Let’s Meet at the Bar

 

“Let’s meet at the bar.” It has been years since I have heard that welcome invitation. Nor have I extended that suggestion for a long time. And I miss it. It is not that I spent that much time there. But on occasion it was wonderful to meet colleagues at the bar or to just go with my wife, or as a rare event to just quietly sit there alone. But that has not happened for a long time and in the last few weeks, for some reason or other, I have missed it. I was kind of hoping someone would say to me, “Mel, let’s just meet at the bar.”

The thought was further stimulated by a very interesting book I have just finished reading. It is “Crossing the Bar” by James Johnson, a man who was a Lutheran pastor for some 20 years and then spent the next years owning and operating a bar in Red Lodge, Montana.

In his book he has an interesting list of characteristics. He asks the reader to identify each description with either the church or a favorite bar. The list includes such items as “This is a safe place to be,” “Here you meet new friends.” “Here you are not judged,” “Strangers feel welcome and you find new friends here.” There are actually 40 items on the list and each item makes for thoughtful reflection.

When I accepted the invitation to “Let’s meet at the bar” I often found myself there with colleagues with whom I could complain or brag or commiserate. At other times it was a place where I could share my anger, hopes, latest joke or reason for celebration. Or maybe it just provided the space to not have to be “on duty,” not have to worry about the next assignment, not feel pushed for what has to be done next.

I wonder what it says about me and my current life situation - that I have trouble thinking of a person living close enough to me to whom I could easily extend that invitation. But whether it might come from near-by or from some unexpected friend far away, I want to say that I am ready to respond “Yes!” to the next person who invites: “Let’s meet at the bar”.

USA Immigration

Even in these tempestuous political times there is one thing all political parties agree upon: The USA Immigration Policy is a mess. This has hit our family directly in the last couple months and I just feel like telling the story.

For more than 15 years our youngest son John, a USA citizen, has been married to Regina who is a Spanish citizen. Their two children are USA citizens. A few months ago John accepted a wonderful position on the faculty of Stanford University. Of course, his wife and children want to join him. No problem for John and the kids, but for Regina it has been a nightmare from which she has still not awakened.

For the past couple semesters John has been teaching at Hong Kong Polytechnic University and Regina has been living and doing academic work in Madrid. First she was told that if she wanted to come here and stay with her family she would need to get a visa (of course) and then apply for citizenship. Then she was told that to get the visa she would really need to have proof that she had a job. It was insufficient that her husband had been granted permanent tenure. So Stanford offered her a part-time position (she has her Ph.D. from Harvard) and so notified the authorities. The authorities said, “No, it must be full-time.” Stanford and Regina obliged. Next she was told that if the visa were granted she could not enter the country more than 10 days before she started teaching! She asked about entering on a “visa waiver” which permits any European citizen to be in the USA without a visa for up to 6 weeks. “No,” she was told. “You are NOT a tourist. And if you come in under a tourist visa and then apply for a visa as an employee you may not leave the country while the visa is processed. If you leave you will be denied re-entry into the USA." Regina’s mother lives in Madrid. (Note: a colleague who is a Department head here at Cal Sate San Diego told me that this is exactly what happened to a colleague of his last year when she returned for her mother’s funeral while her work visa was pending and now she has been denied entry or visa into the USA.)

Son John and Regina have followed all the rules, paid the $3,000.00 up front legal fees to an immigration attorney. John and kids moved to Stanford. Regina is in Madrid in regular contact with the USA Embassy. The Embassy promised her an interview for yesterday (August 17). However, the official told her ”This appointment time is not fixed. You need to call regularly to ensure the proper day; AND remember that every time you call the Embassy we will add 10 Euros to the cost of your visa and if you call by cell phone we will add 15 Euros”

Yesterday she met with the Embassy official. It went like this: “Is your name, in fact, Regina Llamas?” Answer, “Yes.” Next question, “Do you, in fact, have a PHD From Harvard?” Answer, “Yes.” “Do you, in fact, have a full-time job at Stanford University?” “Yes.” “What will you be teaching?” “One course in the History of Chinese Drama and a second on “Chinese Opera.”

Then came the answer: “Come back next week and we will issue you a visa.”

So now she can buy her ticket and hopefully the interviewing officer at Immigration will allow her in and this “potential threat to American security and financial viability” will finally be able to join her family and be teaching at the university.

