Sunday, May 27, 2007
Farewell to Falwell
Thousands of mourners, many arriving before dawn, yesterday bade farewell to the Rev. Jerry Falwell, the Baptist evangelist who became a leader in winning souls to Christ, founder of Liberty Baptist University, and a moral force in national politics.
The congregation at the Thomas Road Baptist Church included political and civic figures who came to mourn, but the 10,000 men and women in the audience were drawn to pay tribute to the Gospel that Mr. Falwell preached with fire and passion for Christ in a ministry that spanned five decades.
"No one ever had a better friend than Jerry Falwell," said the Rev. Jim Moon, a childhood friend and co-pastor of the Thomas Road Baptist Church, where the service was held. "Jerry Falwell was a man who trusted in the Lord with all his heart. He sought the wisdom of God in every decision he made."
Mr. Falwell founded the church in 1956 with just 35 parishioners in an abandoned Donald Duck Cola bottling plant. The church now enrolls 24,000 members.
The Rev. Jerry Vines, former president of the Southern Baptist Convention, told the packed church of the early days of the ministry, when Mr. Falwell preached and his wife, Macel, played the piano.
Their efforts attracted 800 members by the end of the first year, he said, and the Falwells had built a megachurch "before megachurches were cool."
Mr. Falwell was remembered as a "saint," "prophet," "a dreamer who dared" and a "giant of a man" who understood the "will and work" of God, and made all he met feel like they were his best friend.
Inside the big man was a "mischievous little boy," Mr. Vines said. He gave surprise bear hugs that left people checking for rib injuries and once drove a car equipped with a horn that made a trainlike sound.
Mr. Vines said Mr. Falwell, who had carefully planned his service, once told him "I'm going to walk out" if the funeral ran longer than 45 minutes. "So I have been watching carefully," Mr. Vines said.
The Rev. Franklin Graham, son of evangelist Billy Graham, said Mr. Falwell was a controversial figure because of his unwavering belief in moral standards, such as his opposition to abortion, pornography and same-sex "marriage."
Mr. Graham praised Mr. Falwell for "believing that moral decay weakened America." He said Mr. Falwell's passion changed U.S. politics, particularly when he started the Moral Majority in 1979, which helped elect Ronald Reagan president and united evangelical and fundamentalist Christians who had avoided politics.
Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein, head of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, said before the service that Mr. Falwell was one of the "first to build a bridge between evangelicals and Jews in America and evangelicals and Jews in Israel."
The congregation at the Thomas Road Baptist Church included political and civic figures who came to mourn, but the 10,000 men and women in the audience were drawn to pay tribute to the Gospel that Mr. Falwell preached with fire and passion for Christ in a ministry that spanned five decades.
"No one ever had a better friend than Jerry Falwell," said the Rev. Jim Moon, a childhood friend and co-pastor of the Thomas Road Baptist Church, where the service was held. "Jerry Falwell was a man who trusted in the Lord with all his heart. He sought the wisdom of God in every decision he made."
Mr. Falwell founded the church in 1956 with just 35 parishioners in an abandoned Donald Duck Cola bottling plant. The church now enrolls 24,000 members.
The Rev. Jerry Vines, former president of the Southern Baptist Convention, told the packed church of the early days of the ministry, when Mr. Falwell preached and his wife, Macel, played the piano.
Their efforts attracted 800 members by the end of the first year, he said, and the Falwells had built a megachurch "before megachurches were cool."
Mr. Falwell was remembered as a "saint," "prophet," "a dreamer who dared" and a "giant of a man" who understood the "will and work" of God, and made all he met feel like they were his best friend.
Inside the big man was a "mischievous little boy," Mr. Vines said. He gave surprise bear hugs that left people checking for rib injuries and once drove a car equipped with a horn that made a trainlike sound.
Mr. Vines said Mr. Falwell, who had carefully planned his service, once told him "I'm going to walk out" if the funeral ran longer than 45 minutes. "So I have been watching carefully," Mr. Vines said.
The Rev. Franklin Graham, son of evangelist Billy Graham, said Mr. Falwell was a controversial figure because of his unwavering belief in moral standards, such as his opposition to abortion, pornography and same-sex "marriage."
Mr. Graham praised Mr. Falwell for "believing that moral decay weakened America." He said Mr. Falwell's passion changed U.S. politics, particularly when he started the Moral Majority in 1979, which helped elect Ronald Reagan president and united evangelical and fundamentalist Christians who had avoided politics.
Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein, head of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, said before the service that Mr. Falwell was one of the "first to build a bridge between evangelicals and Jews in America and evangelicals and Jews in Israel."
