Chapter 55. Dinner at Edith's

Edith was a fashion designer, her elegance and sophistication contrasting with the working class culture of most of the other Germans. Like all of the other Germans except Elder Roehn she warmly welcomed Karin and me.

She grew up in Germany in a severe, stern Adventist home. As soon as she and her sister were able to escape the prison of home, they severed all ties with the church. She married a man with a dark secret. Their marriage ended about the time her son was born. Life was bitterly hard. She endured the misery of WWII and its aftermath before escaping to New York City. There she eventually found a measure of peace and prosperity in the fashion industry. After she retired, she experienced a spiritual rebirth and reconnected with the Adventist Church, in spite of Elder Roehn, she said.

She did not often talk about her past. The pain of childhood and marriage were still visibly intense when she allowed herself to remember. Her son lived in Alaska. Life was hard for him because of disabilities that were a heritage of his father. I listened to Edith wrestle with the roiling emotions of a mother's love for her son, a mother's outrage at the man who had damaged him, an ex-wife's anger at betrayal and deceit, frustration that she could not fix her son, could not make it better, guilt that she wasn't doing more. I heard her pleasure in his small successes. He joined the Adventist Church. He got a job and kept it.

Within weeks of our arrival she invited Karin and me and our daughter for Sabbath lunch along with the Pauliens and Sister Erlecke. She lived in Apartment 3E on East 85^th between First and York. The doorman announced our arrival and Edith said to send us up.

The table was set just so. The china elegant. Edith offered us some fruit juice as an appetizer. Gertrude helped her in the tiny kitchen. Sitting on her couch I read the spines of the books in her bookcase. Geothe and Schiller. Music theory. Art history and art theory. German literature. A few devotional works. The furniture was spare, the opposite of massive or heavy. It looked antique.

Edith called us to the table and assigned us our places. She asked me to say grace.

She led the conversation, making sure everyone was included, making sure we learned enough of one another's histories. She especially honored Sister Erlecke. Elder Erlecke had served for short time as pastor of the church before Elder Roehn came. Everyone in the church had loved and respected him. Sister Erlecke herself was the incarnation of sweet goodness. She was universally appreciated in the church. She blushed and protested Edith's encomium but Gertrude seconded Edith's words.

A month or two later, I was invited again, this time, the table was surrounded by Edith's friends and neighbors. She was introducing them to her pastor. Some of them were interested in spiritual conversation, though they were hardly ready to sign up for “Bible studies.” A few months later I was again at dinner in Edith's apartment meeting friends from the fashion world and neighbors. I couldn't miss the parallel with the story in the gospels of tax-collector-turned-disciple, Matthew, hosting a dinner to introduce his friends to Jesus. Sitting at Edith's table I felt the honor of her confidence and the weight. She was presenting me to her friends as the face of her church, maybe as the face of her God. It was an honor. It was terrifying.

As young adults began arriving, Edith quietly and effectively gathered the young women into her circle. She was their confidant and adviser. Her sophistication and professional accomplishments awed them. Her genuine care was irresistible. They did not always follow her advice, but they always warmed to her attentions.

The contrast in culture between the arriving young adult Americans and the long time Germans was stark. Even with the best of intentions there were bound to be misunderstandings. Occasionally, Edith would inform me of some offense I had given to the older Germans. Almost always I was completely oblivious. Without Edith's counsel I would have gone blithely forward, never having the slightest idea that I had offended the saints who were the foundation and backbone of the church. As far as I know, no one ever knew Edith was alerting me to these faux pas. She spoke only to me, so when I apologized to the old Germans for blunders and offenses, they magnanimously credited me with an awakened conscience.

Whatever “success” I have been credited with as pastor at Church of the Advent Hope, certainly a large share of that credit belongs to Edith. I became the son she dreamed of having. She was a model mother, offering powerful affirmation of my work as a pastor, cleverly finding ways to give advice that made me wiser without making me feel foolish, honoring me before her friends and neighbors. The congregation at Advent Hope was an extraordinary community of grace. Edith's gracious tact makes her in my memory, truly primus inter pares.