Wedding Anniversary

Last Saturday my wife Jane and I observed our 61^st  Wedding Anniversary. We did not make a big deal of it, but we did note it with reflection, gratitude and anticipation. As a part of that reminiscence I took a long reflective walk, but first I stopped at the rose garden here, sat in the swing, looked at the names of some of the rose varieties like Honor, Aromatic Therapy, Tahiti Sunset - all of which are part of our decades of marriage. My mind wondered from Jane to the five kids who have helped sustain and enrich our marriage for all these years. So even at the risk of no one caring in the least I decided to write down just one admired characteristic of each of our 5 kids whom the two of us happily and blessedly call our greatest assets. Youngest to eldest:

JOHN:  John teaches me equanimity, patience, non-anxiousness. By this I mean he teaches me not to fret too much, not to get too excited, worried or upset. He teaches me that things will turn out okay, that issues can be resolved, that “life moves not backwards nor tarries with yesterday” but moves forward in its own good time and that is okay. He is doing that again in these weeks. Skip the details but note that he is professoring in Hong Kong, his wife and two kids live in Spain, both he and his wife have accepted teaching positions at Stanford U for this fall. But to get from here to there is fraught with challenges. Some of their household furniture is in Spain, some in Hong Kong. Their young kids have already gone to school in Taipei, Barcelona, Bristol and Madrid, had passed entrance exams at Hong Kong International and will next month go to an as yet unnamed schools in Palo Alto with school starting in less than a month. John's Spanish-citizen wife of 15 years, mother of his two American-citizen children, with a PhD from Harvard and a signed contract from Stanford is fighting, fighting to get an American visa. The failed USA immigration system will not let her come earlier than 10 days before her work starts, will not permit her to be a part-time employee, threatens to send her home from JFK in New York if she lands using her “visa waiver”. In the midst of this John rents a house, enrolls his kids, lines up teaching, ships household goods from 2 continents, continues to serve as a very stressful Department head at a university, pays the very expensive immigration attorney fees, meets major donors, moves apartments and stay sane, doesn’t scream, overuse alcohol, develop an ulcer, or need a therapist. John, thank you for teaching me serenity in the midst of any storm.

LIZ: Liz teaches me empathy, acceptance, genuineness. Never have I met a person who has better exemplified the virtue of weeping with those who weep and rejoicing with those who rejoice. When she chose to become a psychotherapist I knew she would be great, but I wondered if she could leave the care of her patients in her doctor’s office. She has convinced me that when she meets with a client she is totally there; by the time she reaches her home her focus can shift to the personal, to her family. I know that when appropriate her empathy moves her to concrete actions. At other times she continues to teach me that empathic acceptance presence is the rarest and truest form of love.

TIMOTHY: Tim continues to teach me that life is more than one’s work. To my regret I never learned that lesson in earlier years and so I doubly admire it in Tim. He has turned down some significant promotions at work because the work and time demanded of the position would have forces him to take away time from his family, from his love of music, from his deep appreciation of nature and camping and enjoying God’s creation. He is extremely gifted and has spent time in the corner, fully-windowed office of the major HM which he has served for well over 20 years. He does his work well, he is respected in his field, he earns his generous salary, but his work is not his life. He shows his commitment to his family and their values and to his passions. I am still trying to learn from my son, my teacher , Tim.

PEGGY:  Peggy teaches me to have very high values and to then conform my life and priorities to those values. When her 2 children were born she left full-time employment to take care of her children because she values the responsibilities and joys of motherhood. When she got interested in politics she provided free room in her home to candidate staff, studied their record, spoke openly and for publication about her opinions and values. When she decided that she preferred spending time caring for plants even in short spring, (New Hampshire springs and summers) she had her swimming pool filled in so she had time to get her hands into the soil producing growing green plants. When work demands get too heavy she sets aside the time to hike the mountains, enjoy the waterfalls and allow herself the tiredness that comes from walking under huge trees. When she sees her congregation struggle she volunteers to not only to serve as its vice-president but to lead it through a strategic planning process (because that is what she values and is good at). If integrity means congruence between values and actions I need look no further than to my daughter Peggy, a woman true to her magnificent values. 

