Prague Journal—09.07.05

Lord’s day. We met for worship in Modřany with ten people in attendance. It was a special blessing to have Katka (Havalind’s friend from school) who visited last week, return with her father Pavel. Some of the other “regulars” were missing because they were away for the long holiday weekend.

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.

Prague Journal—09.07.04 (Con't)

Today I met František (from English camps and church) at 9:00 AM for personal guided tour of parts of Prague with historical and architectural (not to mention local trivia) commentary. We had a great time and wore our legs out, until the rain returned and put a stop to our travels about 4:00 PM. Here are some photos…

We began at the Vyšehrad, the legendary seat of the early Přemyslid kings, before the dynasty relocated to Prague Castle. Built on from the tenth century, the Vyšehrad sits atop a cliffs overlooking the Vltava River. (It also gives its name to the first movement of Smetana's partriotic symphonic suite, Ma Vlast, "My Country.") We got there ahead of the crowds and so enjoyed a few minutes walking through the almost deserted grounds.

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 Basilika of Saints Peter and Paul dominates the area. The present building is a 19th century neo-Gothic structure, but there has been a church on the site since at least the 11th century. Here the two towers rise about the trees of the park.

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.

František tried to avoid the crowds of tourists, so we wended our way down many deserted lanes. These tangled streets, as much as the famous landmarks of the city, give me the most characteristic "feeling" for Prague.

It was a great day. Thank you, František

Prague Journal—09.07.04

I’ve been reading a book while here entitled Rowboat to Prague, by American journalist Alan Levy, who moved to Prague from New York City at the end of 1967, and was thus a first-hand witness to the events of 1968 — the “Prague Spring” and the resulting Soviet invasion and occupation of Czechoslovakia.

In connection with his account of the resignation (under pressure) of the communist president Antonin Novotný in March 1968, he writes the following short “interlude.”

On the “Fourth of July” the anniversary of American independence, I was struck by the historical ironies, and thought it was worth passing on. Americans (especially young Americans) have very little sense of history — their own, let alone world history — so they are willing to follow a charismatic young president who promises “change” with no sense at all of what “change” might actually mean. They are ignorant of the possibilities. (They think there has always been U-2 and MTV.) They have never heard of the European socialist “experiments” of the first half of the 20th century (or their body-counts). They have no idea what we may be in for.

Levy writes:

It was a kind of Jersey City-model Stalinism that the Czechoslovak people lived under. Novotnýism had no ideals, no real program, just a blind instinct to consolidate power and cling to it at any cost. By the time these self-serving reflexes had aged into torpor, the structure of the government ministries (according to Rudé Právo [the official communist newspaper] itself) had been re-organized more than 100 times—for the betterment not of the masses, but of the bosses.

Novotnýism was the ideological heir of its parent regime, Gottwaldism. But, where the nation's first Communist Prime Minister (later President) Klement Gottwald (1896-1953) was an ambitious, belligerent drunkard who had dedicated much of his life to making Czechoslovakia go Communist for reasons that must have started with belief, Antonin Novotný (born 1904) was a careerist dedicated to keeping Czechoslovakia Communist for the sake of his own personal security.

An analysis of the combined result was delivered at Charles University two days before President Novotný abdicated:

"The character of the totalitarian dictatorship under which we have lived for the last twenty years has certain national peculiarities. One big advantage for the regime was that it was headed by full-blooded Czechs imbued with the Austrian tradition of joviality plus our own disorderly capability as caretakers. Totalitarian dictatorship in the Czechoslovak manner often seemed more chaotic, paradoxical, and comical than tyrannical.

"Apart from a few murders, the government knew as little about what to do with absolute power as an infant does with numbers. A spontaneously spouting geyser of improvised stupidity bubbled forth tirelessly for twenty years in the official press, the tolerated culture, and the speeches of statesmen. But it proved unable, even by extreme effort, to undermine the basis of the socialist set-up here. The natural intelligence of the good-natured people in Slovakia, Moravia, and the Czech Lands always corrected the worst excesses to a bearable degree.

