To the Beloved Memory of
James Frazer D.D.
Bishop of Manchester
1870–1885
A Man of Singular Gifts
Both of Nature and of the Spirit
Brave, True, Devout, Diligent,
in Labours unwearied
He won all Hearts by Opening to them his Own
and so Administered this great Diocese
As to prove yet once more
That the People know the Voice
of a Good Shepherd
and will Follow where He Leads
This chapel has been erected
By his Devoted Widow
May 1887
This morning cousin Andrew and his wife Heather took Uncle John and me into downtown Manchester to the cathedral.
Our grandfather was a “joiner” and worked for a company of craftsmen that produced and installed (among other things) carved wooden decorations in churches. They did a magnificent carved oak organ screen in the parish church here in Wilmslow. Uncle John said they also did a lot of work in a side chapel in the cathedral dedicated to the Manchester Regiment. Andy had never seen it, so we decided to go have a look.
The chapel is beautiful. My granddad and his colleagues build cabinets to contain books in which are inscribed the names of the men of the regiment who, going back into the 17th century, had perished in one battle or another. The pages are turned on a regular basis, so that all the names are on display during the course of a year.
Yesterday, as I waited at the stop for the bus to take me over to the place we meet for worship in Modřany, I was thinking…
Jesus said “the fields were white unto harvest.” It doesn’t always seem that this is so. The spiritual need in the Czech Republic is so great, but so few really understand what is wrong with them and who can bring real healing to their lives. It’s a struggle to gain any kind of hearing for the gospel of Christ. The Farniks — who have labored in this field for so many years — understand this much better than I after a few brief visits.
But as the Spirit teaches us, “we walk by faith and not by sight.” We may not see the “whiteness,” the ripeness of the harvest, but if God says it’s so, we must believe it, and act with confidence upon that hope. There are disappointments that I was not able to do more during the month here in Prague. But God’s ways are not mine, and I hope something I said or did will bless a life and advance the cause of the Kingdom. God only knows.
As these thoughts jumbled through my mind, I was listening to some Newsboys music to prepare my heart for the coming worship. The Newsboys have written some pretty stirring “missionary” songs in the last few years. and one, “The Mission,” began to play. My weak, unbelieving heart was captured (again) by Pete Furler’s lyrics, and began to pulse in time with the urgent drumbeat of this anthem. I was reminded of the vision of faith that a missionary (or, really, any Christian) must carry as we live our lives and bear our witness.
When the runners came from Bethlehem
All breathless with good news
They were passing a baton forward through time
The commission, from God's lips to our ears
Carried by His saints two thousand years
Connects us all to the same lifeline
As I fix my eyes ahead
I can feel the Spirit's breath...
(And) I can hear the mission bell ringing out loud and clear
It's the revolution Jesus started, and it's here
Echoing across the world from the shores of Galilee
I can hear the mission bell call for you and me
I wanna run with fire
It's my heart's desire
Lifting your love higher
In the history of our faith's arrivals
Great awakenings, Welsh revivals
Saints and martyrs, summoned by a new birth
Patrick's save of the Irish nation
William Carey's expectation
Lambs and Lions
Called to the ends of the earth
Gotta put my hand to the plow
Not looking back, not now...
That was the tonic for my weariness and doubts about effectiveness. As I rode the bus over to Modřany, my heart soared again with the vision, and the commitment expressed in the chorus that must be ours every day…
I wanna run with fire
It's my heart's desire
Lifting your love higher
May God make it so.
Tábor was a Hussite stronghold during the 15th century, and the Vaněks live close to the center of the old town in a large two hundred year old house. Part of the town defenses was a system of tunnels connecting homes and buildings hewn out of solid rock, and the Vaněks have their very own section of that tunnel system. After dinner, Jiří took us down for a look.
The next morning the seminar began at 9:00 at the Czech Brethren Church. There were about 15 of us all together. Most of the men were from the Tábor church or one of two other CB congregations in the area that are in a collegiate relationship with that congregation.
Mrs. Vaněk and the children provided another delicious meal for the noon break. The seminar concluded about 2:30 PM. It was a blessing to be with these brothers, and to share with them some of the things I have learned from my study of the apostles’ sermons in Acts.
After the sessions were over, Jiří showed us around the old town a little more, and we climbed the 200 steps of the church tower to survey the surrounding countryside. God gave us a timely break in the rainy weather during our tour. After some more fellowship with the Vaněks and more food, we returned to Prague about 8:30.
This morning I led my fourth and final worship service for this summer. Julie was back from her travels in the USA, and brought another school friend, Václav, with her to the service. I pray God has blessed his Word to strengthen and encourage these brothers and sisters and they faithfully serve to plant a church in Modřany. They send their greetings to their friends in Christ in the USA.
