Dr. David Trobisch
July 10, 2011
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
13:1 That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. 13:2 Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. 13:3 And he told them many things in parables, saying: "Listen! A sower went out to sow. 13:4 And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. 13:5 Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. 13:6 But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. 13:7 Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. 13:8 Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. 13:9 Let anyone with ears listen!"
13:18 "Hear then the parable of the sower. 13:19 When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. 13:20 As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; 13:21 yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. 13:22 As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. 13:23 But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty."
Pray with me:
Open our eyes, so we can see,
Open our ears, so we can hear,
And open our hearts, so we can understand.
AMEN
ARRIVING IN BANGOR
It was a cold and wintry day when Vera and I first arrived in Maine. English is not my first language, and Vera had not lived outside of Germany before.
We visited the LL Bean store in Freeport. I insisted on buying a pair of their "duck boots," boots with rubber shoes and leather shafts. Vera thought they were ugly. I told her that owning a pair and wearing them for our first visit might demonstrate a willingness to live up to the climate and whatever else our new country of residence would throw at us.
It was a Saturday morning when we parked our car on the empty lot in front of the library of the old campus. As we approached the entrance of Maine Hall the doors opened wide, and the President walked toward us with outstretched arms. To my delight, the President wore "duck boots".
Our twelve years in Maine were the most satisfying years in my life as a teacher. I knew that Maine was where God wanted me to be, and Vera found a spiritual home there as well.
AUSTRIA
I was born in Africa. My parents were missionaries. When I turned six the family moved to Austria where we lived on a remote mountain with five other families, all farmers. When I turned ten, I was sent to boarding school, as it was impossible to get to a high school from where we lived and return the same day.
PORTLAND
In Bangor we bought a small house just across the street from the Seminary. The following years were turbulent for the School. In the wake of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq the economy declined, the financial situation of families and churches became more and more strained, and the catastrophes of 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina diverted the charitable donations of wealthy Mainers to other causes than to the Seminary. Students who were able to pay full tuition without borrowing became a rare commodity; full time students all but disappeared from our class rooms. Our salaries were frozen, faculty openings were not filled in a timely manner, and when my contract was up for renewal the President had to disclose that the financial situation of the institution was so desperate that the Board could only offer me a twelve month extension. The review committee had suggested tenure.
The Board understood that the future of the School depended on the strength of their Portland campus with its wealthier population and a stronger base for recruiting donors and financial supporters. To achieve this, at least one faculty member had to be moved from Bangor to Portland. I volunteered.
But real estate in Portland is three times as expensive as in Bangor. The salary I received was so pitiful that no bank would lend us the money to buy a house. So it was agreed that the Seminary would act as a lender.
But the Board of Trustees did not deliver a contract. After eight months of stalling, postponing, and finding excuses, all the while encouraging us to pack and set a date for the move and sell our house in Bangor, they gave us a contract, one hour before the closing. It missed a paragraph that regulated what would happen if the real estate market collapsed and the house could not be sold at the price it was bought. The President promised that the Board would pick up the difference.
We refused to sign the closing documents, and I called the Trustee who had been assigned by the Board to work with us. She gave me her word over the phone that the Board would keep the President's promise: The word of the President and the word of the Trustee, an investment banker, whose husband had written the contract, and who was fully aware of the promises made to us, was good enough for Vera and me. We trusted them and we signed.
ON THE BALCONY
Because many Austrian families live in remote areas, the only chance for their children to receive a higher education is by sending them to a boarding school when they are 10 years old. Each group of twenty boys was called a "family" in our school and was assigned to one "professor". Being both, teacher and supervisor, allowed professors to draw a larger salary. It meant, however, that we were at their mercy, day in and day out.
I vividly remember the first communal shower. Once a week we were lead as a group down into the basement of our building and ordered to strip. Along the ceiling, pipes were installed with showerheads lined up in a row. The professor would turn on the hot water for a few minutes then turn it off. And after we applied soap, he would run hot water again. The ritual always ended with the professor turning on the ice cold water without warning, sending us squealing through the room, running naked for our towels. Some professors got enormous pleasure out of tormenting us and some did little to hide their erections.