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Spirit of Detroit
Step inside Historic Trinity Church and the majestic sounds of Bach or Handel or Vivaldi resound from mammoth pipe organs throughout the three-story house of worship. As the sun streams through the leaded stained glass windows, spilling onto oak pews, music and light illuminate the gospel of joyful preservation taught from the pulpit.
“A church needs to be an open place, a focus of city life," says the Rev. Dr. David Eberhard, pastor of Holy Trinity. "It's a place you come to all at once, in a great rush of contradiction and paradox that is orthodox and outrageous. ... It is the church of the new urbanite.”
Historic Trinity parishioners distribute church flyers at loft buildings, coffee houses, Eastern Market stalls and anywhere people gather in the city. Eberhard is proud to say he has 1,800 church members with an average age of 36 and that the parish has become a source of regional outreach from its location at Gratiot and Russell Street, just east of downtown Detroit.
“The urbanite doesn’t read newspapers or mail that comes in envelopes but he yearns for tradition, a church with a choir, liturgy, organ music and something more, a sense of belonging,” Eberhard says. “Historic Trinity models itself as a downtown church that understands people of multi-generations and invites them to its spiritual home.”
Historic destination
Just as P.T. Barnum did whatever possible to get people into the Big Top, Eberhard looks at a variety of historical, mysterious and comical resources to get more people into the pews.
Tour groups – from the blue haired ladies from Livonia to the spouses of convention attendees at Cobo Center – stream through this Lutheran cathedral each week to see how art and architecture contributed to its placement on the city, state and national historic register. They seldom leave disappointed.
In this magnificent space they find stone statues, a bell tower, wood carvings, stained glass windows and ancient crucifix, much as might be discovered at any big city church. But Eberhard and his team of tour guides reveal more: a secret staircase hidden behind a revolving book case, a trio of life-size pastors in glass cases and an assemblage of doll houses made by the pastor to reflect Victoriana, Halloween, the Caribbean, a firehouse and a row of shops.
Eberhard, who served on the Detroit City Council for 24 years, sees the best way to repair the city’s woes as soothing the soul and restoring inner valor.
Eberhard greets visitors in a study designed in the early 1930s to resemble Martin Luther's German study of the early 16th century. Its walls are covered with murals depicting scenes from the Reformation and the Renaissance. Visitors see one of the original bibles produced on a Guttenberg press and preserved under glass.
“There is eye candy everywhere you look,” says Stewart McMillan, an Indian Village resident who leads periodic tours through Historic Trinity and other downtown churches. (Editor's note: see photographer Dave Krieger's photo essay, Sacred Urban Space, for immediate eye candy.)
The pastor is most proud of his crucifix from an 1866 altar and an accompanying painting, both acquired from Oberammergau, Germany, a village that has staged annual Passion Plays since the 1600s.
Vocational calling
Growing up as the son of a minister, David Eberhard didn’t question how he wound up in seminary school in the days of spiritual activism and civil rights. He came to Detroit with his wife Beverly in the mid-1960s to Riverside Lutheran Church. The church ran medical clinics and community building workshops while he delivered rousing sermons that built a base of motivated followers.
Eberhard moved from the pulpit to the political arena, riding the wave of progressive leaders from President John F. Kennedy to then Mayor Jerome Cavanaugh. He worked to restore Detroit's hopes and houses after the 1967 riot and later became a close friend of Mayor Coleman Young. He might have stayed in politics if not for Dick Huegli, then president of the Community Foundation for Michigan, who begged him to help restore Trinity Lutheran to its glory. Its membership had fallen to just 80 families, all seniors.
“Most downtown churches had become private clubs, where only card carrying members could worship. Visitors were welcome but not really. Then pastors wondered why they couldn’t get enough collections to fix the roof,” Eberhard says. “No building can serve its mandate when it is open only 1.8 hours a week.”
With the help of Monsignor Clement Kern, the late pastor of Most Holy Trinity, a Catholic church in Corktown, Eberhard learned how to create a niche for his congregation that would grow in size and stature. The two churches distinguished themselves by their antecedents, “Historic” and “Most Holy.”
Eberhard reached out to the Metropolitan Visitors and Convention Bureau and the Detroit Historical Society to offer tours and scheduled tours of other neighboring churches. Soon people were calling to schedule weddings, events and meetings at a facility that welcomed newcomers and old-timers. He founded the Detroit Historical Church Association, a group made up of ministers that meets three or four times a year to brainstorm about ways to grow a congregation.