Tomorrow morning at 4:55 AM I jump a bus and metro and bus back to the airport for an 8:00 AM flight back to Manchester and a quick visit with my family in England. Then on Friday, God willing, home to San Diego.
Today I got to spend a few hours with Margareta between two of her English lessons. She has about 20 private students as well as taking a full load of extension classes at Charles University toward her masters. Busy lady.
We spent a couple of hours looking at Czech (and other) art from the late 19th and early 20th centuries at one of the Prague National Gallery locations at the Veletržní Palác (Trade Show Palace). Then we walked over to a kind of fairground that was built in a century or so ago. It had an impressive central building.
Then we had lunch and I caught up with her on her year of changes — new residence, new church, and new (part time) job. It has been a challenging time, but she is rejoicing in the Lord’s blessings.
After I left Margareta, I was passing the Obecní Dům (Municipal House) near Náměsti Republiky, and saw a sign outside for a concert at 7:30 PM in the Smetana Hall inside — the Colorado Symphony Chorus with a combined orchestra from East Bohemia playing Verdi’s Requiem. Could not pass that one up. Got a great seat for a good price, and enjoyed the concert thoroughly.
I counted 180 singers (±2-3) in the chorus. What a glorious sound in that acoustically live auditorium!! The chorus responded so well to their accustomed conductor, but the orchestra’s entries were a bit ragged in place (especially the brass “attacks”) probably because they had not had sufficient rehearsal time with an unfamiliar conductor. But no matter.
The Dies irae section — one of the most dramatic pieces of music ever — was stunning (the bass drum resounded through the hall in such a way that it made it sound like we were inside the drum), and, soon afterward, Verdi’s version of “the last trump” gave me quadurple goosebumps (they positioned pairs of trumpeters at other places in the hall and as they began to play their antiphonal fanfares…)!
What a treat. Thank you, Lord, for music!
Today is the anniversary of the birth of one of my favorite composers, Gustav Mahler (1860–1911), who, though he made his reputation in Vienna and beyond, was born in the small Bohemian town of Kaliště (down near Tábor, where I’m going on Friday).
He said that the symphony should "encompass the whole world," and his do. Man and nature, time and eternity, agony and joy. The beautiful slow movement from his Fifth Symphony was used in the movie "Death in Venice" in the 1970s and became a big soundtrack hit.
If you want a taste of his Symphony #2, here's a link.
In his honor, today I’m listening to #6, #9, and the unfinished #10.
About 2:00 PM I headed up to Prague for another ramble around. I wanted to try to find the grave of Czech author Franz Kafka (1883–1924). It’s not that I’m such a big fan of Kafka’s fiction — most of it is tough sledding for me — but he is a very significant figure in 20th century European literature, so I thought I might as well see where he’s buried.
He is not buried in the national cemetery on the Vyšehrad with many other Czech authors, artists, architects, and musicians. I’m not sure if that’s because he was Jewish, or because, at the time of his death, his major works were unpublished (he was an insurance clerk by profession), and he was little known and less appreciated (within Czechoslovakia, he did not become well-respected until the mid-60s), or both. In any case, he’s buried out in the “new” Jewish cemetery — part of the huge complex of Olšany cemeteries in Žižkov (east of downtown Prague). The first cemetery here was founded in 1679 for victims of the plague. The cemetery was expanded during the 19th century and now includes a Russian cemetery and a Jewish cemetery, where Kafka is buried (along with his father and mother who outlived him).
I asked for information at the office when I arrived, and a pleasant man who spoke very good English directed me “down the path to the end of section 21.” Many of the graves were overgrown with ivy, which was also climbing up the trunks of most of the trees. It was obvious from the tombs and grave markers that many of these Jewish citizens of Prague were prominent and prosperous middle-class or wealthy people.
I was interested to see the designation “Dr.” next to Kafka’s name on the gravestone. He did take an academic degree, but I did not know it was a doctorate. He never used it professionally (e.g., as a teacher). It is ironic that, if that was the most distinguished thing his family could point to at the time of his death (“Vanity, vanity,” says the Preacher. “All is vanity.”), it is now almost a distraction, given his reputation as an author. He is known to the world simply as Franz Kafka. Nothing more need be added.
From the Jewish cemetery, I crossed the street and walked down to the middle of the block and entered another huge section of Olšany cemeteries, walking west. There were a significant number of people visiting the graves (perhaps as it was a holiday and many people were off work). These cemeteries are such a contrast to what we are used to in Southern California, where more often than not cemeteries are fields of green grass with the graves marked only by a small flat plate in the ground. These are truly more like “cities of the dead.” In one section I walked by large crypts build in imitation of the pointed arch front door of a Gothic church. Remembering our dead is certainly a good thing, but one feels there is more going on here — for all the symbols of Christianity, they seem rather an attempt to secure an earthly immortality.