These scenes still haunt me. We boys referred to the communal shower as the "gas chamber". I was a very modest child when I entered boarding school. Even when seeing a doctor I did not want to take off my clothes, unless my mother was present.
I especially remember the philosophy teacher. His philosophy of dealing with 20 unruly boys was that if one of us did something wrong, all of us were to be punished. And his preferred way of punishment was to make us stand quietly in the common room for an hour while he insulted us. "One for all and all for one," was his motto. So one evening, when two of my class mates had started a pillow fight and the professor walked into their room, once again all 20 boys were lined up and made to stand in complete silence.
It is difficult to express the emotions a situation like this will create in the heart of a young man. My mother always insisted that, of her five children, I was the one with an exaggerated sense of justice. Even as a little boy, she would say, I could not control myself when I felt that injustice was done to others. This trait has not been helpful to me in my life. By speaking out for others, I have often harmed my own interests.
That particular evening, the philosophy professor made fun of my parents and ridiculed them in front of the group for being missionaries. I am not sure, whether I did it on purpose or whether the "wind blows where it chooses", but - I let one fly. It was a good fart. Long, noisy, and it smelled its part. My classmates laughed hilariously, and the professor's anger was aroused. He wanted to know who it was, but none of my peers gave me away: "All for one, and one for all". The professor had to question us individually, and when he asked me directly, I did not lie.
My punishment was severe. I was made to go outside, on the third floor balcony, in the middle of winter, and stand there barefoot, wearing nothing but pyjamas, at sub-zero temperatures.
Next morning I woke up with high fever and was taken to the sick bay with a severe case of bronchitis. My parents somehow found out and complained to the institution. The professor was severely reprimanded.
At that moment my life as a naïve little boy, who was born in Africa and grew up a happy child on an idyllic mountain in Austria, came to an abrupt end. I now had a mortal enemy, who had the power to control and hurt me every waking moment. And he did so as often as he could, in subtle but terrifying ways. And he very much enjoyed terrorizing me. I went to boarding school for eight long years.
FIRST TALK
Now, in 2007 my mother died, and it became clear that our days in Maine were coming to an end. My family needed me in Missouri. Following through on the suggestion of the outgoing president I contacted the new President and asked whether the School had an interest in buying our house. I proposed that the architects, bankers, lawyers, and realtors on the Board be involved and tour the house. But the new President immediately discouraged any Trustee to talk to us. It took him two months until he could find the time to sit down with me. When we met he said he did not have the necessary information about the house and promised to get back to me soon. When I did not hear from him and contacted him, he responded in an email that he copied to the Chairman of the Board that he had come to the meeting fully prepared. I had never been lied to by an executive officer of any institution quite so bluntly before. That was in August. In September of 2008 the housing market crashed.
The ensuing e-mail correspondence with the new President revealed a man who was more comfortable hacking out two-liners on his BlackBerry than meeting in person. This man had no practical experience in fundraising. He had seen academic institutions only from the perspective of a student. He did not seem to have published one line in a scholarly journal. He had not pastored a church for 15 years, and the membership of his last church had declined by almost a third during his tenure. There were red flags everywhere.
It became obvious to me that this man had no business leading a Seminary. At the time, it seems, that I was the only one who saw this.
Facing such incompetence, in our despair Vera and I petitioned the Board directly to allow us to continue to finance our house at bank interest rates for several more years until the market would rebound. We had made arrangements with a property management company, had identified potential renters, and the numbers seemed to work.
We were not allowed to be present when the Trustees met to discuss the matter. Two weeks after the board meeting the President sat me down and disclosed that the Board had turned down our petition and that he had no solution to propose. We should simply pay the loan back. He said this with a broad smile on his face and with a rather obvious satisfaction.
I remember sitting across the table from the little, bald man with those huge lips, who could never seem to wipe the smirk off his face. When he spoke, he sent torrents of spittle through the air. What struck me more, however, was the joy in his eyes as he watched me digest the information: Neither the previous President nor a lawyer, banker, or realtor serving on the Board would even talk to us. He had managed to cut us off from any meaningful conversation with the Board.
