjoyed the meal. And I asked for permission to personally tell his wife that. He agreed and said it was okay for me to have a conversation with her- with him as interpreter.

The next day was tour day. My host showed me the marvelous centuries- old beautiful sites of Lahore. He took me to the famous Shalimar Gardens. While there he explained that it was the hour of prayer so he took out his prayer mat, knelt on the grass and prayed.
We shared our faith with mutual respect.

Later he offered to take me shopping for some take-home souvenirs. To my surprise he invited his wife to join us. She watched me but said nothing as I bought a small brass vase to take home. Then she disappeared. A little later she returned with an identical vase. “These would make a nice pair,” she said.” I think your wife would enjoy these side by side.”

When I left the next day she came to say good-bye. Her husband translated for her. She asked him to thank me: I was the only non-Pakistani male with whom she had ever
spoken. Together they gave me a peacock feather as a symbol of a brief but beautiful friendship.

And now I read of that beautiful city being blown up in the name of God. My prayers go to a God of all creation, whom I know desires peace upon earth.

Morning Newspaper Antidote

Reading the morning newspaper can lead one to a feeling of sickness. The one I read yesterday is a good example. The lead stories were about the discovery of the body of a missing teen-ager. This came just days after the discovery of another one. Both from the near-by relatively small city of Escondido. Moving from local news to national was not more uplifting: “Kidnap Victim still Missing.” “Dr. and Wife Accused of Killing Dozens” “Drunk Driver Kills Teen-ager in Car Accident”. I try the international section and you know that story: “Car bombing in Baghdad, IUD Kills 12 in Kabul, Anarchy in Somalia, Starvation in Darfur”. My whole body and soul scream for for relief.

I find it. I say good-bye to visiting friends. They have with them their 50-year-old mentally retarded daughter. For 50 years they have cuddled her, taught her, nursed her, been patient with her, helped her smile. Then as I leave my apartment I see one of our neighbors entering another door. “Oh”, she tells me, “Mary has not been feeling well. I am bringing her some food.” I take my morning walk. A young father is jogging along- side his dog and is pushing a wheelchair. It holds the slumping head of his son, severely deformed, unable to walk. But the father’s stride is confident exuding care. “Beautiful day for a walk with my little one” is how he greets me. As I return to my house after the walk I see Chuck patiently, oh so patiently, walking to the dining room with his wife whom I know to have Alzheimer’s. He greets me with a cheery ,“Good morning. Isn’t this a nice day!” Jane and I have our morning prayers and at the end she says, “Just give me one more kiss. I love you so much!”

So, yes, I will continue to read the daily newspaper and more importantly, I will also look for those body and soul restoring antidotes of love, patience, care and respect.

Community

I have rust returned from a national Conference for Lutheran School Administrators. It was held in New Orleans. While there I attended two excellent workshops. I’m proud to say they were led by my nephew Kevin on the topic of “Lutheran School in Community.” One of the great illustrations he shared was that at the school where his children attend there is a Friday afternoon ritual. The kids from the two upper grades take the last half hour each Friday to walk their community and pick up trash. They do more than pick up trash. They meet the neighbors. They ask questions. They share short stories and warm greetings. Slowly the blocks around the school are embracing the school and the feeling is mutual.

It reminded me of another very different urban community. Years ago I sat in a tenement house apartment in upper Harlem in New York. I was meeting with parents and other community leaders who were concerned that the local Lutheran school (School on the Hill) which had served them for a long time was in danger of closing. In the midst of our discussion they shared how the kids who attended there were watched over by the community

They said to me “You know Mrs. Jones. She runs the newspaper kiosk at the end of that school street. She watches each kid that walks to by her shop on the way to school.” And they said, “You know around the corner is good soul Mr. Smith. He just sits on his stoop every morning and afternoon and he knows those kids by name.” A third chimed in, “The one we really like is Mr. Waters. He makes sure he walks his dog just before and after school. Those kids all know that big Rottweiler and that dog loves those kids. Nobody messes around with a kid wearing a School on the Hill uniform!”

When the meeting ended quite a bit later and I was at the door, one of them gently and firmly grabbed me by my arm and said, “Let me just walk with you to your car. I noticed you parked it on 145th Street. “

Unfortunately there was new leadership at the school. The pastor was too busy with whatever he thought was more important than to ever meet the Smiths or the Waters. They weren’t even members of the congregation. The principal saved 10 cents a day by bringing his own water rather than picking it up at the kiosk. He worried about a guy who seemed to just sit on his stoop all day. Before long the school closed.

