of beautiful neighborhoods and internships

I got of the Straßenbahn - commuter train - on a whim. As I headed home from my internship, I had glanced out the window and noticed some beautiful old buildings that merited further exploration. So I stepped off the train to investigate.


I found myself in a beautiful neighborhood. I think it was an old military post from before the war, and the barracks have now been turned into apartment buildings. I wandered for awhile, and then found this building.

It was a Red Cross station during the Cold War, where volunteers cared for refugees who had made it out of East Berlin. Normally I would have glanced at the sign, thought, "That's interesting," and moved on. But that day I stopped to think.

I am through with the first part of the Wheaton in Germany program, and am now interning with a Christian organization - the Berliner Stadtmission - that among other things provides a waystation for refugees arriving in Berlin from the Balkans, the Middle East, and several countries in Africa. The day I explored that beautiful old neighborhood was my second day working in the kitchen and housekeeping in the Stadtmission's refugee center.

Finding this old center put what I'm doing in a broader historical context. For thousands of years, people have fled from their homes as refugees to other countries, whether because of famine or war or persecution or oppressive regimes. These people did not start off as refugees. They lived normal lives - until their lives fell apart. The refugees cared for in the old Red Cross building were fleeing oppression. The ones I am serving now are trying to escape homelands torn apart by war or persecution. They all decided that things were so bad that they were willing to leave everything behind to start again somewhere else.

When refugees come to Berlin today, they are utterly disoriented. Most of them don't speak German. They are trying to figure out where they will stay, how they will eat, and what the next step is. The Stadtmission is one of the first places they are directed to. It provides food, shelter, recreation, and language lessons. The turnover there is fast - people usually stay only 3-4 days until moving on to the next station. The Stadtmission is a place for them to begin to figure out where to go next.

What I do at the Stadtmission is inglorious work. I hand out food, clean the kitchen, strip beds. It is inglorious, but it is necessary.  Someone asked me what my motivation is to work at the Stadtmission. The obvious answer is that I'm getting college credit for it. But honestly, that's not really a good enough reason to do menial labor for forty hours a week for four weeks. My real motivation, as for many of the people that volunteer at the Stadtmission, is faith. Volunteering at the Stadtmission is a form of washing feet - taking the love that Jesus has poured out on me and giving it to others in the form of humble service. This is the kind of service I as a Christian am called to do.

I mulled over all of this as I wandered through the Sudkreutz neighborhood of Berlin - I have a feeling I will pondering a lot more during the coming weeks of my internship.

update: I'm in Germany!

I'm on a school trip to Germany for the summer, and I'm in charge of the blog for the program. So I probably won't be posting much here for the next couple of months, but for those who are interested head over and check out Never a Dull Moment. :)

Army Boots

All last week, we were talking about buying boots. Charlie's heading off to West Point soon, and he needs to buy his boots well before he leaves so that he can break them in before the dreaded Beast Barracks. Army boots are a normal part of my daily life - since I'm an Army Brat, they're Dad's standard footwear for work. So buying boots for Charlie was just one more item on the to-do list.

Then, on Saturday, we ran a 5K sponsored by an organization that supports the survivors of servicemen who have died, giving them a link to the military for as long as they want it. In the middle of the track that was the starting point for the race, there was a huge display of boots. One boot for each of the more than 6,000 soldiers who have died since 9/11, each with a photo ID attached to the laces.

It was a profound reminder of what the men and women I grew up around have gone through.

None of these soldiers, sailors, marines, or pilots were drafted. They joined the military voluntarily and served faithfully. Each of them has families - if not spouses and children then at least parents and siblings - who must miss them every single day.

Someone recently told me he is anti-war (specifically referring to the War on Terror).  That's fine with me - it's a free country, and I'm an avid supporter of freedom of thought and speech. But although I didn't say it, I did think to myself that the reason that we live in a country that supports those freedoms and the right to be anti-war is because of the servicemen and women who put their lives on the line to do the dirty work of guarding our nation.

And it is incredibly difficult work. Nobody knows that better than the soldiers themselves. They and their families sacrifice an unbelievable amount to the cause of serving their country. It isn't fun to spend months and years away from home, fighting a war under the direction of politicians who make mistakes or unpopular decisions. None of the soldiers I know are "for" war per se - they just think that war is better than the alternative. And considering how hellish war is, that's saying a lot.

So I want to take a moment to give my small thanks to all of those who have sacrificed so much in service to their country. To the soldiers who have died, and to the families and loved ones who survived them. To those who continue to wear their boots and carry on the job faithfully. Thank you.