A Giant Man. Remembering The Rev. Robert Nervig.




l to r: Pastors Robert Nervig, Bob,
Rachel Thorson Mithelman, Harry Mueller at Bob's ordination, 2007

"I had a dream about you."

That's what Pastor Robert Nervig said about 25 years ago to Bob (my Bob), who was then a happy bachelor making a good living fitting and fabricating prosthetic limbs and orthopedic braces. Enjoying a peaceful life in Brooklyn, where he was raised.

"I had a dream that you would be the youth director here at church." The church, Trinity Lutheran, was situated on 45th Street in the Sunset Park neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York. A community positively teeming with thousands of residents, and hundreds of kids with not much to do and no space to do it.

"Why would I give up a good job to be your youth director?" asked my Bob, who rather liked his quiet, bachelor life, and lucrative paycheck.

"Because I think you'd be good at it," said Pastor Bob Nervig with a gleam in his eye. "And just think of the possibilities. . ."

And many of you know the rest of the story. Pastor Bob and my Bob still keep (kept) in touch with the rascally kids who joined their youth group in that era, who are now lovely adults serving in their own ways as teachers, social workers, doctors, and entrepreneurs. Recently, at age 55, my Bob became an ordained minister and is joyfully serving his first call at St. John's Lutheran in Des Moines, whose people love him back one hundred fold. In some ways it seems so far away from 45th Street Brooklyn. And in other ways, it is a completely natural path for my Bob; yet one that he could not have imagined for himself if for not the dream of a mentor.


Who needs a good salary when you got this?
Seriously, here's the youth group, all grown up,
with Pastor Robert Nervig (making rabbit ears)
 at Bob's ordination in 2007.
Photo courtesy of Emily and Janeen, front row left and middle.

Pastor Bob Nervig imagined possibilities with not only my Bob, but so many other people. You can read the numerous tributes with your own eyes on his Caring Bridge site. "You changed my life" is a common theme. And now so many of us don't know quite what to make of the fact that he died today at about noontime. Apparently, peacefully and with many family members around him. Bob was blessed to see him twice in the past two weeks.

I can't even begin to say in this blog post what Pastor Robert Nervig has meant for my dear in-laws, the Speirs Family, indeed who are my in-laws because of the influence of Pastor Robert Nervig who one day, about 18 years ago, suggested that "Robbie" (my Bob's Brooklyn identity) take in a continuing education conference in the Black Hills of South Dakota (where I happen to be working at the time, and the rest of that is history).

It so it is a melancholy day here today. We think about the influence of one giant man on our lives, and in so many others. And we are so deeply grateful.

Is there really a God? Maybe, maybe not, but if you knew Pastor Robert Nervig, you would be certain that there is a God, and that God is generous, now and forever.

With love, T

"The spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words to express."

Once I heard a pastor preach that if you don't know how to pray it's Ok, because we all have things we're good at and things we're not. I always remember that because I do not consider myself good at praying. To be perfectly honest, I don't believe in it. I just plain don't see how human pleas can advise an almighty God of the universe. Plus, the outcomes seem so random.

And yet I am calling on you to pray.

Don't call on me to make sense, I'm just doing what my friend asked. Heba asked me to ask you to all pray. To enlist your prayer chains. To organize your prayer groups. To make your conversation with God, with Jesus, with the Holy Ghost. To call upon the spirits. To generate the positive energy. To caste out the demons.

In recent weeks, I have been saying the Lord's Prayer a lot. Over and over. The repetition relaxes me. The hope reassures me. And if it does unleash some kind of a supernatural power for good, well that would be a bonus. Maybe I'm just tired and I don't know how else to resolve my daily thinking but to repeat a mantra.

It's actually ironic that I hold such doubts about prayer because I'm basically writing a book about it and the surprising ways I have utilized it. My book, that I attempt to write a half hour a day. (Not lately, though.) We were seriously living on a prayer when Bob was sick (I keep bringing that up lately) and even though it was a true blue miracle he survived, how can I say it was due to prayer given all the people who do not survive tragedy? I can not. But I can say this -- prayer always made me feel better. It made me feel better when I was alone with an evil presence. And it made me feel better when neighbors came and prayed on our behalf.

