My current addiction...

...well, maybe it's a vice. I don't know.

Once upon a time, back in 1989, in Spain, my wife gave birth to our first daughter. I saw our last name some weeks after, in the newspaper and on CNN, and realized that there was at least one other person outside our family with the same surname. So I called my grandfather in New Jersey and inquired about the near-celebrity with our name, the federal judge who was presiding over the Pete Rose gambling trial in Cincinnati. It turns out that he and my grandfather had exchanged letters about the family/name and where we/it originated. In 1989 I began extensive genealogy research on both sides of my daughter's family. From 1989 to 1994 family history became not just a hobby, but an obsession.

As the years rolled on, my genealogical pursuits fell by the wayside, and I hadn't really thought more about it until my brother began looking into our German ancestry while in country in 2014. At that point, I discovered that my data was stored on aging technology-- my version of Family Tree Maker was years out of date-- and I started to panic at the thought of losing all those names and dates I had compiled! I was able to download my info from a webserver and I purchased the 2014 edition of Family Tree Maker, which is now owned by Ancestry.com-- I went ahead and resubscribed to Ancestry, too. If the bug has bitten you and you're an Ancestry subscriber, you can find my tree: Holschuh4.

While on this holiday break from my seminary studies, I've had a chance to dabble in family history again. What I've found through Ancestry.com is that I can search records in 5 minutes that would have taken me months in the past! Now the family tree is like a huge jigsaw puzzle. Every time I sit down at the computer, I find something to add! It's difficult to break away, to just stop (and Ancestry knows this).

The latest thing is Ancestry DNA. I convinced my wife to let me shell out $90 to get a test and analysis done; then I gave her a kit for Christmas, so now she's going to be tested. And the results mesh with the family tree data-- it's pretty cool.

Anyway. After this weekend, I'm going to have to go cold turkey and get focused on classes resuming the week after next.

(I'm afraid that may be easier said than done...)

If I'm not back until next year, let me wish each of you peering in a blessed, bright, and productive 2017!

С наступающим Новым Годом!!

I don't live (t)here anymore.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. (Psalm 23:1 ESV)

I remember when I left my parents' house in Grand Prairie, Texas, on my father's birthday in 1981 (only 2 months after my 18th), for U.S. Navy boot camp. He drove me to the recruiting station on Main St. and then I was on my way...

I surprised my mother in the kitchen when I showed up unexpectedly two months later in my Navy uniform; a friend picked me up and drove me home to begin a short leave before my Basic Russian course began at the Defense Language Institute in California. I remember how familiar everything looked, smelled, sounded-- it seemed then that I was the only change in the tableau. By the time I was ready to head back to my new life as a sailor, I realized that I was no longer part of the world I had left that morning my father drove me downtown. And arriving back at my school in California, it struck me that I wasn't entirely a part of that world, either-- in fact, I was more than a little intimidated by some of the other sailors I met there. Some already had college behind them, most seemed incredibly smart, and on the first day of class I was sure that my presence there was the result not of my aptitude, intelligence, or gift for languages, but of a Navy clerical error. But I made new friends and, in retrospect, got through Russian by the grace of God. A year after leaving home I was entrenched in Navy life and on subsequent visits to see family, Texas would seem less and less like home, like the place where I belonged.

The evening before returning home
with wife, mother, and daughters in TX

Fast forward 35 years, past two "careers" (20 years in the Navy, followed by 15 years as a high school teacher), at least a dozen different places to call home, and here I am at home again, clacking away on a keyboard in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, having returned yesterday from a very nice one-week visit to Texas for Christmas-- we got to spend quality time with my mom and daughters, worship at our home congregation, and catch up with friends. We were back in the same city from which we left in June for the seminary, back in the same area where our daughters graduated from high school, where we moved from one house to another over a dozen years, where our family has roots...

The face of the Dallas-Ft. Worth area is changing (as it always has been). It's crowded and there is construction everywhere-- especially highway (we rented a car at Dallas Love Airport and needed to follow the signs down I-35 to I-30, an area I've driven since I was old enough to drive). I resisted the urge to drive by the house we left behind while in the neighborhood to see the doctor and pick up a prescription. Only six months ago it was home.