DAVID: Dave teaches me to love and reach out to those whom others despise. When David graduated from high school he had an exceptional academic and activities record. His high school counselor called him into her office, told him not to go into the ministry of the church because (she said) he was so gifted that he could enroll in any college of his choice in any chosen profession. Dave said, “No I want to be a teaching minister in the church!” And that is what he became qualified for. Then it became clear that he was gay. And with that reality a career in the church was impossible, for none of the churches allowed openly gay people to serve as ministers. So he became a worker on the streets of a wealthy suburb ministering especially to kids who were at risk. During the AIDS epidemic David was the person whom dying AIDS patients called. He was constantly in the cities of our country holding the hands of dying people whose parents and friends had disowned them and who would have died alone had not Dave been there holding them and praying with them and just loving them. He became one of the founders of an organization called Lutherans Concerned which 30 years later played a role in persons of all sexual orientations being allowed ministerial status in most Lutheran churches. Just recently he has been spending time remodeling a “granny flat" at his home because he wants to make it available to persons who needs temporary housing because they have been rejected, either because of their sexual orientation, political beliefs (Think victims of torture from around the world) or otherwise rejected by their parents. Wherever there is rejection of the innocent, wherever there is someone who feels “nobody loves me’ that is where you will find Dave with arms outstretched, no judgment. I am still trying to be more like son Dave whose heart, and arms and even house are open to all.

Reunion II

Two days after attending the Doering reunion together with some 150 of my closest family members (See blog Family Reunion I) I headed out to Reunion II, the small one. This is just for my sibs and our families so there were only 90 of us. It was brilliantly hosted by my sister Mimi and her extended family with the special leadership of her granddaughter-in law Meredith. We headed to that Texas shrine city of San Antonio. We gathered in a hotel next to the San Antonio River, just blocks from the Alamo and within walking distance of La Vallita, The Pearl Brewery, the home of the San Antonio Spurs and more.
 

Dominant theme number 1: FOOD. It all started already on Thursday evening with a great outdoor feast in the backyard where does and their fawns eyed us from their oak tree shelters. Incredibly wonderful fried catfish, hush-puppies and more, all washed down with Shiner Bock beer. By the next afternoon the hospitality suite was loaded with cookies, cakes, cobblers, pies, chips, nuts, salsa, pastries, tacos, dips, cheeses, sausages, fresh fruit, beer, wine and every imaginable hard liquor and we did justice to it all.

Of course, the hospitality suite food had to be supplemented by sit down dinners; once at the German Mannerchor Halle with brats, once in the Romeo and Juliet Ballroom with churrasco steak, another at Jacala with enchiladas, tamales and frijoles negros, (Did I mention the catered breakfast tacos and the freshly baked cinnamon buns?) Oh, yes, there was a special luncheon at a fancy Italian restaurant, but that was “for the sisters only “, so maybe this male should not list it.)

Theme No 2: COMPETITION. I am pleased to note that the competition was NOT as to who made the most money, drove the biggest car or had the most square feet in their home. Instead there was the very competitive golf tournament at the historic Brackenridge Golf Course. Seven foursomes with players aged 11 to 84 went at it with the intensity of a Ryder Cup. Since I played worst of all I won’t even mention the usual winners. But then came the really serious Texas 42 Tournament (played with dominoes, in case some non-Texans happen to read this.) The Texas guys will trade an oil well for this title so imagine their chagrin when the two top winners were (of all things) two women and to add even deeper insult neither of them is currently living in Texas and one of them is an outlaw. The theologians among us wondered if this was a sign that we are living in end times.

Theme No. 3: CHANGES. My father and Mother Oscar and Lina Kieschnick are the ones who started all this. I can only imagine that they dreamed of a very homogeneous set of offspring, all German blooded, all Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod members. However, as they looked down on that crew assembled in San Antonio they would have noted and joyfully accepted the fact that the Kieschnick clan now includes persons whose ancestry is Spanish, Chinese, Bohemian, Korean, Israeli, Scotch, Jamaican, Irish, and more. And church/religious affiliation called for very broad ecumenical acceptance. One evening I just sat back at looked intently at the assembled crew and noted the obvious change: my siblings and I are getting holder. We range from 89 to 68. The skin on our arms and hands are typical of that Kieschnick rough, blotched unattractive texture, our ears and filled with haering aids, our memories are challenged, our eyes tired well before the 2:00am self-imposed curfew of generation 3.