“We are all here to promote downtown. As one church is strong, all of us become stronger,” Eberhard says. Eberhard, the father of five boys with 13 grandchildren, has a succession plan in place to keep the ministerial team focused on preservation.
Yet his primary purpose is to nurture the flock with a dynamic sermon, a service that might include the organ with bagpipes, guitars, re-enactments of holy scenes and a major processional with up to six clergy. Young adults who seek traditional dining rooms, classic styled cars and wardrobes look for a house of worship that looks solid.
The front door of Historic Trinity alone portrays 300 religious figures, starting with church founder Martin Luther and including Moses, Aaron and the Woman of Canaan.
“A church feeds the soul just as restaurants feed the stomach. You go to church because you want the ambiance and the emotional uplift of a service," Eberhard says. "You leave feeling you are forgiven, that God will walk with you through the week and give you the strength to take care of what you cope with.”
With that, he puts his head back in the Bible to prepare his next liturgical service. The phone rings, a new voice asks if the service will be relevant. “Come and put your feet under the Lord’s Table and partake of a meal," the pastor says. "You’ll gain a peace of mind that you cannot find all by yourself. God is listening.”
“A church needs to be an open place, a focus of city life," says the Rev. Dr. David Eberhard, pastor of Holy Trinity. "It's a place you come to all at once, in a great rush of contradiction and paradox that is orthodox and outrageous. ... It is the church of the new urbanite.”
Historic Trinity parishioners distribute church flyers at loft buildings, coffee houses, Eastern Market stalls and anywhere people gather in the city. Eberhard is proud to say he has 1,800 church members with an average age of 36 and that the parish has become a source of regional outreach from its location at Gratiot and Russell Street, just east of downtown Detroit.
“The urbanite doesn’t read newspapers or mail that comes in envelopes but he yearns for tradition, a church with a choir, liturgy, organ music and something more, a sense of belonging,” Eberhard says. “Historic Trinity models itself as a downtown church that understands people of multi-generations and invites them to its spiritual home.”
Historic destination
Just as P.T. Barnum did whatever possible to get people into the Big Top, Eberhard looks at a variety of historical, mysterious and comical resources to get more people into the pews.
Tour groups – from the blue haired ladies from Livonia to the spouses of convention attendees at Cobo Center – stream through this Lutheran cathedral each week to see how art and architecture contributed to its placement on the city, state and national historic register. They seldom leave disappointed.
In this magnificent space they find stone statues, a bell tower, wood carvings, stained glass windows and ancient crucifix, much as might be discovered at any big city church. But Eberhard and his team of tour guides reveal more: a secret staircase hidden behind a revolving book case, a trio of life-size pastors in glass cases and an assemblage of doll houses made by the pastor to reflect Victoriana, Halloween, the Caribbean, a firehouse and a row of shops.
Eberhard, who served on the Detroit City Council for 24 years, sees the best way to repair the city’s woes as soothing the soul and restoring inner valor.
Eberhard greets visitors in a study designed in the early 1930s to resemble Martin Luther's German study of the early 16th century. Its walls are covered with murals depicting scenes from the Reformation and the Renaissance. Visitors see one of the original bibles produced on a Guttenberg press and preserved under glass.
“There is eye candy everywhere you look,” says Stewart McMillan, an Indian Village resident who leads periodic tours through Historic Trinity and other downtown churches. (Editor's note: see photographer Dave Krieger's photo essay, Sacred Urban Space, for immediate eye candy.)
The pastor is most proud of his crucifix from an 1866 altar and an accompanying painting, both acquired from Oberammergau, Germany, a village that has staged annual Passion Plays since the 1600s.
Vocational calling
Growing up as the son of a minister, David Eberhard didn’t question how he wound up in seminary school in the days of spiritual activism and civil rights. He came to Detroit with his wife Beverly in the mid-1960s to Riverside Lutheran Church. The church ran medical clinics and community building workshops while he delivered rousing sermons that built a base of motivated followers.
Eberhard moved from the pulpit to the political arena, riding the wave of progressive leaders from President John F. Kennedy to then Mayor Jerome Cavanaugh. He worked to restore Detroit's hopes and houses after the 1967 riot and later became a close friend of Mayor Coleman Young. He might have stayed in politics if not for Dick Huegli, then president of the Community Foundation for Michigan, who begged him to help restore Trinity Lutheran to its glory. Its membership had fallen to just 80 families, all seniors.
