He could hear God in the hum of an electrical junction box.
He could see and sing God in a little rock.
He cried on the Berlin Wall when it went up. He danced on the wall when it came down.
He talked us into sticking our noses up against to the pine trees outside Wartburg Castle and licking - yes licking - the walls of the Luther's office.
He had Deke - a sophomore in our group - take his shirt off and lay on the cold stone floor of the Erfurt Cloister to imagine how Luther felt when he stripped down and took his vows.
He sent Ute, our communist youth guide, away to purchase river boat tickets and, the moment she left, broke the bread and wine and blue jean gifts out, gathered a crowd and celebrated Holy Communion in the center of Alexander Platz in East Berlin.
He talked the blind organist, Herr Fogel (Mr. Bird) into a late night concert for our group in Bach's church on Bach's organ 25 feet above Bach's buried bones at St. Thomas Kirke, Leipzig.
He sat alone and sad and worn in the airport in New Orleans after a national youth gathering where he told me he felt "pushed to the side and thrown away... as if I had nothing left to offer."
Damn those ingrates. Bless those ingrates.
He fumed over a cup of coffee at Perkins in Bloomington - our annual gathering spot - over how frustratingly difficult it was to get anything published by his church publishing house.
Damn those idiots. Bless those idiots.
The closest thing to an Old Testament prophet walking the earth died November 7.
My friend. My mentor. My example. My, my, my....
Little rock, little rock
Where have you been?
Little rock, little rock
What have you seen?
When the earth was hot and new
Where you you, rock, where were you
Little rock, little rock
Where have you been?
Come to Central Lutheran at 2 on the 21st and celebrate Herb.
Herb Brokering is dead.
Herb Brokering is alive.
I doubt I'll ever meet another quite like him.
PS - I'll post Herb's voice and a dozen recorded prayer journey poems he wrote for me, one a week, from now until they run out. Then I'll have to start writing some myself again.
Thanks Rich for the thoughts. We all mourn the loss of one of the church's creative, centered in Christ leaders.
Posted by: Mike Weaver | November 16, 2009 at 02:02 PM
Herb's favorite and shortest poem, of which I could tell he was very proud by the chuckle in his voice and the twinkle in his eye:
Love is a pig.
Posted by: Rich Melheim | November 19, 2009 at 04:15 PM