"Another characteristic feature of this totalitarian dictatorship was that, for twenty years, internal political crises were avoided so long as there was something that could be reduced in price. And it must be said that this suited our people fine; it was enough for them.

"The regime survived at the expense of economic effectiveness. It made it possible for one to work less and worse for more money. It insured the legal and economic equality of a laborer with a university professor. Thanks to this, no noticeable opposition appeared in Czechoslovakia, even during the last decade, when our economic difficulties were growing. The State was led to bankruptcy, helped by the taciturn discipline of the controlled but thrifty citizens…"

The speaker of these unflattering truths was a balding, bespectacled historian and philosophy lecturer named Ivan Sviták, forty-two. He was a teacher whose ideas have touched the life of every student of his I've ever met….

For his pains, Sviták had been expelled in the 1960's first from the party and then from the Academy of Sciences as a "deviationist." He had only recently been reinstated and now he could state from academic and even official podiums what he had been saying all along.

"I am what you might call a lonely sniper," he remarked after his lecture on Novotnýism. "I don't think I will go to prison for this. They will not persecute me, at least not now."

With Novotný's downfall, Sviták served notice that he would not be silenced by a mere turn for the better. From his perch in academia, the lonely sniper would continue to strafe the new men with his opinions, starting with a prediction that "the harmony between critical intellectuals and high representatives of the party and State will vanish. This will happen when the new set of leaders will consider the democratization process completed, which will be at the stage achieved when they come to power."

And this, said Sviták, would never do: "We want democracy, not democratization. At present, we are not very clear on what democratization is. On the other hand, we know quite precisely what democracy is. And apart from the temporary, unofficial and, at any time, revocable abolition of censorship, our country lacks all the attributes of this form of government."

Prague Journal—09.07.03

There is a classic of Czech literature, written by Jan Amos Komenský (1592–1670) — more often referred to by his Latin name Comenius — entitled, The Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart (1623).

Komenský was a member of the Bohemian Protestant “Community of Brethren,” and was forced to leave Bohemia in 1628, in the aftermath of the Protestant defeat at the Battle of White Mountain (1621). He spent forty years in exile in England, Sweden, and Holland (where he died). He is best known in intellectual history as an educational reformer whose influence was widespread throughout Europe.

The Labyrinth is a religious allegory, similar in some ways to Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. It is considered by some to be the foundational work of Czech literature. It introduces three characters and themes that have become archetypal in subsequent Czech literature — the pilgrim, the labyrinth, and “the castle.”

At the beginning of The Labyrinth, the pilgrim looks out over a city and its castle, as from a high tower (like that atop Petřín Hill, from which some of us have taken breathtaking panorama photos of Prague):

The city itself, as I perceived, was divided into innumerable streets, squares, houses and buildings both large and small. Towards the east, I saw a gate, from which an alley ran toward another gate facing west. The second gate opened upon the streets of the city. I counted six principal streets running from east to west, parallel with each other. It the midst of these streets was a very large ring or marketplace. Farthest towards the west, upon a steep and rocky eminence, stood a lofty, magnificent castle towards which the inhabitants of the city frequently gazed.

What city could he be describing?

A man named “Ubiquitous” offers to lead the pilgrim to the castle. But as they move through the city, they find that the apparent order is only an illusion, and soon disintegrates into a labyrinth. All is confusion, pretense, and conflict. There is a conglomeration of languages spoken (!!), and the only real value seems to be money and commerce (“Vanity Fair?”). Along the way, they encounter every kind of person — from workmen to astronomers, soldiers to philosophers.

When pilgrim finally arrives at the castle, where Worldly Wisdom reigns as queen, he discovers to his surprise that the walls, which appeared to be built of fine alabaster are in reality mere paper and stuffing. The castle is really no different from the city that surrounds it. The chambers and stairways and halls are themselves labyrinthine. Along the way the pilgrim hears heated arguments that are meaningless to him. Even those who represent the church are only interested in preserving their position and wealth. Priests and lazy and gluttonous. All is empty, meaningless.

I read Kafka’s novel The Castle before coming to Prague this time. It will make you scream, unless it numbs you into insensibility first. In our time, the kind frustrating confusion and hostility it portrays has come to be known as “Kafkaesque.” It was striking to find that Kafka’s seemingly original vision itself has its Czech roots.