“Most downtown churches had become private clubs, where only card carrying members could worship. Visitors were welcome but not really. Then pastors wondered why they couldn’t get enough collections to fix the roof,” Eberhard says. “No building can serve its mandate when it is open only 1.8 hours a week.”
With the help of Monsignor Clement Kern, the late pastor of Most Holy Trinity, a Catholic church in Corktown, Eberhard learned how to create a niche for his congregation that would grow in size and stature. The two churches distinguished themselves by their antecedents, “Historic” and “Most Holy.”
Eberhard reached out to the Metropolitan Visitors and Convention Bureau and the Detroit Historical Society to offer tours and scheduled tours of other neighboring churches. Soon people were calling to schedule weddings, events and meetings at a facility that welcomed newcomers and old-timers. He founded the Detroit Historical Church Association, a group made up of ministers that meets three or four times a year to brainstorm about ways to grow a congregation.
“We are all here to promote downtown. As one church is strong, all of us become stronger,” Eberhard says. Eberhard, the father of five boys with 13 grandchildren, has a succession plan in place to keep the ministerial team focused on preservation.
Yet his primary purpose is to nurture the flock with a dynamic sermon, a service that might include the organ with bagpipes, guitars, re-enactments of holy scenes and a major processional with up to six clergy. Young adults who seek traditional dining rooms, classic styled cars and wardrobes look for a house of worship that looks solid.
The front door of Historic Trinity alone portrays 300 religious figures, starting with church founder Martin Luther and including Moses, Aaron and the Woman of Canaan.
“A church feeds the soul just as restaurants feed the stomach. You go to church because you want the ambiance and the emotional uplift of a service," Eberhard says. "You leave feeling you are forgiven, that God will walk with you through the week and give you the strength to take care of what you cope with.”
With that, he puts his head back in the Bible to prepare his next liturgical service. The phone rings, a new voice asks if the service will be relevant. “Come and put your feet under the Lord’s Table and partake of a meal," the pastor says. "You’ll gain a peace of mind that you cannot find all by yourself. God is listening.”
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Friday, May 11, 2007
Figure of Jesus stolen from church
The congregation of an Oxford church is searching for Jesus - after a four foot-high statue of Christ was stolen from their churchyard.
Parishioners at St Thomas the Martyr Church in Becket Street were devastated when they discovered the figure, depicting Jesus on the cross, had gone missing.
But police believe the figure has not gone far and the church is now appealing for its safe return.
The wooden statue was a gift to the church in 1905 and for the past 100 years has formed part of the Calvary Shrine that stands at the entrance to the churchyard at the west end of St Thomas Street.
But on Friday, April 13, residents in the neighbouring Rowland Hill Court reported a disturbance in the churchyard and the following morning the figure had gone.
Churchwarden Anne Dutton said: "We had a phone call from the police to say there had been a report of damage here. We came down on the Saturday morning and expected to find the figure damaged but it had disappeared."
advertisementMrs Dutton said the wayside crucifix had originated in Oberammergau, Germany, home of the famous Passion Play, and was given to the church by a Mrs Laffan in 1905.
She added: "We would dearly love it back. We have people who have come to St Thomas's all their lives and they are very upset.
"The main priority is to locate the figure. If it has completely vanished we will have to see about replacing it in some way, but if it's not too badly damaged and is just laying somewhere we can repair it and put it back in its rightful place."
Mrs Dutton said several headstones, on the graves of Sisters from the Convent that had stood next to the church until the mid-1950s, had also been badly damaged.
Pc Paul Phillips, of Thames Valley Police, said he doubted the figure had gone far, due to its size.
A Thames Valley Police spokesman said a 34-year-old man was arrested on Saturday in connection with the incident at the church and had been detained under the Mental Health Act.
Parishioners at St Thomas the Martyr Church in Becket Street were devastated when they discovered the figure, depicting Jesus on the cross, had gone missing.
But police believe the figure has not gone far and the church is now appealing for its safe return.
The wooden statue was a gift to the church in 1905 and for the past 100 years has formed part of the Calvary Shrine that stands at the entrance to the churchyard at the west end of St Thomas Street.
But on Friday, April 13, residents in the neighbouring Rowland Hill Court reported a disturbance in the churchyard and the following morning the figure had gone.
Churchwarden Anne Dutton said: "We had a phone call from the police to say there had been a report of damage here. We came down on the Saturday morning and expected to find the figure damaged but it had disappeared."
advertisementMrs Dutton said the wayside crucifix had originated in Oberammergau, Germany, home of the famous Passion Play, and was given to the church by a Mrs Laffan in 1905.