Yet I thank God for what it once was. Years later I was sitting in a TV studio being made-up for an interview. The person doing the job was a real pro. Then she said to me, “I heard you were with the Lutheran schools. I could just cry when I think about the one I attended. We were a community. Everybody (even the pastor, whose name was Pr. Clem Sabourin) knew my name. We looked after each other. We shared dreams and stories of faith. And the reason I want to cry is because I went to a Lutheran school about which you may never have heard. It was called the School on the Hill and next to my family it is God’s greatest gift to me. “

Always the Unexpected

It was spring of 1950. About 100 of us were excitedly assembled in that large oval room on the ground floor of the Administration Building at Concordia Teachers College, River Forest, Illinois. We were there to receive our “Solemn Calls”. In those days the church-wide Council of Presidents (Bishops Conference) had met with the appropriate college and seminary placement directors. They had assembled all the requests from congregations across the church for the assignment of officially approved “ teaching ministers of religion”. Those decisions had been made without further consultation with the candidates (that what we were called). Each of us was assigned to a particular congregation or other church entity. The assumption was that each candidate would accept the assignment as made.

The suspense in the room was great. None of us knew where we would be assigned or what our specific duties would be. Previous to this we had, of course, met with our Placement Directors and discussed our gifts, our preferences and any unusual circumstances affecting our placement. For me there was really only one over riding question “To which Lutheran church and school in Texas would I be assigned?” The general consensus of the time was that Texans would be assigned to Texas congregations.

I dutifully waited until my name was called and the Placement Director announced “ Melvin Kieschnick, St. Paul Lutheran Church and School, Tracy, California “. Within 72 hours I informed St. Paul’s that I was their newly assigned principal/teacher/youth director and that I was prayerfully accepting their call.

The surprises kept coming;. When once a month I found myself collecting newspapers from garages throughout Tracy I wondered if that was part of the “divine call“, but I really needed to raise the money somehow to pay for curtains in the classroom so that I could effectively operate that brand new film strip projector. I unexpectedly played basketball in the city league as part of a team sponsored by a not very reputable pool hall and filled in as preacher when my pastor’s alcohol problems kept him out of the pulpit. I learned that one really could complete a Master’s thesis if one’s spouse was willing to type after midnight.

The unexpected never stopped. When, without prior consultationwith me, the Church’s Foreign Mission Board extended me a call to Hong Kong. I had to locate a map to find out where Hong Kong was. Once there I learned to take in stride visits to the poorest of the poor among the refugees in hillside huts and to go from there to a formal party for the British Queen at the Governor’s Mansion.

An unexpected cerebral aneurysm in my wife’s brain brought me back to the Sates and to roles as divergent as leadership for a Churchwide Capital Funds Drive to District School Superintendency, to national churchwide offices, to parent training around the world and to the privilege of serving Lutheran schools in the South Bronx, Long Island and other parts of the Metro New York area.

Even in retirement the surprises never stop and all of them flow from One whom I believe has both a sense of humor and wonderful surprises!


*NOTE: This is one in a series of six blog entries related to a presentation I will make at the 2010 Lutheran Education Association National Administrators Conference in New Orleans in February 2010.

Following that event my blog will again be more in the” All Things Considered category”.

Male and Female*

I spent the first six years of my professional life as a Lutheran school principal in California, first in the northern and then in the southern part of the state. I recall with gratitude and appreciation the 100 or so principals who were my colleagues. We met together often. They served me as mentors and models. They impressed me by not only serving as principals, but at the same time being full-time classroom teachers and more often than not also being their congregation’s organist and choir director. One other factor stands out: All 100 of them were male.

In the mid 1950’s I accepted a position as a major leader for setting up a Lutheran school system in Hong Kong (which today enrolls some 25,000 students.). My memory is that when the World Mission Board considered candidates for that position they looked at no female possibilities.

I recall with admiration and appreciation the Lutheran school principals who were my colleagues in Michigan when I served them as their District Superintendent in the late 60’s and early 70’s. They served from the heart of Detroit to the village of Bach. There were over 100 of them in those days. I visited in the homes of as many as possible. This, too, I recall, 109 were male; 1 was female.

In the later 80’s my duties took me to the Center for Urban Education Ministries in New York. It didn’t take long to notice: more and more principals of urban Lutheran schools were female. We convened a significant number of them and asked them to share their stories. They told us that often they had been selected only when no male would accept the position. The more we listened the more we learned another obvious point. These women were committed, capable, professional models for all.

Today when I read the web sites, blogs and other literature I am struck by the fact that one of the most challenging positions within the entire Lutheran Church is the position of Early Childhood Center Director. These leaders deal with incredibly complex issues ranging from extremely complicated tuition and fees schedules, to complicated salary schedules, to concerns ranging from peanut butter to recording devises hidden in the kids’ back packs. Another reality hits me. Almost all of these competent servant leaders are female.

In reflection I am saddened again with the realization of how any society or segment of society deprives itself when it chooses to not utilize the gifts of all members of the society, male and female.

*NOTE: This is one in a series of six blog entries related to a presentation I will make at the 2010 Lutheran Education Association National Administrators Conference in New Orleans in February 2010.

Following that event my blog will again be more in the “All Things Considered” category.