We left my mother's house yesterday morning and on the drive back to the airport in Dallas, I had the overwhelming sensation, again, of no longer belonging to that place I left in 1981. As I moved through the familiarity of people and places, I felt like a...ghost. I wish I could explain it better... I don't think either of us could legitimately call where we are right now home. I sort of feel like I did when I returned to California to start Russian after that first leave, that "in-between" feeling (maybe this is what purgatory is like?). We're at home, but not home... And in an eerily similar coincidence, upon arrival here at the seminary I've been more than a little intimidated by the professors and some of the other guys I've met here. Some are way over-educated, most seem incredibly smart, and on the first day of Greek class I was sure that my presence there was the result not of my aptitude, intelligence, or gift for languages, but of Providence. We've made new friends and will finish up here in August entirely by the grace of God.

Next month is shaping up to be the fulcrum of our 14-month stay in the Hoosier State. I have two interviews will determine what lies beyond the summer. At this point, only God knows. And in Him we trust...

...to lead us to that place we can truly call home.

Even the squirrels need mittens...

Well, we're on our 23-day holiday break from classes now and we're counting down the days until we can be with family again! In the meantime, we're still in the grips of this early winter (a few pics to illustrate below)...

I caught an article in yesterday's paper (delivered late, as usual, by that old croaker of a carrier we have) about a "Santa truther" at an Amarillo mall last weekend verbally accosting shoppers, particularly those with little children. This YouTube video will set your yule log alight...what a Grinch! In my heart, I can appreciate such a quixotic effort to share the true meaning of Christmas; however, I cannot endorse his bedside manner. If idolatry is the issue, there are bigger targets to shoot at than our beloved Americanized St. Nick, based on the tradition of the real 3rd century St. Nicholas, Bishop of Myra. This guy should ask himself why we avoid car salesmen and hang up on telemarketers...

And, speaking of the newspaper, do any of you out there follow the comic strip Funky Winkerbean? It would appear from today's strip that one of the characters jumped to her death from an H in the big Hollywood sign (maybe it's a dream or something, given the gray-scale panels):

Hmm...

No death march this morning-- rain and snow in forecast... Good day for hot chocolate and a movie or a good book...which reminds me... I finished Dean Koontz' The City a few weeks back-- it's one of his best books, in my opinion, worth Kindling-- I'm going to start on another Kindled Koontz, Innocence, this weekend. I'm near the end of a book that caught my eye in the seminary bookstore, My First Exorcism: What the Devil Taught a Lutheran Pastor about Counter-cultural Spirituality, written by the only "Lutheran exorcist" I've ever heard of (exorcism is one of those areas the Roman Catholic Church traditionally patrols). From Gene Veith, Lutheran blogger (Cranath: The Blog of Veith) at patheos.com:

Harold Ristau is a pastor in the Lutheran Church of Canada (with which the LCMS is in fellowship). And he is an exorcist, with extensive experience in casting out demons. He has written a book on the subject, with an introduction by John Kleinig, the great Australian writer on Lutheran spirituality. I’ve sampled Rev. Ristau’s book and found it scary, fascinating, and strangely encouraging.

So far this book (and the accounts within) leave me feeling somewhat ambivalent toward an aspect of human spiritual understanding that I actually find fascinating in a Mr. Spock way... (More on why in a post from July.)

I guess that'll have to do it for this gray Indiana Saturday morning.

Check out the pics below before you change channels!

С Богом!

Check out the newscast temperature at the bottom left...
This was Thursday morning...

This birdseed-thievin' bugger was perched
atop an EMPTY feeder in a sub-zero windchill
trying to keep his little paws warm... 

A very pretty scene, indeed... The antithesis
of what follows...

It was too bloody cold to finish this cigar!

No fire bowl on the patio tonight!

We got snow. Currently there's 7 inches piled up on our patio table. More is coming later...

The drive to church this morning (about 10-12 miles away) was slow, methodical, and kind of peaceful; the drive home at noontime was none of the above...

And whatever slush was created on the roads today will freeze tonight and then be covered by new snow.

I'll say one thing for this area, the snow trucks were out in full force.

(And Kroger is a short walk around the corner, should we become truly snowed in...)

We're not in Texas anymore.

The figure that haunts me in the garage...

Snow has been been making a daily cameo appearance over the last few days. This morning, we went to go get a bite to eat and run errands at around 10:30. When we left the restaurant, it was snowing like crazy; this is the prelude, the weather-guessers tell us, to The Big Dump that's coming tonight and won't end until Monday...

So we returned home from our errands and before pulling into the garage, I rolled down the window to try and capture the huge snowflakes for a pic to send to the kinfolk back in Texas. If you look at the picture below, you can see a few of them...

