While skiing around Oberstdorf and struggling to capture the beauty and scale of the mountains, I discovered that some of my photos came out best in black and white. I’m no Ansel Adams, but I hope you enjoy these little snap shots as much as I enjoyed looking for them.
In case you missed the memo: I love diving. Just over a year ago, I took my first plunge, and I was hooked. After debating with myself the various theories as to why I like diving so much, I’ve narrowed it down to the neat looking, technical gear and all the cool stuff that lives in the ocean. There’s just something about being literally over your head in nature while breathing from your personal tank of air. The clear, warm waters and blazing sunshine of Indonesia didn’t hurt.
Safe to say, it has been somewhat of a jolt to go from this…
…to this.
I love Hamburg and all it has to offer by way of diverse cultures, delicious food, friendly people, international commerce, and maritime charm. But for someone who has spent the past eight years much closer to the equator, it’s sometimes hard not to get down during the damp, cold, gray winter.
Not one to admit defeat, I considered my options.
Option one: diving near Hamburg. While this would satisfy my desire for wearing some neat dive-gear, the cold, dark waters in and around Hamburg weren’t so exciting. Also, this is expensive.
Option two: flying to Indonesia. This would make both neat gear and beautiful waters available, but (while cheaper than from the U.S.), tickets to Indonesia are wildly out of my price range.
Option three: find a new hobby that includes neat, technical looking gear, lots of time outside, and is within my price range.
Enter: Cross-country skiing in Oberstdorf.
The tickets were cheap, ski-rentals were cheaper, and I had a four-day weekend calling me to the Alps. All signs pointed towards the snowy south, so I took a chance and “dove” in.
I’ve been a down-hill skier since the tender age of four, and I used to love all things winter, but I have to admit that I was a little nervous as I set out. Could I handle the cold? Despite my down-hill experience, would I be totally incompetent?
Yes, and yes.
Cross-country skiing is hard! And I was slow. Very slow. Little old ladies and eight year olds were passing me kind of slow. By the end of each day, my legs were so sore that I could barely struggle up the hill to the youth hostel. But because of all my effort and exertion, I stayed nice and warm in my layers of flannel.
More importantly, I LOVED it.
To be outside, working hard, pushing myself to meet new challenges while surrounded in some of God’s most beautiful, mountainous creation! There were moments when I just had to stop – sweating and panting – look around myself, and sigh, “Wow.”
There has been a lot of turmoil in the world as of late, and one of the things I loved about diving into the ocean’s depths was the peace and tranquility of watching sea turtles and parrot fish floating by and munching away on coral – so undisturbed by the surface and yet so inseparably connected to all of us.
This weekend, I rediscovered that same calming communion in the mountains. It is in the leafless branches and the ground sleeping beneath its covering of snow. It is in the birds singing as the sun warms their frozen trees and in the tracks of rabbits that have scurried across the fields.
We can feel it tugging at something deep inside us – like the roots of our souls are somehow connected to the roots of those mountains. It is grounding, and it is transcendent.
I discovered that the hole I was feeling in my heart in the absence of diving, was the absence of this connection. The city is exciting and engaging, but – for me – there is always a lack, something fundamental that is missing. Something found in forests and mountains, fields of snow and ocean reefs. It is to feel and to begin to comprehend that we are all a part of something much bigger, something much more alive.
I’m sitting on a train to Berlin, listening to Christmas carols (all the oldies from my childhood), and sipping a “Lebkuchen” (aka. Gingerbread) latte. It’s my favorite time of the year filled with all my favorite things – cue Julie Andrews – and all should be right with the world.
And yet…
This season of so much light, cheer, sugar, and spice has also been a reminder that all is not right in the world. Political, racial, and national divides paper my Facebook news feed. Bombs fall on Aleppo as young and old upload their final goodbyes to Youtube. And the news screens in the subway show images of a truck plowed into a Christmas market in Berlin. Homeless men and women huddle into sleeping bags under bridges and my migrant students’ phones and ID-cards are stolen from the locker room during gym class – their connection to the homes they’ve left behind and their new identities and claims to a new life in a new home.
In a time when we are singing about joy and peace, we desperately wish for the world to be well, to be whole. But the reality is staring us in the face – just behind the veil of crowded shopping malls, twinkling lights, and honeyed hams – the world is sick and broken.
So what do we do? Do we cancel Christmas? Unplug the lights, drag the tree to the curb, throw some mothballs on the Christmas sweaters, and unstuff the stockings?
As someone who spends the entire year looking forward to the holiday season and all its traditions, I don’t think that’s the answer.
But I do think we need to reorient our season on hope – not just finding it for ourselves, but embodying it for others.
The past few Decembers (and the other eleven months when I think no one is listening), I’ve become enamored by a particular Christmas song.
O come, o come Emanuel
And ransom captive Israel
Who morns in lonely exile here
Until the son of God appears
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emanuel
Shall come to thee, o Israel.
With it’s soft, minor harmonies, this song gets me right in the feels every time. It’s a song of solitude and yearning – a song of wandering in the darkness and looking for a light.
One of my neighbors down the street started putting a lantern with a large pillar candle out on their stoop a few weeks back. It reminds me of the ancient traditions throughout northern Europe of creating light as the nights got longer. It’s a little flickering reminder of the spirit of the yule log – light and warmth burning through the longest night. As a Christian, it reminds me of the light of a little child born in Bethlehem – a light in the darkness, a hope for healing, a savior for the lost. Life breathed into God-made-man, God-with-us – Emanuel.
And such is the challenge for all of us – not only during the holidays, but throughout the year. What are we doing to bring light and hope to the lives of others – our loved ones, friends, neighbors, and even our enemies?
As we sit with our families this Christmas, as we bask in the lights of our Christmas trees, and as we test the human limits of Christmas cookie consumption, think about those who are hurting in the world. Think of those who are alone, those who need someone to reach out to them. And then, reach out. Donate, visit, pray, write, call, embrace. Be aware – even if it’s painful – of those who need the warmth, light, and hope of this season, and explore how to embody that hope.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a hopeful year ahead.
Imagine for a moment that you’re driving home for the holidays. You’re stuck in traffic, gifts are piled in the trunk, and the radio fills the car with old-timey carols and ads for deals at Best Buy. And then a voice breaks through the idling engines and jingling bells: “Are we there yet?”
And in similar fashion began the advent wreath right here in Hamburg, Germany.
The year was 1839 and Johann Hinrich Wichern was pastor of the Rauhes Haus mission school. Every day the children would ask him if it Christmas yet, and Wichern (like generations of parents have aspired to do before and after) devised a clever way to end the nagging. He fashioned the first ever advent “wreath” out of an old cartwheel by turning it on its side and affixing 24 small red candles and four large white candles. Each day of the week, a small red candle would be lit – except on Sunday, when a white candle was set ablaze.
Eventually, evergreen boughs were added and the candles were reduced to only four, for the household sized wreaths we know today.
Whether simple or ornate, many candles or few, the advent wreath is a fun and meaningful way to count-down to Christmas.
We all have unique holiday traditions, but there are also many that we share. The tradition of the advent wreath can be found in many countries in homes, churches, and even public spaces. It is something that teaches us to bring light into darkness, to look forward to the future, and to connect with those near and far. And to learn that it all started right here in Hamburg was a real Christmas treat!
Worth a Journey 