Herb Roehn, provided an almost comic counterpart of Edith's role in helping with the transition from an old German to an American young adult congregation. I began my work as his associate. Six months later, on schedule, he retired. He remained in the congregation and on the church board. For at least another six months I deliberately did everything I could to make him feel valued and useful. I did nothing without consulting him and did hardly anything without gaining his prior approval. Then I decided it was time to move on, time to focus on doing ministry to reach my target audience—young adult Anglos.

Herb became increasingly hostile. In board meetings he would harangue me. On Sabbath mornings he sometimes would loudly castigate me in the lobby or aisles of the church. I have a vivid memory of visitors sliding past as Herb stood in the middle of the aisle his finger in my chest reaming me out over some peccadillo.

Then I committed my greatest blunder. A traveling group of Christian actors asked to do a performance for our church service. I had them come to the church on a Wednesday night and audition. They did two or three short sketches. The sketches they did were punchy and right on. They communicated spiritual truth in a compelling way. So, on my own, without consulting anyone, I invited them to take the sermon time, the following Sabbath.

It was a brash thing to do. We were in transition, but this was still a church with a German heritage, with a deep tradition of the dignity of the pulpit. This was New York. Not only the preacher, but nearly everyone in the pews was dressed. Suits and ties. Fashionable dresses. Our liturgy was very traditional, as close to an Anglican format as an Adventist Church could get. The music, the décor was formal and elegant.

And I invited a group of itinerant amateur actors to put on a dramatic production as the sermon.

To make matters worse, in contrast to the punchy, highly effective sketches I saw in audition, the piece they did for the worship service was rambling and disjointed. Further, they had insisted as actors they were used to projecting their voices. They did not need amplification. (This being the 1980s in a church that had never seen a praise band, our PA system was rather primitive any way.) Sitting on the first row, I had to strain to hear them.

For once Edith and Herb agreed. This was a disaster, a shame.

We were in the process of choosing a new organ. There was a congregation meeting scheduled for Sunday morning to make our final decision on which organ to purchase. I opened the meeting with prayer, then said, “I know this meeting has been convened to decide on the organ, however, I know that many of you are concerned about what happened yesterday. So let's deal with that first, then we'll discuss the organ.”

The first person to speak was Elder Roehn. It seemed to me he talked for twenty minutes (I'm sure this is an exaggeration.) He listed every imaginable error of my pastorate. I was a failure as an evangelist. I hadn't visited Sister So and So when she was in the hospital. My theology was suspect. My organizational and management skills were abysmal. And I had desecrated the sanctuary and the church service by inviting a bunch of non-Adventist actors to do a play(!) instead of preaching a sermon. Then he went back to lambasting me for additional errors and omissions.

Finally, one of the English-speaking people who had been there a long time and had the respect of the group interrupted Herb.

“Elder Roehn,” he said, “you are correct that John made a mistake in inviting the acting group to perform in our church service yesterday. He was wrong, but what you have done this morning is worse. You have disrespected our pastor.”

After he sat down someone else spoke up and made approximately the same speech. “John was wrong, but you, Elder Roehn, this morning have committed a graver error.” Most of those present that morning were the old Germans. They all spoke. And everyone made essentially the same speech.

If Elder Roehn had not blasted me the way he did, the congregation would have had to administer their own strong disapproval. However, given Elder Roehn's performance, the congregation acknowledged I had erred then pour their emotional energy into protecting me from an overblown attack. Elder Roehn completely neutralized the force of the criticism they would have been compelled to voice.

In spite of himself, Elder Roehn, was as essential in the transition from Old German culture to a young adult congregation as Edith. When he criticized me, he usually had some basis for his criticism. Often his views were in line with the instincts of most of the Germans. However, he would be so obnoxious and disrespectful in expressing his views that the other Germans had to distance themselves. Because he was constantly attacking me, the other Germans felt a constant need to protect and encourage me. He fully articulated every possible concern the Germans may have had and did it in a way that made it easier for the old Germans to let them go as the church moved forward into its new identity.

Eventually, Herb quit attending Advent Hope and began attending my previous congregation in Babylon where there were several German members. There he and his wife were welcomed and included.