Leaving the cemeteries, I continued to walk westward down Vinohradská (I’d call it a “boulevard”). (By this time it was starting to drizzle lightly.) I passed by the large communication tower that is visible from all over downtown Prague, and noticed (as František has told me on Saturday) that up close you can see little figures of children crawling like ants up the tower. I didn’t quite get the full story of who put them there or why, but they are curious.
I was in search of a couple of churches that I had read about that were built in the early 20th century during the first Czech Republic, and were not neo-Gothic or neo-Baroque.
One is a Hussite church designed by Pavel Janák, built in the early 1930s. This building is as far from Baroque (where decoration becomes and end in itself) as can be imagined. But for the tall slim undecorated tower, it would be unrecognizable from the outside as a church. (Apparently, from what I read, there was once a copper chalice, the symbol of the Hussite movement, at the top of the tower, but it is no longer in evidence.) Beyond that the building looks like an office complex or a school.
The other church was more interesting (though in a very shabby state of repair). It is the Church of the Most Sacred Heart of Our Lord, set in the large grassy expanse of Jiřího z Poděbrad Square. This massive church was built in 1930, by architect Josip Plečnik. Those people who know about these things say it is a mixture of styles — “Byzantine, classical, secessionist and modernist all blended together.”
It’s most striking external feature is the broad tower at the east end of the building in which is set a huge transparent clock. Where St. Vitus has its beautiful “rose window,” this church reminds all who approach of the inevitable passing of time — or, for the secular-minded hurrying down the street, even those with poor eyesight can tell if they are late for their bus.
I was not able to get inside either of these churches. It would be interesting to see what the interior decoration (or lack thereof) is like. These churches would not draw most people (except, perhaps, for the architectural expert or historian) by any aesthetic attraction, but in the context of the “thousand spires” of Prague, they were an interesting contrast. Worth the walk.
(There was one other church mentioned in my book that is supposed to be in the same general neighborhood, but the directions were inadequate and it wasn’t marked with the typical “cross”-symbol indicating a church on my street map, so after some looking, I gave up on finding it and jumped a tram to get out of the rain.)
One hundred years before Luther, Hus, from his position as a priest and master at Charles’ University, set about influencing the Bohemian church in the direction of reform. His teachings provoked the opposition of Rome, but Hus enjoyed royal favor for a time as well as public support. He preached at the Bethlehem Chapel in Prague, and his influence with the people grew.
Hus publicly opposed a crusade proclaimed in 1411, by Pope John XXIII against the King of Naples, protector of rival Pope Gregory XII, and the “indulgences” that were instituted to finance the crusade. Hus followed Wycliffe’s arguments against indulgences very closely, and declared that popes and bishops had no right to call the church to take up arms. The faculty of Charles’ University condemned the views of Hus, but the people were more and more influenced by his teachings against the obvious corruptions of the church. Hus challenged his opponents to demonstrate from Scripture that his teachings were wrong.
Instead, Hus was excommunicated in 1411, and eventually pressured to leave Prague. The king made several serious attempts to reconcile the parties in the dispute, but unsuccessfully. The papal party insisted that Hus and his followers be forced to acknowledge that the pope was the head of the church. Hus insisted that Christ alone is head of his church. Hus’ treatise on the church, published in 1413, again followed Wycliffe very closely (in places, exactly).
In November 1414, a general ecclesiastical council was called at Constance to deal with the papal schism and address the much needed reform of the church. Hus was invited, with the promise of safe-conduct, to come to the council by Emperor Sigismund of Luxemburg. He agreed, and came prepared not only to defend his views, but, if possible, to persuade the council to agree with him. Soon after the council began, Hus was taken into custody and imprisoned in the dungeon of the Dominican monastery. Though Sigismund was angered by Hus’ treatment, given his promise of protection, he was pressured by Hus’ opponents into acceding to his imprisonment. Witnesses against Hus were heard by the council, but Hus was not allowed to defend himself.
In part, Hus was caught in the grinder of papal politics. There were actually three rival claimants for the title at the time — John XXIII, Gregory XII, and Benedict XIII. (Eventually, all three were deposed by the council, and Martin V was elected in their place.) John XXIII, who had initially been cordial to Hus, decided to use the prosecution of Hus to strengthen his claim to papal legitimacy, But in short order John XXIII was pressured to leave the council and resign, and Hus fell into the hands of the Archbishop of Constance.