Theme No. 4: VALUES. My Father was probably the most accepting person I have ever encountered; yet as he looks down on those who bear his name he would be the first to identify less than perfection. For he would note that his descendents sometimes gossip, become judgmental, eat or drink too much, use inappropriate language, sleep in on Sunday mornings, focus only on themselves. Yet I would hope that Mom and Dad would also sit quietly and observe and then affirm that their values are being passed on from generation to generation; values like faith in God; commitment to family, dedication to honest labor, love of country, enjoyment of good times, sacrifice for the common good, appreciation of nature, desire for new experiences, and strength to believe and act on our best impulses as even after a full Saturday night of partying Sunday morning found the family getting into their cars and driving to Mom and Dad’s old church where we outnumbered the count of regular members and gathered there around the altar for strength to carry on from generation to generation.

Next year in New Orleans!

Family Reunion I

For as long as I can remember, July has been Family Reunion time for me. So this year just as sure as July arrived my wife Jane and I headed to Walburg, Texas. There I had attended my first Doering Family Reunion some 82 years ago. I was just 2 years old at the time so my memories probably begin somewhat later. Yet the memories flood. We wend ourselves down to “Grandma Doering’s  Place’ on the San Gabriel River. Three things stand out: 1. “Watch out for the deep places in the water. There is quick sand down there. Teacher Winters died when he got sucked down by that.” 2. The fresh glistening and pure water coming our of that free flowing pipe comes directly from that hillside fresh water spring. It is always cool. That’s why we have those watermelons in the trough right where that water comes out.” 3. This is to remember all the Doerings, but don’t forget: it is also Uncle Carl’s birthday today and the 4^th of July “

When we gathered again on the 4^th this year it was at the Walburg Community Center just down the road from Walburg Mercantile that my grandfather Doering established as the first real store in the area ,way back in the19th Century. It is just 50 yards from the Bank his family started, and a mile from Zion Lutheran Church where five generations of Doerings have been baptized, married and buried.

This year’s ceremony for the 150 of us who gathered was simple. We began with an imaginary parade of all of our ancestors, trying to picture at what point we entered the parade and the circumstances of us being included. We imaged the ancient ship arriving in America from Germany, the trip across the uninhabited countryside. Of course, we prayed, we sang and we ate and even had a few beers! And when we finished eating it seems there was as much food left as when we had started.

We paused to remember those who had left us in the last year, the most recently born and married and even the relative who came the farthest, from Philadelphia. We recalled shared hard times and good times, dedication to family, God, country, hard work, Lutheran schools and the German language which used to unite us, but is now only a memory for most of us.

Of course, it was like any family reunion, yet it wasn’t; for this is where I remembered MY roots and those who sacrificed, loved, taught, encouraged and supported me all along the way and are a part of me yet!

My Wendish Heritage

(In the interest of full disclosure: If this posting were on Wikipedia it would be headed with the usual warning: “this article needs additional citations for verification”. It is not intended as a scholarly piece: just a bit of personal reflection.)

I seldom speak of my ethnic heritage. When I do, I usually get a blank stare. That is because I claim to be of Wendish heritage. “What in the world is that?” is the most common response. The Wends are an ethnic group primarily identified with living in the Lusatia region of Germany with principal emigrations to Texas and to Australia in the mid-nineteenth century. They are sometimes called Sorbs (not Serbs) and belong to the Slavic people, especially those living along the Germany-Czech border. Always a rather small minority their total population at any one time certainly never reached the half -million mark.

Most sources trace their origin back to 6^th Century. But my personal experience points back to the first century and behind that lies a story. I had finished doing some training for Teacher Effectiveness Training in Switzerland. One of the workshop participants was a brilliant PhD who invited me to spend some time with him at his home in Brugg. While there, he invited me to take a long walk to a very small neighboring village named Windish. Of course that piqued my interest. As we neared the small village we passed some ancient ruins. He told me that this was site of a first century Roman arena. He explained that a very small ethnic tribe there called the Wends had become Christian. The Roman Emperor ordered then to stop worshipping any god other than the emperor. They disobeyed. The emperor sent wild animals to the arena where the Christians were killed. “In fact,” my guide told me, “just recently they discovered some more human remains right next to where we are standing. All of this seems to confirm the   ancient story”

I stood in awe of my earliest ancestors who died for their Christian faith.