Will prayer assure a peaceful resolution in Egypt? All I can say is that question is not mine to answer. And it is not my call to ask you to pray. I ask because Heba asks. And Heba believes in prayer with all her heart, mind and soul.

Today I actually panicked and took my recent posts offline. I deleted all my facebook references. I asked my editor to remove my post on LivingLutheran.com. I worried that my words would implicate friends. I envisioned myself as fanning the violence. Only after triple checking with Heba that it's OK, did I put it back online. She said that this blog is "a great support." But it's not because of me--it's because of all of you, dear Charmer Readers.Thank you for coming here. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for promoting peace.

Pray for Egypt.

With love, T

The Spirit Intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words to express. Romans 8:26

Sin Coffee for the Morning

Forgive Me For I Have Sinned.

It is 9 pm New Years Eve and we do not have coffee for the morning. Sleep-in morning and no coffee. On the way home from the Iowa State football party -- Iowa won -- we stop at the nearest grocery store because it's open. Please don't tell God but I bought sin coffee. I paid money to sin.

Some people grew up believing that there's a devil under each chair at a dance. Some people grew up believing that beer and wine lead to sex and drugs. Some people grew up believing that birth control leads to the end of civilization. Some people grew up believing that the gay lifestyle is inherently immoral.

I grew up believing that if you don't buy fair trade coffee you are perpetuating the oppression of the poor which directly violates most all of the Ten Commandments, plus gets you an inferior grade of brew beans.

I have behaved badly and will go to extra church in 2010. Grace doesn't matter.

But the thought of waking up with no coffee seems worse.

Happy New Year!!

With love, T

Nationwide Homecoming

I'm home after a 5 day trip.

Mom, you're always so nice immediately upon return. According to Amanda.

I thought I was nice all the time but whatever.

So anyway the discussion around the house these days regards whether a pastor's daughter really should be reading about vampires. (Amanda's latest craze is the Twilight series.)

Pastor Dad to Amanda: You're in confirmation and yet you read about vampires. It isn't right.

Aidan to Pastor Dad: I'm in Sunday school and I watch Sponge Bob.

Good point. Anyway, we are now planning our family vacation to visit the town in which the blood thirsty teenagers of Twilight live in eternity. It will be a glorious cross country road trip. Nationwide tourism.

Speaking of Nationwide and potential brainwashing that truly *is* acceptable. . .

So today upon my homecoming Aidan very kindly offered a package of licorice to me, knowing how much I like licorice. I like red strawberry licorice. This licorice is yellow, green, and orange. I ask him where he got it.

Nationwide. Aidan responds casually, as if Nationwide is his little brother with whom he shares a bunk bed.

Bob, Amanda, and I look at eachother knowingly. Nationwide and Aidan. They just go together. "Nationwide is on your side."

You see, Aidan's school is located downtown in an office building and so every year, it seems, the tradition is to field-trip through the skyway to the Nationwide Insurance Company -- if you didn't already know, Des Moines is the insurance capital of the world. Nationwide then proceeds to give out big bags of candy and explain to the elementary students how they cover tree damage and other storm catastrophes. According to Aidan, anyway.

So I know my kids are in good hands when I am away. My daughter is in love with vampires. My son can list the benefits of Nationwide Insurance. My husband preaches on the Lutheran Reformation, a belief that we cannot earn our way to heaven and yet our job is to love our neighbor. (grace + vocation = Lutheran)

Me, I'm just glad to be home and yet my head is all full of dreams and ideas. Presently, I am drinking wine from Wisconsin and it is spectacular. I'm so glad you came over to the Charmer blog. Peace and joy to you.

With love, T

Photos: Des Moines skyline, Des Moines skyline as projected off side of public library

Stunned with Gratitude

Amanda and I went through a box of cards, all given to us during Bob's illness last year. Could someone please always remind me that I have no right or reason to ever complain ever again. Not after that intense show of sustained love that was freely given to us over the course of an entire year. Honestly, even now I think about that and how beautiful it all was -- the cards, gifts, food, prayers, visits, thoughts, empathy, bake sales, dinners, flowers, prayer shawls.