The trial began on 5 June, 1415. He was confronted with his support of the teachings of Wycliffe (which were also condemned during the council), and called to repudiate thirty-nine sentences extracted from his writings. Hus (like Luther after him) declared himself willing to retract any errors demonstrated on the basis of Holy Scripture.
Hus was condemned on 6 July. After a high mass, Hus was led into the cathedral where he heard his sentence pronounced. He was then formally “degraded” from the priesthood, and delivered to the secular power. A tall paper hat was placed on his head upon which was written “Hæresiarcha” (leader of an heretical movement). He was then led away.
At the place of execution Hus knelt in prayer, but was refused a confessor. He was chained to the stake and wood and straw were piled around him neck-high. When asked on last time to recant, he declared, “God is my witness that I have never taught that of which I have by false witnesses been accused. In the truth of the Gospel which I have written, taught, and preached, I will die today with gladness.”
Sadly, Hus is celebrated today by Czechs not for the atoning work of Christ and his supreme Lordship — the pravda (truth) for which Hus stood to the death— the Truth that alone can “make men free” (John 8:32,36) — but rather for a more generic “truth” that can mean all things to all men, and has.
Given the history of the Czech lands since the time of Hus — the essential crushing of the Reformation movement (following 1621) under the power of empire with its Romanist instruments, and their occupation in the twentieth century first by Hitler’s Nazis and later by Soviet-backed Marxism, and now, since the “Velvet Revolution,” the “free” society of the second Czech Republic dominated by secular materialism — it is clear that these people have never really heard Hus’ gospel-pravda, or seen its transforming power in the lives of individuals and society.
And so the Farniks and others labor on to make Christ known here in this place. May God grant that the light of biblical truth — for which Hus lived and died — yet dawn in all its glory and power upon the Czech people who today celebrate (however ignorantly) his martyrdom.
We don't need not stinking "curb appeal."
It was good to sing the praises of God under Sid Anderson’s leadership on the guitar. (As part of our singing, he introduced a song that he had written, a kind of “dismissal blessing” that the people of God can sing to one another as they leave worship. He asked the Czechs to give him some feedback on the words.)
Ondrej visits with Sid Anderson following the service.
I preached the third message in the series about responding to fear and anxiety with faith — by making God’s kingdom and righteousness our life-priority (Matt. 6:33), by keeping our eyes and hearts focused on the worship and service of God alone (Matt. 6:24, and (today) by continually “asking, seeking, and knocking” in prayer (Matt. 7:7ff). The messages seem to have been a blessing to the brothers and sisters there.
Fellowship and refreshments between worship and Sunday school.
(Ondrej, Sid, Pavel, and Katka)
In Sunday school I continued my basic introduction to the biblical teaching about “the covenant.” Today we looked at Genesis 3 and the breaking of the original “covenant of life,” through the temptation of Satan, and the fall of Adam and Eve into sin, together with God’s curse upon humankind and the whole creation. I made the point, among others, that until we come to understand the reality and nature of sin and divine judgment, the “gospel” will never be really “good news” or attract the hearts of men. As Jesus said, “it is the sick who need a physician.” We are all “sick,” but part of the sickness of sin is self-deception — we don’t know how sick we really are.
Next week, God willing we will talk in broad terms about the redemptive restoration of covenant fellowship through Christ (as he is prefigured in the Law and Prophets, and finally revealed in the “new covenant”). I think all this is pretty new to the folks, but I hope it will at least provide an introduction for further study of this important foundational biblical idea in the future.
Vlasta and Vlasta minister to the needs of the saints — kava or čaj?
After worship Sid and I had lunch together back in Zbraslav. It was our first meeting, and it was a great pleasure to get acquainted a little with this gracious brother who has done so much to help the Farniks with their ministry here. He spoke of the profound longing he has to see the work in Modřany flourish and grow. Accordingly, he will be filling the pulpit in August. Pray for him.
One of the heroic statues depicting figures from Prague' legendary past located in the park (they were moved here from one of the bridges spanning the Vltava).
The view looking north to Hradčany, Prague Castle and St Vitus' Cathedral, where we would finish out tour later in the day.
Your Humble Narrator in front of the tomb of composer Antonin Dvořák in the National Cemetery (beside the basilika) where many Czech worthies are buried.
From Vyšehrad we made our way across the Charles Bridge (not very photogenic this year due to the many repairs being done to the bridge surface) to Malá Strana. There we saw, among other sights the narrowest street in Prague. It is a legitimate street, and even has a traffic light to prevent foot traffic from both ends at the same time, as there is no room for a body to pass. František demonstrates the tight squeeze.
We ate lunch in a restaurant near Prague Castle where Czech poet and first president of the second Czech Republic Václav Havel must have eaten. We knew because he had written his name on the wall.
