The Gregorian Storm

I had been looking forward to teaching the story of Henry IV and Gregory VII all year.  It’s one of my favourite stories in Church History and I love teaching it.  Telling the story of Henry IV and Gregory VII is like sipping a great glass of wine.  You don’t want to tip the glass back and down it in two great swallows.  It should be savoured and sipped.  So too with a good story – it should never be rushed.

It was the perfect day for a good story too.  The end of the day was nearing, a storm had moved in and the rain was pouring down.  It was wet and cold outside, but the classroom was warm and cozy.  Everyone was settled in as I began retelling the story of Henry IV and Gregory VII.

Henry IV was the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and Gregory VII was the Pope.  The Empire spanned across Europe but apparently was not big enough for both Henry IV and Gregory VII.  A power struggle followed as to what was supreme – the church or the state.  Bitter letters were fired back and forth, excommunication was threatened and levied against Henry, and an army was raised against Gregory.  

The whole matter came to an exciting climax when Henry IV realized he was defeated and goes to Canossa where Gregory VII is lodged in a castle.  The only way Henry can get his throne back is by repenting before Pope Gregory.  Henry waited three long days barefoot in the snow as he waited for Gregory to lift the excommunication ban.  Gregory did not want to absolve Henry but after three days, he realized that he had no choice.  Gregory lifted the ban and Henry went back to Germany triumphant.  In the end, Gregory had to flee Rome from a rival pope and soon after died.  Henry IV was forced to step down as king after his son raised an army against him.

The story was going along quite well and the drama was building as Henry and Gregory plotted and schemed against each other.  The question of ‘who would come out on top’ hung thick in the air.  The climax of the story takes place at the castle of Canossa and I took my time setting the scene and describing what it must have been like for Henry to stand barefoot in the snow for three days while Gregory paced the inner keep of the castle in a state of indecision.  

Just as I got to the part about how Gregory would respond to the penitent Henry, the rain outside suddenly turned into a deluge.  A few heads started swivelling to see what was happening outside.  I ratcheted up my excitement and summoned all of my storytelling abilities to keep the students’ attention.  After all, you only get to talk about Canossa once a year!

Thunder started to rumble.  While the odd clap of thunder can do wonders for a good story, multiple claps that jar your bones can effectively kill a good story.  The lightening was the death knell.  To cap it all off, the rain started coming down in sheets.  Looking out the window was like standing behind Niagara Falls.  The lesson and story were over as I raised a white flag to the storm.

As there were only a few minutes of class left, I knew the climax of the story would have to wait till the next day.  We gathered by the windows and watched the rain lash down and the lightening streak across the black sky.  Though it wasn’t the ending I was planning on, this impressive spring storm did provide quite a finish to the day.

At the end of the day the students didn’t find out who had the upper hand in the struggle between church and state.  I think the students were left with a real sense of who really was and is in control as we witnessed God’s grandeur unfold right before us.

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

-          W. Cowper

I Will Sing of My Redeemer

Philip Bliss took the stage and sat down at the piano.  It was the last song of the program.  There was pin drop silence as Philip set his music in place.  He looked over the crowd.  He thought back to how nervous he was to be singing here at the Michigan State Prison in front of 800 prisoners.  Many of the inmates now had bowed heads and clasped hands.  With his powerful voice, he sang the hymn he had composed called ‘Eternity’.  It would be the last song he would ever sing in a public revival meeting.

 After the service at the prison, he headed back by train to his family in Rome, Pennsylvania where he spent Christmas.  On December 29, 1876 Philip and his wife Lucy said goodbye to their two young children and left for Chicago where they would be helping D.L. Moody with his ministry.  Philip provided the music for Moody’s meetings and wrote and composed many of the hymns for those meetings.

At the train station, he wired a message ahead.  It said “Tickets for Chicago, via Buffalo and Lake Shore Railroad.  Baggage checked through.  Shall be in Chicago Friday night.  God bless you all forever.”

By the time the train rolled into Buffalo, a fierce blizzard was raging.  The Pacific Express was refueled and more passengers came aboard.  The train pulled out of the station on its way to Chicago.  Philip checked his watch – it was going to take a while to get to Chicago in this weather.  The steam engines struggled through the high drifts and gale-force winds.  

By the time the train had reached the village of Ashtabula, the train was only moving at ten miles per hour.  The two engines struggled to pull the eleven cars as the 160 foot single span Ashtabula bridge approached.  As the Pacific Express made its way over the bridge, loud cracking sounds could be heard.  The first engine made it across the bridge but was pulled to a sudden stop as the entire bridge collapsed.  