Several years after this event I was again in Europe. This time I was a guest of the US Army, leading workshops for Chaplains and religious leaders at the beautiful American forces-controlled site at Bergstesgarten. My co-leader was a wonderful charismatic Father from the Roman Catholic Church.

In my Sunday sermon I told the congregation of how generation after generation of Wends and others preserved that certain heritage down to our generation thus applauding the work of Christian educators

Immediately after my service my Catholic brother who had concurrently been conducting the Catholic services came running. “I just heard the story of the first century Wends,” he told me. “Would you believe!” he exclaimed, “that in the 12th Century, the order of which I am a member was established and was set up “to convert the Wends who by that time had become a sun worshipping non Christian self-identified ethnic group!”

And to complete the story: years later I was again leading a workshop for clergy, this time in Melbourne Australia. After the first session one of the participants came you to me, “Hey, Mel”, he said, “I just learned that you are a Wend. The congregation I serve in Adelaide was started by immigrant Wends in 1845!”

I have drawn several conclusions about my ethnic heritage: My ancestors were often at war and whenever they fought they lost. They were always considered an underclass minority. They took their religion very seriously. They valued family ties. They learned to work hard. They loved to drink beer. Not bad. I am proud to be among their number.

Language

 This little blog is in response to a surprising request from my Granddaughter Christina. She had decided to study the Czech language which took her to St. Charles University in Prague - which took her to studying a small ethic group which is some places are called “the Sorbs”, but which I had always called the Wends. I was among their tribe. Christina wondered how the transitioning was made in the USA from speaking Wendish to German to English.

I made only that last transition. In my early years we spoke German almost exclusively in my home. Most importantly we went to German language church services. We prayed in German. I remember the old gentleman who insisted that God spoke German and he quoted the Genesis passage where God is specifically quoted as speaking in German as God said, “Adam vo bist du?”

I recall that at one point my sisters and I made a conscious, much talked about decision to begin to speak more English. We decided to begin by calling our father by the title of “daddy” having decided that the traditional “papa” was too German and old fashioned.

By that time (in the early 30”s) the Wends who had moved to Texas in the 1850”s had already pretty well made the transition from Wendish to German. That was very understandable. The Wends were already a minority in their native Germany. When they emigrated to America they settled among Germans who were a minority among English speaking settlers. So the transition was made early, although I recall my Father telling me that a Wendish newspaper was still being published while I was a young boy.

World realties also made a difference. In World War I days it was considered by some to be unpatriotic to speak German so English was introduced. However, it wasn’t until World War II that the real push for “English only” became pronounced. I recall a couple incidents from around that time. The first is my father listening on short wave radio to Adolph Hitler with his rants about ethic cleansing and the superiority of the German race. Even though Dad was proud of his ethic background he was alarmed at the prejudice, hatred and arrogance of Adolph Hitler. As a demonstration of where our loyalties deeply lay we spoke more English.

But the transition was also met with resistance, especially in the church. I recall that the Lutheran church had suggested a hymn to be sung each Sunday asking for God’s blessing on our country and guidance for our service people. The song was in English and it was decided to sing it at the close of each Sunday services (which were still conducted in German). The proposal met with strong opposition from a small minority who demonstrated their position by very obviously walking out of the church each Sunday just as that English language hymn began to be sung.

The loyalty of the sons of that congregation to the USA was never doubted. I recall my father  (who was principal of the Lutheran parochial school) writing letter after letter to military officers who asked for his verification of both the loyalty and the proficiency in German of the GIs and sailors. Dad always vouched for that and many of them played significant roles as translators from German to English for our military forces.

In my early elementary school years 1933 to 1941 religion was taught in German. We all learned to read German alongside English. When my grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary I was selected to recite an eloquent dedicatory poem in German.

Meanwhile I never heard anyone speak Wendish unless we went to Serbin Texas where the Wends first settled and which maintained worship services in Wendish until very recently.

Now I have lost most of my German. I found that when I studied to speak Cantonese I would occasionally mix German with Cantonese. Now when I return to Germany it takes a few days to get reacquainted enough to converse in German. And I do not speak a single word of Wendish.