...and, if you look closely, through the flakes, you will see the figure that haunts me in the garage. Eerie, huh?

Perhaps it's time to look for an exorcist.

The Collect ('kä-lekt)

[The following is a "newsletter article" I was assigned to write last month in my Liturgics class... I think there are a lot of Lutherans who are unfamiliar with the roots of our traditional worship, why we do what we do. Honestly, aside from knowing that a collect was a short prayer, I couldn't have explained how it fits into the Lutheran liturgy until coming to the seminary! Also, if you'd like to find out more about "what happens" at an LCMS Lutheran church (or you're just curious), check out this very nice, user-friendly website belonging to an Indiana congregation not too far from Chicago.] 

Most Lutherans have encountered the liturgical term collect (with the seemingly stilted pronunciation) in an order of worship bulletin or in the Lutheran Service Book (LSB) service settings. I recall a seminary classmate asking our professor “Why is it pronounced KAH-lekt and not kah-LEKT?” The former English teacher in me knew the answer right away (and, of course, I will tell you, so read on…).

Like all parts of the Lutheran worship service, the form and function of the collect stretches back to at least the late 5^th century in the Roman Catholic Church. It is a beautiful, but short prayer expressing praise or thanks directed to God, typically consisting of five parts: an address to God; a relative or participle clause referring to some attribute of God, or to one of his saving acts; the petition; the reason for which we ask; the conclusion. The following is an example:

Almighty and gracious Lord, pour out Your Holy Spirit on Your faithful

people. Keep us steadfast in Your grace and truth, protect and deliver us

in times of temptation, defend us against all enemies, and grant to Your

Church Your saving peace; through Jesus Christ, Your Son, our Lord, who

lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Our two-part Word and Sacrament service is comprised of five segments (not unlike the typical collect) that follow the preparatory trinitary Invocation: Entrance Rite, Liturgy of the Word, Preparation for Divine Service, Liturgy of the Lord’s Supper, and Distribution. The Collect of the Day traditionally brings the first segment—the Entrance Rite (Confession and Absolution, Introit, Kyrie, Hymn of Praise, Collect)—to a close before the Old Testament reading, which begins the Liturgy of the Word. A Post-Communion Collect is prayed at the end of Distribution, before the familiar Aaronic Benediction (“the Lord bless you and keep you…”).

The collect is intentionally very concise; its name comes from the Latin for “gathered” or “bound together.” This prayer, usually addressed to God the Father, traditionally contains only one petition and reflects the “collected” needs of the church and is offered on behalf of the “collected” congregants. Some collects may express thanksgiving, but they still offer a petition. The emphasis is always on the role of Christ as intercessor or mediator.

Luther provided his own theory regarding the origin of the collect’s name in Against the Heavenly Prophets in the Matter of Images and Sacraments (1525): “When the Hebrew language was still common among them, the apostles and the first Christians called the bread and wine, which they had gathered for observance of the sacrament, ‘mass,’ in Hebrew in accordance with Jewish custom. A part of it was consecrated for use in connection with the sacrament, the other was distributed among the servants of the congregation and the poor. For a long time afterwards this practice was also referred to as ‘collections’...Though the practice was discontinued, the word ‘collect’ still remains.”

Among the liturgical reforms made by Luther was the retention of Roman Catholic collects that had to be translated into German. A Collect of the Day was included in the traditional Lutheran Mass and most of these were loose translations of ones for certain days in the church year. Luther even wrote a few himself (the morning and evening prayers in the Small Catechism each contain one). Collects are also used in the morning and evening prayer offices (Matins and Vespers, LSB pp. 219-252); the standard morning prayer is the Collect for Grace, the standard evening prayer is the Collect for Peace.

So just why is it pronounced KAH-lekt and not kah-LEKT? There are nouns and verbs in English that have the same form, such as increase, discount, protest, advocate, and collect, that follow a general rule for correct pronunciation—if meant as a noun, the beginning syllable is stressed; if as a verb, the stress falls on the end syllable.

And don’t worry about a pronunciation error. If your prayer is sent collect (verb), be certain that God will accept it (and the charges, as well)!

What would Linus think?

I caught an interview with the National Program Director of American Atheists on the Fox News Channel this morning, during which he touted the new seasonal billboards going up that bray about skipping church...

(By the way, how does skipping church make Christmas great again, anyway? Was there a time-- a great time-- when church never figured into Christmas? Seriously. What is the point to these seemingly oxymoronic messages?)

sigh sigh sigh

Do you believe in God, Alex?