I had seen this look before, in boarding school. And suddenly it dawned on me that I was dealing with one of those people again, who gained pleasure from hurting others.
REFLECTION
Why am I telling you this? And what does it have to do with the parable of the sower?
Because that President and those Trustees are good people!
I know many of the Trustees very well. Some had been student of mine. For others I organized educational events. I preached in their churches. Together we stood at the graves of students, staff members, professors, and trustees. We spent long hours working together in committees, finding unusual solutions for our problems. We marched side by side, demonstrating for the rights of gay, lesbian and transgendered fellow citizens. We organized workshops for battered women. We attended funerals of our most beloved students, staff - one of our secretaries froze to death in front of her home one winter - or Trustees - one died together with her partner in a plane crash off the Canadian coast.
These Trustees are not only good people. They are the best the Church has to offer. No one serves on the Board of a desperately poor Seminary facing an uncertain future for prestige or because they have nothing else to do. They are mission driven. They want to do what it takes to provide educated clergy for the churches of Northern New England. Founded in 1815, this is the third oldest theological school in the USA only because of the resilient, creative, and resourceful nature of the Trustees who have served the institution for two centuries. I would be proud to serve on their Board.
And the President, even as he failed the institution and finally had to be relieved of his duties two weeks ago, was doing his best. Maybe he thought that "being tough" with that unruly German scholar was what an administrator is expected to do? I don't know. He was well aware of his lack of professional qualification, when he came. Taking the job he knew it would be a challenge and an act of faith. This person is a good man.
Roles are easily reversed. I could have been on that Board; I could have been the perpetrator, not the victim.
And where is God in all this?
God is in the conflict.
A conflict is when you have two parties, and both are right.
Our spiritual challenge is to not give up on one another, to not walk away, but to face each other.
CCCSGF
This congregation is diverse. From the first moment that I experienced you, I was impressed. Republicans and Democrats sitting in the same pews. In Springfield, Missouri? Grandparents with their sons and daughters and their grandchildren worshiping next to gay and lesbians, in Springfield, Missouri? Who would have thought? Catholics, Assemblies of God, Episcopalians, Methodists, Lutherans (both Missouri and ELCA) participating together in the Christian rituals, while the leadership of their own denominations is not sure whether they should encourage this? In Springfield, Missouri?
You don't just talk, you live what others are preaching: There can be unity in diversity.
On the other hand, compared to some of the other groups meeting today here in this city, we are not a big crowd. Not everyone is comfortable reaching out and bridging gaps.
What if the other party in the conflict does not want to talk? What if they do not seek the dialogue?
This is what happened in my case: In the three years not one of my emails or letters to my Christian brothers and sisters on the Board has been answered. What do you do then?
THE SOWER
The Parable of the Sower has offered me deep consolation. It seems to me that no sower would intentionally waste seeds on pavement or on rocks or sow among weeds. The seed will always grow without our control - I am speaking as a teacher now - no perfect PowerPoint presentation, no perfect manuscript can guarantee that a seed comes to life.
The parable does not encourage us to grow, it encourages us to sow. I have always experienced growth as a miracle.
In an unresolved conflict, we are encouraged to continue to sow. Some seeds will fall on barren ground, others on rocky spots, others among the thorns, but others on good soil - and they will bear fruit.
END
When I walked out of the room after that final conversation with the President, I stumbled across my colleague of many years, the Ethics professor. And when he asked me, how the meeting had gone, I spontaneously answered: "I've just been raped."
I continued to walk down the hall. In the sitting area I met the new President's wife. She was delighted to see me. She had a question about the New Testament that she had not been able to research to her satisfaction.
((PAUSE))
It was at that moment that I had to decide, who I was. And I decided to be, who my students had taught me to be during the twelve years I proudly served them.
I listened to the President's wife as carefully as I could in this difficult situation, and I answered her question to the best of my knowledge.
End of the Sermon. // Amen.
((Blessing: Go with God! Go in peace! - And sow the seed!))
