LCMS Convention Proceedings St. Louis, Missouri — 1973, Page 72

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74 THE CONVENTION ESSAY

our commitment to our Lord and to meet contemporary
challenges.

Surely, we do not want to ignore the sacred heritage
bequeathed to us by those who went before us and left
us a treasure, but rather learn to appreciate it more
and more: our theology, our structures, our institutions,
our facilities. We shall recognize more clearly what the
Lord has provided and, rejoicing in mercy, respond “Not
unto us, not unto us, O Lord, but unto Thee be the
glory.”

Our convention symbol and theme direct us to the
Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, superimposed over the
sunburst, demonstrating to us that the Sun of Righ-
teousness has triumphed over all things through His
love and that His Cross warms and nourishes all crea-
tion. The dedication and stewardship life which Frances
Havergal put into poetry also beautifully demonstrates
the history of our Synod. Everybody and everything
starts and ends in the Cross.

Sometimes we sing so glibly:

Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to Thy Cross I cling;

Naked, come to Thee for dress; Helpless, look to Thee for

Foul, I to the fountain fly, Wash me, Savior, or I die!

(Hymn 376, v. 3)

And after singing, we greedily load up our hands
with our self-righteous pride, our smugness, our 126-
year history, and our intellectual achievements. But
we need to remind ourselves that we must come before
our Lord with empty hands, so that His Spirit can fill
them with His grace and love. Seeing the nail-pierced
hands of our Savior, we pray that we may be reminded
of His forgiving, loving, heavenly heart. So we pray
that our hands, at this convention, in whatever form
they take, may reflect the Savior’s hands as we speak
and mingle with one another, and as He did, so we may
speak to the tear-dimmed eye, the thirsty and parched
lips, the depressed and downtrodden, the proud and
boastful, the quivering and fearful.

A curious little pamphlet appeared in our Synod
over 100 years ago entitled “Die Thranen Raphaels”
(Raphael’s Tears). It came from the imaginative pen
of Pastor Friedrich Ruhland (1836—1879), a Missouri
Synod clergyman. The account, which reads like the
pages from the Book of Genesis, begins when the king
of heaven sends the angel Raphael to visit various con-
gregations of the Missouri Synod. He is given two huge
bags, one to be filled with the gratitude garnered from
the people, and the other with tears — representing
Raphael’s disappointments in the people’s lack of re-
sponse to their magnificent blessings. Raphael expected
to fill his bag of gratitude in a hurry, but soon finds
himself very disappointed when tear after tear fills the
bag to overflowing.

But why this glimpse into the fictional and mythical
visit? Because we ask in a more serious vein: If Ra-
phael would actually visit this convention, what would
he report? In the midst of our concerns for proper pro-
cedures, we need to remind ourselves that the crucified
and risen Lord looks upon this Convention Hall as He

does also into the impressive buildings owned and
operated by the Synod, its Districts, congregations, and
institutions. As He looks from the right hand of God,
is He rejoicing as He did at the wedding at Cana? Or
is He weeping as He did when He looked over the city
of Jerusalem?

Missouri Revisits New Orleans

What God has accomplished in spite of the frailty of
sinful and dying humanity! What a contrast can be
noted between the first visit in 1839 and the return to
this convention in 1973!

Four little sailing vessels carrying almost 700
wretched and miserable immigrants arrived in the port
of New Orleans 134 years ago. Today, as our delegates
gather for this convention, we are double that number.
They came on decrepit ships across the stormy Atlantic,
with the same mixed emotions which have brought us
here. Most of them, with a Crusader’s zeal, embarked
with the hope of preserving their religious and spiritual
heritage. Besides, all were determined to make a new
life in the newly opened Midwest. The young and the
old, the men, women, and children all plodded up the
planks to their assigned ships. As we gather here in
the same city, we carry similar hopes in our hearts and
prayers on our lips that somehow the ship of this con-
vention will bring us, in the fellowship of one another,
closer to our goals and ideals.

Five sailing vessels had left Bremen in November
1838. They faced the rigors and hardships of the 8-
week journey, enduring the cramped quarters, the stale
food, and stagnant water. When the ships entered the
tropics the passengers put up with insufferable heat
which even melted the pitch and the caulking of the
ship and forced the passengers from the stifling steerage
to seek relief and sleep on the open deck.

Only two days after they had left harbor the angel
of death struck the 2-year-old infant son of Franz
Adolf Marbach. All of the ships were to witness death
at sea and traumatic burials in the swirling waters. The
fifth ship, the Amalia with its 56 passengers, was never
heard from again. One out of every 10 immigrants who
left Germany in the group lost his life before they
reached New Orleans.

Just a few blocks from this convention the ships ar-
rived one by one between Dec. 31, 1838, and Jan. 20,
1839. One of the passengers, a teacher, described and
wrote his relatives:

We finally arrived safely at New Orleans, thank God —

this city is situated 107 miles from the mouth of the

Mississippi. . . . The city, it is true, is unusually large

(102,000 inhabitants) but it is hardly agreeable there for

even one moment. The atmosphere is very unhealthful,

and produce at times is very expensive. Many Indians
with shaggy hair stroll about here, an ugly blanket about
the body, a gun on the shoulder, and usually they are
drunk. One sees almost more Negroes than white people.

Owing to the great amount of navigation, etc., one here

meets people of almost all nationalities. [J. F. Winter

letter, published in CHIQ, XII (October 1939), p. 85]

The passengers remained in New Orleans for a few
days. Anxious moments were spent as they awaited

Se etrnen i peered tet nan ene gem me SAN tNa ae e sree a cance

a caeperin eomeege ener an mone

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