December 29, 2004

Dear Friends and Family,

December 31, 2003, was a remarkable evening at the Evangelical Church of Czech Brethren in Prague 6, and John and I have been waiting an entire year to share a verbal snapshot of that special time with you. However, as I started to prepare this letter, I was keenly aware that ongoing international conflicts in various places and the recent catastrophe in southeast Asia may well require us to engage in a careful review of what has meaning and value. Indeed, insofar as the devastating consequences of the tsunamis mean that many people will enter the New Year with a searing sense of the vulnerability of human existence, it almost seems inappropriate to recall the gentler, more auspicious way in which 2004 began for a small group of friends in Prague. Yet, I sense that the unprecedented tragedy in Asia may provide our fragmented world with an impetus to give up old conflicts and to join together in fostering human good and respecting life’s sanctity. Thus, I will dare to hope that the narrative that is printed below will offer you a sustaining image of grace that may enable you to embrace this New Year with a sense of transformed expectations.

I have been in Prague on New Year’s Eve for several years now. In 1999, I was amazed at the number of firecrackers being ignited all around me as I walked on streets near the center of the city in the early evening. In subsequent years, I stayed indoors, eagerly awaiting the exuberant fireworks’ display that begins at midnight and continues for at least an hour. Each year, from the balcony of my fifth-floor apartment, I would marvel at the colorful bursts of light that surrounded me on all sides, as professionally prepared fireworks blended with more random firecrackers set off by amateurs. It often seemed as if the lovely shapes and brilliant colors were coming right to me, inviting me to welcome the New Year with expectancy and hope.

However, such reveries were short-lived, as everyone began to move toward the room where coffee, tea, and pastries are regularly served following morning worship. A transformation was clearly underway there, as more tables and chairs were added and each table was stocked with plates of holiday cookies and open-faced sandwiches. “What will happen next,” I wondered.

Clearly, there would be singing: the organist who had played classical fare during the worship service suddenly became a jazz pianist, supported by two guitarists and a banjo player who happened to be the minister who had just pronounced the benediction. A transformation was under way, as we began to sing lively (and somewhat unfamiliar) tunes from the denominational youth hymnal and another supplemental book of choruses. The tempos were so brisk that hardly any of us could keep up—until we quit trying to follow the notes and just let ourselves sing.

“What will happen now?” I wondered, as the “piano man” became an “emcee” and introduced the first “entertainer,” a woman with an expressive style who read a meditation about life in a compelling way. More singing followed—and then the “piano man” introduced a professor of political science who thoughtfully analyzed some of the experiences that he had had during a trip to the United States in the autumn. What might have been a travelogue became an affirmation of peace. More singing followed, and then the “emcee” introduced a man whose knowledge of classical music enabled him to paint a fascinating picture of Saint-Saens before playing some delightful movements of that composer’s “Carnival of the Animals.” More singing followed, and then some newcomers and guests—including my John—were invited to greet the group before we began to sing again. Moments later, the “piano man” introduced another necessary component of any Czech “family” gathering: a humorous monologue filled with subtle jokes, which elicited broad smiles and gentle chuckles.

As we left the church, I could not help but reflect on that celebration, which had been composed of poetic drama, political critique, classical delights, hospitable greetings, and warm humor, connected by songs of faith that eventually sang themselves. All of the elements needed to guide people into the New Year with conviction, conscience, depth, compassion, and joy had come together, and a transformation of ordinary hopes and old fears had begun. No exuberant firework display cascading over the city could compare with the intimate sharing of selves that transpired within that neighborhood church on December 31, 2003. John and I both pray that you will similarly be transformed by liberating encounters with goodness and grace throughout the coming year.

With warm regards,

Joyce and John

The 2005 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 177