The train plunged down 70 feet onto the frozen river below.  The engines burst into flames which quickly spread to the cars.  Survivors battled getting out of the twisted wreckage and the tall flames.  To make matters worse, the ice started to crack and swallow the wreckage.

Philip Bliss and Lucy were dozing off when they were suddenly jarred awake by the loud cracking sound of the collapsing bridge.  Philip slipped his hand into Lucy’s and looked out the window.  Suddenly the entire carriage seemed to lurch backwards and seemed to be falling.  Everything went black for Philip.

Philip came to and struggled to get out of his berth.  He could hear moans of pain.  What had just happened?  The carriage was quickly filling with smoke and flames – he knew he had to get out.  He looked around desperately for Lucy but she was nowhere to be seen.  The smoke was starting to get thicker and Philip knew he was running out of time.  He scrambled through an opening and was hit by pelting snow and biting wind.  He looked around desperately for Lucy, but couldn’t find her or hardly anyone for that matter.  There seemed to be only a few people who made it out of the train.

  

Without thinking, Philip took a deep breath and headed back into the mangled railway carriage.  He called out for Lucy but there was no answer.  As Philip crawled through the wreckage looking for his wife, he could feel his air running out.  He headed back to the approximate spot where he was sitting and found Lucy unconscious and pinned under a seat.  Philip couldn’t get her loose.  As the flames and smoke advanced towards them, Philip stayed by her side until the end.

 Out of the 160 Pacific Express passengers, only 14 survived the Ashtabula bridge disaster.  

Philip’s trunk was recovered and inside was found a couple of unfinished hymns.  The last one that Philip had been working on left off with “I know not what awaits me.  God kindly veils my eyes...”  There was also a hymn that was finished but not published – titled My Redeemer.  We sometimes title this hymn “I Will Sing of My Redeemer”. 

I will sing of my Redeemer,
And His heav’nly love to me;
He from death to life hath brought me,
Son of God with Him to be.

Sing, oh, sing, of my Redeemer,
With His blood, He purchased me;
On the cross, He sealed my pardon,
Paid the debt, and made me free.

The Trip Out East - Part One

The path down memory lane is well trodden in this blog.  It’s not that I am living in the past but the past always seems to be lingering.  It could be a smell that takes me back to Oma’s house, a picture that sparks a forgotten funny story, or a taste of something that transports you back to your childhood.  Last week I was at my sister Ally’s house and a song came on that sent my mind and my over active memory reeling back to a family vacation out East.

We were loaded up in the family station wagon.  Becky and Ally were in the back of the station wagon and were setting up Barbie land.  Derek, Scott and I were in the middle bench, Mom was up in the front navigating, and Dad was piloting the old bird.  

Dad was sporting one of his classic sun-visors; Derek had his trusty camouflage hat perched on his head and was wearing a t-shirt with a wolf howling into the moon.  Scott, for some inexplicable reason that still eludes us to this day was a full fledged Montreal Canadiens fan, and was draped with a Habs shirt.  The girls had matching clothes and matching hair accessories.  We were a fine looking bunch and we were ready to explore the Maritimes. 

We said goodbye to the house and headed east.  A large plastic ‘hamburger’ was strapped down on the roof-rack and was jammed with all of our luggage.

The first few hours of the trip flew by.  Before we knew it we were past Toronto and close to the nation’s capital.  It was at this point that the novelty of a long car ride wore off like novocaine.  Things were heating up in Barbie land in the back seat.  

“You’ve had all the best Barbie clothes.  Let’s trade.” demanded Becky.

“Fine.  But I’m not playing anymore.” replied Ally.

The Barbies went from dolls to weapons in a flash.  Dad wisely pulled off at the next exit when he saw Ken coming down on the head of his youngest daughter in the rear-view mirror.  It was time for a pit stop.  

 We were relieved to finally be out of Ontario and into ‘la belle province’ of Quebec.  Derek thought it would be a good time to serenade us all by whistling along with the music.  The rest of us chimed in from time to time with such loving phrases as “Shut-up Derek!” to “Mom, tell Derek to shut-up!”  

As we passed Montreal, Becky decided that the tasteless wad of hubba-bubba gum had to go.  She had been chewing it since Cornwall.  Scott and I had been banished to the backseat and the girls were in the middle with Derek.  Becky rolled down her window and spit her gum out.  It flew out the window but was sucked back by the force field the station wagon was creating.  The huge blob of hot pink hubba-bubba was now stuck to the side window.  Mom and Dad were not impressed.