What Kafka did not share with Komenský was an answer to all the futility and confusion. The Castle ends in mid-sentence. One author suggests that Kafka simply could go no farther with it. The frustration was seemingly endless.

Komenský, however, has his pilgrim, despairing of life itself, turn in the end from “the labyrinth of this world” to the heart. Though the heart is admittedly corrupt by nature, and cannot be reformed by worldly wisdom, yet God grants illumination. Christ comes to the pilgrim and invites him to share in an inward communion with the true and living God. True joy and peace are offered in the gospel, in the Redeemer. The pilgrim is given the Bible, in which he will find true wisdom.

(There would be as much to be learned by contrasting Komenský’s vision with Bunyan’s as comparing them, but that’s for another time. If you want to explore it, you can get a copy of John Comenius’ book. It is published in the series, “The Classics of Western Spirituality,” published by Paulist Press.)

Richard Burton (not the actor) has observed, “Kafka’s novels and stories have a Comenian structure without the happy Comenian outcome, for here the mind and heart of the pilgrim are at least as labyrinthine as the city and castle, and there is not way out — any more than there is a way in: ‘There is a goal, but no way; what we call a way is only a wavering.’”

It is fascinating and rewarding to consider the ways in which biblical themes, like those portrayed so powerfully in Ecclesiastes (Solomon is himself a character in The Labyrinth) — time and eternity, order and confusion, frustration and hope, God’s revelation and man’s experience — have been worked out in the literature of the world, past and present.

Prague Journal—09.07.01 (Continued)

Today I made my journey to Liberec to visit Vladimíra Erhartová, who (with her children) has attended all of the English camps since Bayview has been involved. I had written to tell her I was in the Czech Republic, and asked if there was any way we could meet. I offered to come to Liberec (about 75 minutes north by bus) to make it easy on her. We had a walk around Liberec (it wasn’t raining when I arrived) and a nice visit over lunch, catching up on our respective family news. She just finished her school term (she teaches physics), and she and her husband are going to Japan for 10 days in the middle of the month. We also talked some about where she is in her thoughts about the Bible and Christianity these days.

When I set out in the morning it was sunny, mild, and no clouds in view, so I decided (foolishly, as it turned out) to leave my umbrella and jacket behind. I had calculated that it might take me an hour to get to the other end of the metro “yellow line” (Černý Most, where the buses leave for Liberec). But I got a phone call as I was walking out the door with an important inquiry about the women’s conference in September Marilyn has been involved in planning. (That conversation took a few minutes, even though the caller spoke English well.) Then with the bad weather, road construction, and morning traffic, the bus ride to Smíchovské Nádraži (the train/metro station) took more than twice as long as usual — it wasn’t looking good for catching the 9:30 bus for Liberec! (There was another bus leaving fifteen minutes later, but it’s route was longer and travel time double. What’s worse, I had rushed off without the Farniks’ cellphone, so I’d have no way to contact Vladimíra to tell her I’d be late.)

Crunch time. There were sixteen stops between me and Černý Most, and it was 9:02 when I got onto the metro. I was praying that God would enable me to make it. When the metro stopped, I dashed out the door — it was 9:29! I ran downstairs to the bus depot. There was no time to read signs (a very time-consuming process under the best of circumstances), but thankfully there was only one bus at the various loading platforms. I hustled over to find “Liberec” posted in the bus window. Relief! The driver was at the rear of the bus helping a young man in a motorized wheelchair get on the lift to get into the bus. That had delayed him five minutes from his scheduled departure, and I made my connection. Praise God for his kindness in small things (again). I even got a nice front row seat and a good view of the Bohemian countryside as we drove the 90 km north to Liberec.

As I mentioned, it had not rained in the morning. When I arrived, Vladimíra met me at the downtown bus depot and we strolled through town — past the city hall and town square, the regional theater, an interesting bus stop with a sculptured shelter called “the giant’s feast,” and then down a beautiful, broad 19th century cobble-stoned avenue with large villas on either side of the street and streetcars wending their way picturesquely down the middle. (I thought about taking a picture, but decided to wait until the return trip to the bus depot, later in the afternoon, when perhaps the sun would be out. Another miscalculation.) We also walked through a large public park that contains the Liberec’s zoo.