She added: "We would dearly love it back. We have people who have come to St Thomas's all their lives and they are very upset.
"The main priority is to locate the figure. If it has completely vanished we will have to see about replacing it in some way, but if it's not too badly damaged and is just laying somewhere we can repair it and put it back in its rightful place."
Mrs Dutton said several headstones, on the graves of Sisters from the Convent that had stood next to the church until the mid-1950s, had also been badly damaged.
Pc Paul Phillips, of Thames Valley Police, said he doubted the figure had gone far, due to its size.
A Thames Valley Police spokesman said a 34-year-old man was arrested on Saturday in connection with the incident at the church and had been detained under the Mental Health Act.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Passion Play a modern drama
If Europe was mostly illiterate, the Passion Play was one of the church's most effective tools to teach the story of Holy Week, from Palm Sunday through Easter.
Last month, 11 Durango-area churches joined to present Passion Play (the musical), which was created for this day and time. Modern music and sound effects such as crickets in the Garden of Gethsemane and thunder and lightning at the time of Jesus' death all added a dramatic touch. The play was a labor of love and effort for the more than 60 people in the cast, the seven singers and a large backstage contingent. Organizers and cast hope to make it an annual tradition, as it is in Denver, where it has been performed each year for the last 20 years.
Mike Warnock, who played Judas Iscariot, said that the 12 weeks of rehearsals and the five-day performance schedule had been powerful and grueling emotionally. At Wednesday's performance at the River Church, he said, there wasn't a dry eye in the cast.
"Every night, selling out - my Lord," he said. "I learned that I'm not above the worst of the worst."
The earliest examples of the play date back to the 1200s, and it reached its heyday in Germany during the 15th century.
The most famous Passion Play has been held once a decade in Oberammergau, Bavaria, Germany since 1634. More than 2,000 residents participate, from performers and musicians to stage technicians. The Oberammergau version features tableaux vivants (actors standing still representing scenes from the Bible) as well as the drama and runs about seven hours.
Durango's Passion Play, while not as graphically specific as Mel Gibson's "Passion of Christ" film in 2003, did not stint on Christ's suffering. He bled from the scourging and crown of thorns, and was clearly in agony on the Cross. Many young children in the audience were crying or concerned about Jesus being hurt.
Durango's version of the Passion Play also included the quote from Matthew that the blood of Jesus would be on the hands of the Jews and their children.
That quote has been eliminated in Passion Plays put on by Catholics since the Vatican II Council in the 1960s as it was often used as an excuse for anti-Semitism. Biblical scholars say that while Pilate may have pretended reluctance at crucifying Jesus, only he had the power to do so.
In fact, Pilate ordered more than 150 crucifixions during his time as governor of Israel.
Last month, 11 Durango-area churches joined to present Passion Play (the musical), which was created for this day and time. Modern music and sound effects such as crickets in the Garden of Gethsemane and thunder and lightning at the time of Jesus' death all added a dramatic touch. The play was a labor of love and effort for the more than 60 people in the cast, the seven singers and a large backstage contingent. Organizers and cast hope to make it an annual tradition, as it is in Denver, where it has been performed each year for the last 20 years.
Mike Warnock, who played Judas Iscariot, said that the 12 weeks of rehearsals and the five-day performance schedule had been powerful and grueling emotionally. At Wednesday's performance at the River Church, he said, there wasn't a dry eye in the cast.
"Every night, selling out - my Lord," he said. "I learned that I'm not above the worst of the worst."
The earliest examples of the play date back to the 1200s, and it reached its heyday in Germany during the 15th century.
The most famous Passion Play has been held once a decade in Oberammergau, Bavaria, Germany since 1634. More than 2,000 residents participate, from performers and musicians to stage technicians. The Oberammergau version features tableaux vivants (actors standing still representing scenes from the Bible) as well as the drama and runs about seven hours.
Durango's Passion Play, while not as graphically specific as Mel Gibson's "Passion of Christ" film in 2003, did not stint on Christ's suffering. He bled from the scourging and crown of thorns, and was clearly in agony on the Cross. Many young children in the audience were crying or concerned about Jesus being hurt.
Durango's version of the Passion Play also included the quote from Matthew that the blood of Jesus would be on the hands of the Jews and their children.
That quote has been eliminated in Passion Plays put on by Catholics since the Vatican II Council in the 1960s as it was often used as an excuse for anti-Semitism. Biblical scholars say that while Pilate may have pretended reluctance at crucifying Jesus, only he had the power to do so.
In fact, Pilate ordered more than 150 crucifixions during his time as governor of Israel.