“That’s it!  No more gum – EVER!” said Dad.

“For crying out loud, that gum’s going to be stuck there till we get to PEI!” echoed Mom.

We learned that day that hubba-bubba chewing gum was resilient stuff.  It was securely affixed to the window and was not going anywhere.  We began to discuss, with a growing sense of certainty, the theory that gum could indeed camp out in your stomach for at least seven years if you swallowed it.  

 No doubt this type intellectual banter made the car ride fly by for Mom and Dad.  After exhausting the subject of hubba-bubba bubble gum, we delved into such deep topics as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Steve Urkel, why people in Quebec talked funny, and if Timbits were actual donut holes or if they just made them separate.  Whenever silence threatened, we resorted to our favourite Home Alone quotes.  

By the time we hit New Brunswick, Becky and Ally were re-enacting Anne of Green Gables with their Barbies and were mourning the loss of Matthew.  We all paused for a moment of silence as Matthew (played by Ken) was buried in the back glove compartment.

As the trip progressed, the stereo kept getting louder and louder.  It was almost as if Mom and Dad were trying to drown us out.  Michael W. Smith’s First Decade cassette was our favourite and was in danger of wearing out by this point.  We knew every word to every song and all of the back-up parts to boot.  These are the songs today that seem to teleport me back into the station wagon.

Finally after many hours and kilometres, we made it to the ferry crossing.  Prince Edward Island was in our sights.

Stay tuned for part two...

A Swing and a Miss

I was taken back to an early moment in my teaching days this week when we started our badminton unit in Phys Ed – a moment in time that turned out to be somewhat pivotal for me.  

 Teacher’s college was a nice safe environment where we discussed philosophy of education, literacy and how we were going to make a difference in the classroom.   Finally the day arrived for me to leave the safe confines of the nest and try my teaching wings out in a grade 7&8 classroom.  

I arrived in the school parking lot and put my car in park.  My mind was racing as I unfastened my seatbelt and took the keys out of the ignition.  For some reason all of the teaching block horror stories that swirled around in teacher’s college started flooding my mind.  I tried to banish those thoughts as I used the rear-view mirror to see if my tie was straight.  

Before I knew it I was in front of the class introducing myself.  I wondered if the students were able to hear the thudding of my heart.  My mouth quickly became as dry as the Sahara and swallowing became a distant memory.

Becoming a teacher involves a slight leap of faith.  There are always questions that float around in your head while in teacher’s college.  What if I am a horrible teacher?  What if I can’t control the class?  What if they don’t learn anything?

These questions seemed to be amplified on that first day.  The giant of fear was looming large.

After the first class, the grade school was called to an assembly in the gym.  One of Canada’s Olympic women badminton players was visiting the school.  She was going to talk to the students about the sport and give a demonstration of her skills.  After filling us in on the rules, techniques and strategies, she asked if one of the teachers would be willing to play against her.

Most of the teachers suddenly became intensely interested in the floorboards of the gym.  I suddenly wished I had chameleon-like qualities in order to blend in with the crowd.  Why did I decide to wear a pink tie?!

The Olympian sized up the crowd and tried to find her first victim.  The blood drained from my face as she pointed her racquet at me as if it was a scepter.  She asked if I would try my hand against her.  My gulp was probably heard by everyone as I stepped forward to the court.  All eyes were on the new guy.  The pressure was on.

Time was frozen for a moment as I thought about what was happening.  What am I doing here?  I don’t belong here!  I’m quiet and shy, and don’t like to be the centre of attention!  What a huge mistake I’m making!  I’m not cut out for this job.  Maybe I should just run out of here, hop in my car and peel out of here! 
  

I looked around and saw that all eyes were on me and the Olympian badminton player.  I knew there was no chance.  What a great first impression this would be!  I’ll be the laughing stock of this school.  I knew I couldn’t compete against her, and suddenly had a brief vision of me going to the hospital with a birdie embedded in my forehead.

She wound up and let the birdie fly.  It came at me like a Polaris missile.  By the time I feebly swung, the birdie had long landed between my feet.  I expected boos, hisses and laughter, but applause and cheering resounded instead.  I even heard some of the students shout ‘Go Mr. S!’

In the end I did manage to return a couple before the assembly ended.  When I went back to where my new 7&8 class was seated, I was greeted with looks of admiration and encouragement.  It was at that point that I knew I was at the right place and doing the right thing. 

As I drove home that day, I marveled at the Lord’s goodness and grace.  My giants of fear had been vanquished and I was humbled at how God had turned me from a shy, quiet introvert and had equipped me for this great calling.