But, the rain was not to be put off, and the ride back proved to be a wet one. Just ten minutes before I was due to catch the bus back to the main bus stop downtown, the heavens opened and it really poured! (I’ve heard it described in the U.S. as “axe heads and hammer handles,” and apt description.) The two-minute walk to the first bus (even with the benefit of a shared umbrella) left me thoroughly soaked on the street side (car splashes added to the dousing). Again, weather and traffic conditions extended a seven-minute bus ride for several more, but compared to the close call in the morning, the five minute arrival window I had this time seemed positively leisurely. I said a quick goodbye to Vladimíra and boarded the waiting bus. The main depot was sheltered, so I didn’t get any wetter, but I did have to sit soaked and steaming (not angry, but evaporating) for the ride back to Prague.

By the time I got back to Prague the rain had resumed there too. As I approached the center of town, the people who were getting the metro at each stop looked pretty wet. Since I had no umbrella, I debated whether to head straight for Zbraslav, or to risk further soaking by trying to make a pass by “my Starbuck’s” to see if I could contact Sherry and say hello, and catch up on email. I decided to risk it — after all, it’s only water.

I was thinking so much about the weather that I lost concentration and got off the metro one stop too soon. Oops! When I got to the street I realized I was still on the wrong side of the river, and dived back underground. I went on to the Malastranska station. There I dashed out to the tram shelter (where a lot of wet would-be riders were crammed). One stop down the line I was back in the welcome dry and coffee-smelling refuge of Starbuck’s.

After a Skype call to Sherry and some email work, I headed back for Zbraslav, where Buddy had the nerve to ask me for a nice romantic walk in the rain.

Prague Journal—09.06.30 (Out of Order)

One morning last week I heard voices out the Farniks’ window and went out to investigate. There were three men in the backyard of the house across the street in what appeared to be a planning discussion for some project. (Workin’ men who are getting ready to work look and sound the same in any language.) Sure enough, later in the morning (even though the weather was threatening) a small tractor appeared and began grading.

A day or so later there was more consultation and laying out lines with chalk (like the foul lines on a baseball diamond, but not so neat), and then (while I was away for a while) a small backhoe arrived to begin digging some pretty big footings. Given the intermittent showers, I was surprised that the digger didn’t get himself hopeless mired in mud. But he didn’t.

Next day, a truck with a larger backhoe mounted on the bed arrived to do some heavy lifting from the road, removing excess soil from the backyard. The men gestured indicating a request that I move Jerry’s VW, which was parked in their way. It took a bit to get the sleepy van to wake up (I had started it a couple of days earlier without much problem). Soon it fired up and I was able to move it down the street a few yards.

When all the digging appeared to be complete, another large truck with a crane mounted on the back came in to lift the smaller backhoe out of the muddy yard. (They frustrated a couple of the drivers who could not get by and had to sit for a quarter-hour until they’d finished this little task. Because of the roadwork being done down on the main road, there was no other way around.) In short order, the efficient crew hooked up the crane and hoisted the little backhoe onto a waiting dump truck and away they all went.

One sharp in a fancy car made sure to squeel his tires a little when he could finally get by to let these proletarians (or anyone else in earshot who cared) know that he was not used to being kept waiting. I asked Buddy if he cared… he didn’t.

If there had been any little boys here, it would have provided some entertaining equipment-watching for a little while. (When our David was that age he liked nothing more than to watch “workin’ men,” especially heavy equipment operators like Jim Opie, do their thing.) But alas… no little boys.

Prague Journal—09.07.01

I hear the ghost of Johnny Cash singing, "How high's the water mamma? Eight feet high, and risin'."

Here's the Vltava River near the bus stop in Zbraslav. It's raised about eight feet since last Friday and it's still raining. Last week I was using the walkway under the road just below the railing on the right, but now it's underwater. Hope they don't have a repeat of 2002.