Saturday, February 18, 2012

Today is the anniversary of the death of Martin Luther, Doctor and Confessor.  Today also is the day that I begin a blog entitled “Walking Through Wittenberg”.  For some days now I have been mulling over the idea of chronicling my journey into the doctrines of Lutheranism.  While driving through the snowy countryside of my native Wyoming County in New York state this morning I was listening to a segment of the Issues, Etc. podcast which is entitled “Blog of the Week”.  The host, Pastor Todd Wilkin, made mention of his Web site’s widget for webpages and blogs (click on the widget on this page to go there -  I highly recommend it).  Every Friday on the show, Todd and his colleague Jeff announce their picks for the best blog posts. They also post a link to the winning blogs from the Issues, Etc. Web site.  That said, let me clearly state that I am not out to win a contest; I have an even more nefarious motive…Todd’s mention of his program’s widget has helped me to consider the heightened likelihood of at least someone giving this blog a reading – perhaps Todd or Jeff - perhaps too, they will have mercy upon me and be willing to provide some much needed guidance in my lengthening journey.  No pressure fellas!


  1. Aaaaaaaaaaand?

    Who are you and what do you bring to the blogosphere to edify?

    Amazing how so little information can generate interest. Not really. That is how we are told we operate.

    You are bookmarked... v/r Tom Moeller

    1. Tom,

      Thanks for stopping by. is my favorite color.

      All kidding aside, in reference to your first question of me ("Who are you...?") I love Boenhoeffer's poem in which he asks that very question of himself while imprisoned by the Nazi’s somewhere in Germany:

      Who Am I?
      by Deitrich Bonhoeffer

      Who am I? They often tell me
      I would step from my cell’s confinement
      calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
      like a Squire from his country house.

      Who am I? They often tell me
      I would talk to my warders
      freely and friendly and clearly,
      as though it were mine to command.

      Who am I? They also tell me
      I would bear the days of misfortune
      equably, smilingly, proudly,
      like one accustomed to win.

      Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
      Or am I only what I know of myself?
      restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
      struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my
      yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
      thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
      trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation,
      tossing in expectation of great events,
      powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
      weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
      faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

      Who am I? This or the other?
      Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
      Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
      and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
      Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
      fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

      Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
      Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

      Rather, who are you Tom?