I mean, people suffer much worse than we ever did and they suffer alone. And they're never counted. And they're nameless. That has to be the worst thing.

To suffer with family, friends, and strangers accompanying you is actually quite beautiful.

Once my dear sister, Margaret Obaga, stopped by our apartment exactly when Bob was retching, a time when we would especially want to be alone because of the sounds and smells and our desperate clatch to dignity. No, no, no, not Margaret. East African's don't do alone. She basically walked right through the front door, as did all our African neighbors, and showed me what to do. Sprinkle flower on the bottom of the brown bag to buffer it all. If we were in Kenya she would pad with dirt. Cool a cloth for the palms of the hands. Another cloth for the face. Margaret literally held the bag as Bob coughed up bile. Soft words. It's OK. It's OK. A prayer. We were blessed in the retching.

And it would be these kinds of visits that would string us along like a lifeline for months.

And how quickly we go from holding vigil with a host of angels all around us -- to a mundane everyday life where the smallest irrelevancies command the spirit. I'm reminded of the time I longed for the mundane. When I wanted nothing else but utter boredom. And yet it seems that my long-term response to all of this is some kind of inner restlessness as though the adrenalin of it all never really went away. The boredom I wanted so badly back then now feels quite uncomfortable.

So anyway, thanks everyone. I truly feel blessed to know each and every one of you. I wanted to close with a portion of the prayer, the St. Patrick's Breastplate, which you may remember I reduced to a simple mantra of "Christ here, Jesus near" during the most nerve wracking times.

Christ to shield me today
Against poison,
against burning,
Against drowning,
against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.

The funny thing is I still use this chant. I can't believe how often I still can wrack up such nerves that would warrant this prayer even these days. I mean no one is immediately dying in this house. Our security is not threatened. We are surrounded by all things beautiful, including Bob's call to ministry at St. John's that also stuns me with gratitude. Still other things that seem so important take hold. I hope the prayer will give you strength and hope. And I thank you so much for coming over to the Charmer blog.

With love, T

Photo: anniversary flowers from Bob

Calling All Men

Bob has a secret. Strong women are not to be tolerated. Strong women are not to be mediated. Strong women are not to be politely affirmated.

Strong women are to be CELEBRATED.

It seems that Bob tends to hang around women who are leader-types, pastor-types, visionary-types, bishop-types. With the exception of me, of course; I'm an Ipod type.

And Bob's secret is this, working with these women is full of joy. And so much more.

I for one don't get all high and mighty that our denomination ordains women, because in the history of the world it's only been for the past 35 years. Sure that's great, but all in all we're not that far ahead of denominations who do not ordain women. And besides, counting our Senior Pastor, there is barely even a handfull of female Senior pastors in the whole denomination. So, friends, let's not get too self righteous over that one.

But I will say this, take a look at these pictures and you will see the front lines of those who pave the way (pave as in present tense) for women's leadership in the church. And they do it with wit, wisdom, elegance, and grace. They do it with style, smarts, and strategy. With all their hearts and souls.

So, while I'm thinking on how "Two Tickets to Paradise" would be a great karaoke tune, these women are discussing how to bring about peace in Kenya, how to be in the city for good, how to be a relevent vessel of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Maybe I'm still at princess camp, but holy cow, these women are intense.

I'm not a theologian but I have read that part in the Bible where it says that men and women are both created in the image of God. I also believe it to be true that God is neither male or female, no matter who translated all the pronouns into the HE-English. You would think that it would be a no-brainer.

In many ways for these women it was -- it still is -- a no brainer. They are simply called to be pastors. Even with the biggest, baddest push back they could get. And they've all gotten it, friends. Hense, strong women.

Before I go crass how about if I sum it up this way: The glory of God is women and men working together. That's the best way I've heard it said. And there's so much work to be done. There's so much joy to be had in doing that work.

Why am I getting so philosophical? Because dear friends from St. Paul came to Des Moines this weekend. See photos and captions.