This afternoon on Antenna TV I happened upon the two-part episode of the 80s sitcom Family Ties in which Alex Keaton (Michael J. Fox) loses his friend in a car accident. My Name is Alex (aired in 1987) is a departure from the typical weekly episode; the theme behind the plot-- death-- caught my attention for a couple of reasons. The first and most obvious is that the death of a friend or a loved one stings with a pain like nothing else in this life. The second is that death, the same death that so callously wounds the living, without empathy, yet with great chutzpah, presses a bony finger into the chest of the aggrieved and whispers "Do you believe in God?"

Even an atheist has to wonder at the gaping hole left by death.

The first half of the episode sets up the second half, which is a semi-soliloquy by Alex, who after wrestling with the regret and guilt and shame and disruption of life that accompanies the loss of someone close-- which I have experienced first-hand-- is asked by a counselor whether he believes in God. His response is very real.

While the theological implications of this story are intentionally generic and the message is not necessarily Christian, the questions we ask as fragile, emotional, irrational, and self-serving creatures in death's wake invariably turn to God. And, typically, it is in a moment of weakness or anger when the question of God comes up. Because we want answers.

If you have the time, watch both parts of this episode. Compare the Alex in the first 10 minutes to the Alex in the last 10 minutes. Then consider his answer to the question and what he should do next with it...

С Богом!  :)

My Name is Alex, Part 1

My Name is Alex, Part 2

Evangelism and Outreach

We have no other reason for living on earth than to be of help to others. If this were not the case, it would be best for God to kill us and let us die as soon as we are baptized and have begun to believe. But He permits us to live here in order that we may bring others to faith, just as He brought us. But as long as we are on earth, we must live in hope. For although we are sure that we have all the blessings of God through faith—for faith is surely accompanied for you by the new birth, the filial relationship, and the inheritance—we do not yet see this. It is still something to be hoped for and still somewhat remote. We cannot see it with our eyes. --Martin Luther, Sermons on First Peter, 1522 (Luther’s Works, Vol. 30)

This morning I sat through another "module" (a mini-seminar provided by the seminary on various pastoring topics; I have to get six in during my year here) called "Who Me? Do the Work of Evangelist?" It was presented by the LCMS Indiana District's Executive of Outreach and Human Care. As I sat there for the four-hour discussion, I kept thinking about how little most people know about church-- why there even is church-- including those who were raised in it. Then there are Lutherans. I got to thinking about what people really know about the Lutheran Church, in or out of it. Why would someone walk into a Lutheran church on a Sunday morning, as opposed to any of the overwhelming choice of places of worship? And I couldn't help but wonder how my friends and relatives see me and my family as Lutherans... And how they honestly feel about and understand my desire to become a Lutheran pastor.

The presenter mentioned a video about Richmond, Kentucky, a place of almost 33,000 where there is a good-sized university, but not one LCMS congregation. The first part of the video is interesting in its illustration of young people's preconceived notions about church. Very telling. And this is what I-- and the other men studying for the ministry-- will be up against. I encourage you to take a look...it's less than 6 minutes long and is very well done. And the pastor who pops in toward the end is the guy who facilitated this morning's session.

I got something else out of attending this module. There is a second-year guy here who emigrated with his family from Moldova (small country sandwiched between the Ukraine and Romania) who is a native Russian speaker. He and I spoke in Russian during a break-- what a nice guy! (And I haven't spoken Russian in a while, so I probably sounded rusty...) I'm not sure what to make of this, but I think God is up to something. I only wish I knew more! ;)

Let me brutally Frank(-ish):

Значит, так. Ещё раз вам говорю...

And, speaking of Russian, I was watching Dark Ages on the History Channel this past week and as the narrator was going on about Charlemagne, the actor portraying him was audible enough for me to hear him say very clearly "Значит, так. Ещё раз вам говорю..." ("So. I'm telling you again...") I'm not sure what language the ol' boy spoke (some sort of Frankish precursor to today's French?); however, I seriously doubt he sounded like a native Russian speaker. I found it curious. I guess you can't believe everything you hear on the History Channel, eh? (Maybe they just wanted Charlemagne to sound Old Worldly in a language few people watching would have understood or even paid attention to.)

Lots of schoolwork this weekend (well, tomorrow, as it's already 3:30pm on Saturday)...

Boy, that first week back went by fast!

That's it for now. С Богом!