Anyway, so that's Bob's secret. Calling all men: don't be threatened by strong women. Be thrilled. Be glad for strong women. Enjoy strong women. Let strong women do their thing and we'll all be better off. Work together people!

As always, I thank you for coming on over. Take care.

With love, T

photo top: The Rev. Susan Tjornejoy, our pastor in St. Paul; Bob; Margaret Obaga, aka Auntie Margaret to the kids, who really must be the Bishop of Kenya one day

phtoto middle: The Rev. Rachel Thorsen Mithelman, Bob's supervisor; Pastor Sue, The Bishop-to-be Margaret, bad-hair-day-me soaking up the woman power in this photo op

photo bottom: me and my Margaret, just trying to get through one single day without a downfall of snow; Margaret preached at our church for Mission Sunday; four different services, four different sermons; with prayers for Margaret's Kenyan homeland which is in great distress now making it very difficult for Margaret to be so far away.

Margaret Obaga for president!

What is Eleven Years?

This what Aidan wore on the plane to NYC yesterday. He's an unabashed Yankees fan, in order to be opposite of his dad, and with thanks to his Uncle Richie. I'm going to NYC today. O my gosh, that poor futon in that poor apartment in the background. If there were ever an image of our lost liver year, it would be that frumpled futon. Whoever was able to sleep, would sleep coiled up and boiling there in the kitchen/living room/morgue.

We've come a long way, baby. :-)

Now that I am in full throws of ordination mode, if you could please allow me this one dispatch of pure, unadulterated, schmultsy, bleeding heart reflection on our road to ordination. In academic terms it's a college bachelors degree and then a seminary master's degree. Although master's of divinity is actually a 4 year program, which is the length of some doctorate programs. And for students with families it usually takes 5 years. For Bob it took eleven years, because he started part time while working full time and taking care of new babies. He began at the New York Theological School in Manhattan. Then he took classes at St. Mary's Ecumenical Center while we lived in Baltimore. And then you know the rest of the story at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, where he finished off. Including a year of experiential education internship with a liver that lost and found it's soul.

But if you count the other stuff -- teaching Sunday school, mopping a flooded fellowship hall, driving the church van, unplugging holy toilets, hosting visiting youth groups, helping with the boilers, organizing trips to the national youth gathering, making mass batches of spaghetti sauce, building trust with parents who don't speak English, opening the church yard for the neighbor kids, serving coffee, taking kids to camp, you know stuff like that -- well then you add a couple more decades to the mix.

But even here and now, today, the day before Bob's official ordination into word and sacrament ministry; I realize that it's all about the people and the experiences. So, the bishop will lay his hands on Bob and he'll get a piece of paper that says he's ordained, and I'll cry my eyes out -- but he was actually ordained a long time ago. By many of you, and the people all along the way who worked with him, taught him, loved him, trusted him, laughed and ate with him. All of you who healed him last year. By the people of St. John's Lutheran in Des Moines who called him to be their associate pastor.

It was the people at his home church at Trinity Lutheran in Brooklyn, who said a long time ago, "Robbie you should be a pastor." And if I could speak on Bob's behalf, I'll say that was pretty much unthinkable to him. He was a quiet guy who liked playing basketball in the park and just helping out a little here and there. He mostly preferred to keep to himself. But the people at Trinity were relentless with encouragement and support, before, during, and after seminary. Even to this day.

So anyway, there you go, a wife's exposition on her husband's ordination. And I'm getting all nostalgic for New York City and all the people and the walking, all that I miss very much. I miss the constant contact with neighbors and the extremely social nature of life there. I heard this interview on NPR yesterday about an Iraqi refugee family who settled into Bay Ridge (our other neighborhood in Brooklyn) and the Iraqi commented how friendly people are there. "I understand!" I exclaimed to the radio. And for a moment I wished I was that refugee and living in Bay Ridge. Oh I know, that's completely ridiculous. Just nostalgic, that's all.

Well, I better get my laundry done and pack so I can head out to the airport. Tomorrow is a big day. I'll try to take lots-o-pictures, if I'm not just in a complete puddle of tears. Be back in a couple of days.

With love, T

P.S. The answer to the question in the title: Amanda.